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As soon as Carol had heard about the advanced photon torpedoes aboard the USS Enterprise, she knew that she had to gain passage. The torpedoes were the sole reason she was now aboard the ship, and the fact that she was a weapons specialist allowed the crew to accept her enormous interest in them. She visited them on a daily basis. They had been built under the orders of her father but he remained silent as to who constructed them and what their capabilities and their purposes encompassed. The Admiral would only say that they were the most advanced torpedoes ever crafted. That statement had drawn Carol to investigate out of a mixture of wonder and worry.
She found that it was refreshing for her to put her studies into work outside of simulations, textbooks, exams, and classes. To be a part of reality. However, she was frustrated at the realization that, even after several days, she was no closer to understanding the secret of the torpedoes - and, hence, the secret intentions of her father.
After spending her afternoons exhausting herself by studying the torpedoes, Carol would tumble into bed at night with a mind that was more often than not a welcome blank sheet devoid of dreams. But when she did dream, the blank sheet would fill with red.
Blue eyes hidden behind red-lashes. Begging for help. For mercy. Shoulders heaving. Body shuddering. Tears thundering down pale cheeks. He was drowning in a pool of blood but his hands were clean. The sound of fists against glass. Blood filling the chamber, submerging him, drowning him. He was choking and spluttering and trying to find air. But the hallway was unnervingly empty and silent. Nobody to hear his cries. His screams of agony and protest. "HE KILLED THEM CAROL! HE KILLED MY FAMILY!"
And Carol was sitting bolt upright, covered in cold sweat, sheets in a tangled pile on the floor, hair plastered to her face. Alone in her room. Hands shaking and chest shuddering. It was just a dream.
But if it was just a dream, why were her ears still ringing with agonized, broken-hearted screams?
Carol found herself tip toeing through the ship before she could really comprehend what she was doing and why exactly she was doing it. She hesitated as she approached the glass holding cell but when she noticed that the prisoner was turned towards the wall, she felt a little calmer and a little braver. No tear-stained eyes to haunt her mind. No gut-wrenching cries. But she had to be sure. The image that had come to her in her dream - of his heaving shoulders and broken sobs - had been so vivid. She needed to know he was okay.
She moved forward gingerly and slowly, her feet not making a sound against the hard floor. He was sitting in silence with his back to the glass window. She couldn't see his face and was unsure whether he was awake or asleep. She looked down to his spine and noticed that his breathing was barely audible. She also noticed that his posture was perfect…achingly beautiful. A shaky intake of breath at this realization.
Her eyes moved up to the nape of his neck. His skin was so pale. Almost like expensive porcelain. Except for a small mole on the side of his neck. She could not help but smile at this slight imperfection against the cool white. And at the way his dark hair tumbled down his neck to dip into a sharp V. A perfectly pointed V. Carol bit her lip. Looked down. Felt guilty. She should go. She was awfully tired. But as she turned to leave, there came a voice. Deep and penetrating. She could not tell whether it was the purr of a jaguar or the roar of a lion.
"Did no one ever tell you that it is rude to stare, Dr. Wallace?"
Slowly, the man turned to look at her through the glass. His eyes were bright and fierce. No red around his lashes. Tonight, they simmered blue and grey. Like molten rock waiting to erupt. The deep boiling of extreme pain and unfixable hurt. A melting candle fighting against the weight of flames. Carol moved closer to the man. Closer to the flames. Her hands shook but she could not help her curiosity.
"Mr. Harrison…how do you know my name?" She was surprised by how firm her voice was. In control.
The man's lips flickered into a slight smile. The smile was not genial. It was as if he could see right into and through her soul. It sent shivers down her stomach. "How do you know mine, Carol?" Her name was uttered in a velveteen-laced whisper and Carol's abdominal muscles tightened. For a brief second, she felt a wave of arousal which was quickly washed away by feelings of disgust and self-loathing.
Carol held her hands behind her back, determined to look the blue-eyed man straight in the face and hide her trembling. "You are a wanted man. A murderer. It is quite hard not to know your name."
He smirked then grimaced and Carol noticed his lower lip quiver for a brief second. The words he uttered next were barely audible. He sounded so forlorn. "Well, you see, that is where you are wrong, Dr. Wallace. John Harrison is not really my name."
Carol blinked, unsure how she should respond. For an instant, she worried that the man before her knew her true name. Panic ignited deep in her stomach. What if he revealed her identity to the crew? But why would he? What good would it do him? Carol felt her heartbeat quicken and she tried to breathe deep into her stomach to calm her anxiety. Finally, after what felt like decades, she found her voice. "You still haven't answered my question. How do you know my name?"
The man's sharp eyes moved from the blank wall back to Carol's face. His gaze ate through her soul once again, his face plastered in a slight sneer. "I listen. I have heard you introduce yourself to members of the crew."
Carol gently licked her lips and swallowed, feeling the knot in her stomach subside as she concluded that he did not know her real name. But when she looked up again, her heart stopped. Out of fear, she supposed…or was it for a different reason? The person she knew as John had moved from his sitting position at the back of his chamber and was now pressed against the glass mere feet from her. He watched the way Carol's body tensed under his gaze before he spoke next. "Why are you here?"
She frowned and took a step forward. "Why did you kill innocent people?"
Her voice was sharp, accusing, unforgiving, and she was repulsed and horrified to hear the man before her utter a low-rumbling laugh before asking, "What have you learned about the torpedoes aboard this ship, Dr. Wallace?"
Carol was taken aback. "How did you know - ?"
The man before her looked at her with piercing agitation. His eyes were so blue. Deep orbs of colour. Looking into them was like drowning in the middle of the ocean. Hypnotizing and transforming. Alluring as waves of silk. Carol's trance was broken when the man's voice pierced the air again. "I already told you. I listen. You would do well to do the same." He paced slowly back and forth before her. "I am aware that you have been to visit them every day since boarding this ship. Why?"
Carol was searching the ceiling and the floor, occupying her eyes with anything but the man's face. She focused on his feet before saying, "I will not discuss weaponry with a murderer."
The man stopped pacing and came to rest very close to Carol. She felt goosebumps rise on her neck and the conflicting feelings of allure and sheer terror. The man's lips flickered into a small smile and when he spoke next, his voice was barely audible through the glass. Though Carol told herself that it was time to leave, she found her cheek pressed up against the glass to try to hear his words. The glass separated them by mere inches. "Oh, but you will never come close to understanding the torpedoes without my help, Carol."
His low voice and deep breath covered the glass with a light fog. Carol pressed her forehead deeper into the glass as she whispered, "You know something about them? Tell me."
Carol noticed that they were nose to nose now and she felt something heavy in her heart - something she could not explain…was it fear or desire? - at the idea of his hands breaking through the glass and grabbing her.
Moments passed and an overwhelming silence filled the room. His lips were pressed against hers now. She could feel the glass heating with every breath she took, every word he spoke. "If you really want to understand the torpedoes, Dr. Wallace, I suggest you open one of them." And then he was gone. Sitting. Back facing her. Spine erotically erect.
Carol could smell burning pollen and petals.