Codes: R/S (M/H), shippage
Author's notes: The title comes into play in the third chapter. Be patient!
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Paramount, not me. (Like TPTB would ever care enough to sue a fanfic author…)
Chapter One
"Your thoughts... to my thoughts...your mind...to my mind. Yanamo nahp wanamo nahp, Yanamo kae kashek wanamo kashek."
The frothy, seething oceans of a possessed mind roared in protest. Repetitive whispers floated over the surface of the seas; soothing words seemed to form of calm itself. The water quieted. "Yanamo nahp wanamo nahp, Yanamo kae kashek wanamo kashek."
A minute later, T'Pol withdrew her hands from the communications officer's temples. Hoshi was quiet for a moment, her eyes unseeing. Her heart beat so slowly, and she was filled with such an unthinkable calm; but the calm was nothing more than an almost complete absence of thought itself. On the other side of the small rug they were sitting on, gazing into a small, flickering candle, was T'Pol. Her breath came quickly, but almost noiselessly, through her nose in an attempt to conceal her moment of uncontrol. Hoshi's mind was unbearably tumultuous, and she wondered again how humans could possibly deal with these thoughts. How they were still sane.
Hoshi blinked and returned to thought. T'Pol looked slightly flustered, staring into the candle's flame like that, and she wondered uncomfortably what this emotionless being thought of her mind. They had reached the end of their session for tonight, and Hoshi wondered what to say.
"Thank you, T'Pol," she finally decided.
Arching her eyebrow (a gesture which Hoshi had all but stopped noticing, she had seen it so many times), T'Pol spoke with a voice that belied no weakness. "You are welcome, Ensign. You will be coming tomorrow night as well?"
It barely seemed a question. Hoshi nodded, unclasping her hands and rising to her feet. "See you tomorrow."
* * * * * * * * * * *
There was a peculiar feeling that settled on Hoshi after these sessions. It was a feeling of looking at oneself from the outside, and wondering if this all was just an elaborate dream. She found herself wondering such unanswerable- no, unaskable- questions as whether she was just the feverish imagining of a creature of infinitely greater mental complexity than herself. Or a figment of her own imagination. It was an inspiring feeling.
Once in her quarters, she paced restlessly. From the bathroom- standing in front of a Starfleet issue mirror for ten minutes straight, feeling like her consciousness was coming in waves- to the bed, lying flat staring into the ceiling, flashes of images receding and advancing, images from fantasies. Eventually she drifted to the desk next to the door. She was inspired to write- a poem. The Vulcan language, she thought, was beautiful...she began to write.
Author's notes: The title comes into play in the third chapter. Be patient!
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Paramount, not me. (Like TPTB would ever care enough to sue a fanfic author…)
Chapter One
"Your thoughts... to my thoughts...your mind...to my mind. Yanamo nahp wanamo nahp, Yanamo kae kashek wanamo kashek."
The frothy, seething oceans of a possessed mind roared in protest. Repetitive whispers floated over the surface of the seas; soothing words seemed to form of calm itself. The water quieted. "Yanamo nahp wanamo nahp, Yanamo kae kashek wanamo kashek."
A minute later, T'Pol withdrew her hands from the communications officer's temples. Hoshi was quiet for a moment, her eyes unseeing. Her heart beat so slowly, and she was filled with such an unthinkable calm; but the calm was nothing more than an almost complete absence of thought itself. On the other side of the small rug they were sitting on, gazing into a small, flickering candle, was T'Pol. Her breath came quickly, but almost noiselessly, through her nose in an attempt to conceal her moment of uncontrol. Hoshi's mind was unbearably tumultuous, and she wondered again how humans could possibly deal with these thoughts. How they were still sane.
Hoshi blinked and returned to thought. T'Pol looked slightly flustered, staring into the candle's flame like that, and she wondered uncomfortably what this emotionless being thought of her mind. They had reached the end of their session for tonight, and Hoshi wondered what to say.
"Thank you, T'Pol," she finally decided.
Arching her eyebrow (a gesture which Hoshi had all but stopped noticing, she had seen it so many times), T'Pol spoke with a voice that belied no weakness. "You are welcome, Ensign. You will be coming tomorrow night as well?"
It barely seemed a question. Hoshi nodded, unclasping her hands and rising to her feet. "See you tomorrow."
* * * * * * * * * * *
There was a peculiar feeling that settled on Hoshi after these sessions. It was a feeling of looking at oneself from the outside, and wondering if this all was just an elaborate dream. She found herself wondering such unanswerable- no, unaskable- questions as whether she was just the feverish imagining of a creature of infinitely greater mental complexity than herself. Or a figment of her own imagination. It was an inspiring feeling.
Once in her quarters, she paced restlessly. From the bathroom- standing in front of a Starfleet issue mirror for ten minutes straight, feeling like her consciousness was coming in waves- to the bed, lying flat staring into the ceiling, flashes of images receding and advancing, images from fantasies. Eventually she drifted to the desk next to the door. She was inspired to write- a poem. The Vulcan language, she thought, was beautiful...she began to write.