Perfectly Logical

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine.

Chapter Seven: Repressed Memories

Tasha ran through the unfamiliar terrain. She didn't know where she was going or how she'd get back to her camp. All she knew was that she had to get away.

She wasn't exactly sure where she was. The transport ship she'd been on had crashed, leaving her as the only survivor. Not that she'd escaped unscathed. Her arm was broken, the shoulder shattered, and she was bleeding heavily from a deep cut near her elbow. She was dizzy from blood loss and pain.

She'd intended to activate a beacon and wait to be rescued, but the unfamiliar aliens had changed that. They'd been nearly on top of her before she'd noticed them - if she'd been anyone else, she wouldn't have noticed anything until it was too late. They'd been stalking her like a lion, and Tasha knew that no one who approached a camp in that manner would have good intentions. She'd bolted, and they'd given chase, giving up silence when they'd realized she'd noticed them.

She hurried down a hill and nearly tripped over something. Or rather, someone. A young boy, lying prostrate on the ground.

The child gasped. "Oh! You're not one of them."

"Who are they?"

"The Chi'ia. They run around attacking people. Anyone they find they beat, and then they decide if the person is worthy to be kept as a slave. If not, they are killed."

Footsteps. Shoes crashing on the rocks.

Tasha looked at the boy. He couldn't be more than six or seven. She looked at the approaching mob, then back at him. She drew a deep breath.

"Run," she told him urgently. "Go. Down the hill. Hurry."

The child looked up with wide eyes. "They'll catch me."

"No, they won't. I promise. Quickly!"

The child took off running, and Tasha watched him go. He became smaller and smaller.

The Chi'ia were almost upon her. The boy was still visible. She had to buy him more time. If they got to the crest of the hill -

They wouldn't. Steeling herself, Tasha turned and ran. Back up the hill.

She encountered the Chi'ia just after she got past the crest of the hill. She paled, and her first instinct was to flee. But she would not. She'd save the child, whatever the cost.

Then they were upon her. One of them grabbed her broken arm, eliciting a cry of pain. She was thrown to the ground -

And found herself staring up at a holodeck ceiling. Her arm was no longer hurting, and the Chi'ia were nowhere to be seen.

Memory rushed back. She'd never crashed on any planet. This was all just a test.

She sat up slowly, trembling. She couldn't help looking around her, as if the warlike Chi'ia - who she suspected didn't really exist at all - might spring from the walls. She slowly got to her feet, managing to walk out of the room with some sense of dignity.

The fresh air revived her a little, and by the time she'd returned to the home she'd come to call her own, she had composed herself. She responded to questions about the test as neutrally as possible. As long as she put it out of her mind, it would all be okay.

She hadn't counted on what would happen once she was in bed and her subconscious took over. As soon as her eyes were closed, she was assailed by images of the Chi'ia, how they'd chased her, how they'd grabbed her and thrown her to the ground, and then that mixed with images of the rape gangs, and she could see the sneers on their faces, hear their taunts and mocking laughter, feel their hands as they ripped away her clothing, their hot breath on her body, their fingers touching her everywhere she didn't want them, their bodies forcing her down as they undressed themselves, the way they positioned themselves over her -

She sat bolt upright in bed, shaking and breathing heavily. She'd managed to suppress the worst of the memories from her childhood. It was the only way to live daily without being haunted by them. But her experience, simulated though it had been, had brought those walls down. She couldn't stop shaking. She curled into a ball, wishing it would all go away.

Her stomach twisted, and she jumped up to dash into the bathroom. She huddled over the toilet, emptying her stomach, no longer able to hold back her tears. She was glad it was the middle of the night. At least that way, nobody would know how silly she was being -

"Are you well?"

Tasha sighed to herself. "I'm fine, sir. Just a little shaken."

"If you are becoming physically ill, you are more than a little shaken. Is this related to today's examination?"

"Yes. And no."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"It's not the test itself, not exactly. But the test triggered some other memories - things I don't like to think about." Tasha stood slowly, taking a glass to rinse her mouth.

"Am I correct in believing you have repressed these memories?"

Tasha nodded, trying to wipe the tears from her face before he saw them. If he noticed, he said nothing.

"Perhaps you should tell me what is bothering you." He led her back out into her bedroom.

"I can't," she whispered. "It's too hard just to say the words."

"Then perhaps you can show me."

"How?"

"A Vulcan mind-meld. We would be telepathically linked, exchanging our thoughts, in essence becoming one mind. I would be able to experience your memories as you experience them."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not? It will not harm you in any way."

"Because - because I wouldn't wish my experiences on my worst enemy, let alone someone who's done as much for me as you have. I don't want to put you through that."

"I do not foresee danger or risk to myself. I will be able to separate your experiences from my own. Now, do you wish to proceed?"

She hesitated.

"It would likely do you good to share these feelings. It is obvious they are hurting you."

"All right. Do it."

"Please be seated. This may take some time."

"What should I do?" she seated herself on her bed, facing him.

"Attempt to call forward the memories in question. It will save me the trouble of searching for them."

"I will."

He sat across from her, placing his hands against her face. "My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts." The pain he felt from her as soon as his shields were down almost caused him to pull away, but he forced himself to open the link all the way. "My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts."

He probed into her mind, and she let him, showing him what he wanted to see. Every sickening memory from her childhood. Every man who had used her body as if it didn't have a consciousness inside it. The way they had laughed and jeered at her tears and her pleas. How she'd eventually stopped pleading when she'd realized all it did was fuel their fires. How they'd leave her lying where they'd violated her, not caring if she lived or died.

Shuddering with pain that was not his own, he broke the link and looked into her wide eyes. She stared back at him, and he could tell just from the look in her eyes that she was inches away from falling apart completely.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, dropping her gaze.

"For what are you apologizing?"

"For putting you through all that, for making you feel my pain. For all of it."

"I do not believe you are the one who should be apologizing." He'd pinpointed one of the many feelings she had about this as guilt. "It was not your fault."

She almost stopped breathing.

"You did not ask for what they put you through. There was no secret part of you wanting it. You did not do anything to provoke it, and there was nothing you could feasibly have done to prevent it." He took her shoulders in a gentle grip. "The blame belongs to your attackers. Do not take it upon yourself. Do not be ashamed of what was done to you without your consent, against your will."

Her eyes met his again. "You have no idea how much I needed to hear that."

"On the contrary. I have experienced your thoughts, including your unfounded guilt."

"Thank you. For all of it."

"You are welcome. Can you sleep?"

"I think so."

"Then do so. It is late."

"Will you stay?" She winced as soon as the words were out of her mouth. What was she doing asking something like that?

"If that is what you require."

"It is," she admitted. The formerly-suppressed memories now sat in the front of her consciousness, and she didn't want to be alone.

"Then I will remain. And Tasha, you should not feel guilty for your response to these events either. On the contrary, there are few people who could have come through this as strong as you are."

She reached out instinctively for his hand, and he gave it to her. After all, he reasoned, the reason Vulcans tended to eschew contact with others was to avoid sensing their feelings. He'd sensed Tasha's most profound, volatile emotions just moments ago. Certainly he could handle her feelings when she was calm and half-asleep.

She was asleep shortly thereafter, exhausted by the day's events. Tuvok gently slid his hand out of hers but took the chair in her room. He'd told her he wouldn't leave. And a Vulcan never lied.

This chapter is sort of an experiment for me in that I almost never write a chapter in one continuous, unbroken narrative. What did you think?

Some of the things Tuvok says to Tasha about not blaming herself were borrowed from ScarletLycan's excellent story Porcelain Masks. It can be found on my Favorite Stories page.

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