Modulation Sydney Alexis-->
"Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will."
Gandhi
XI ShatteredKathryn sat at her desk near the large picture window in their living room. Her eyes were staring blearily at the PADD's display, but her mind wasn't focused on it. It hadn't been for hours.
Tom was late getting back again, and her mind was slowly creating and hastily rejecting theories as to what was keeping his interest for so many hours. Determined to question him when he returned that night, she kept her vigil. Her eyes were dry and burned from her unflinching gaze. Schematics were momentarily forgotten as the tips of her fingers rubbed at her tear ducts in a vain attempt to regain moisture.
A sigh escaped her lips as she looked down at the small clock on the desk. She checked the time twice, not believing it was as late as it was. Exhaustion was manifesting itself in the form of heavy, droopy eyes, tense muscles, and the faintest beginnings of a massive migraine just behind the eyes. Glaring at that damned PADD's blinking screen wasn't helping and neither was the growing sense of ill ease she had. Tom was keeping something from her. Of that, she was positive. It was the nature of the secret that bothered her.
Over the past few days, Kathryn had tried coaxing him to the answer through flirting and playing his own guilt against him. When that had failed, she'd finally asked him point blank. Tom had suddenly found one spot on the concrete flooring fascinating. He'd said he was working late with the doctor on a project and then promptly changed the subject. Trying to lead him back to it, she found a hesitant gaze that begged her to drop the subject. The walls have ears, he'd reminded her.
More telling had been the way he'd changed. In the space of a few days, he was withdrawn and yet clingy at the same time. When she stood and moved around their quarters, his eyes would follow her as if he was expecting her to disappear. He'd taken on an unnatural interest in her work even going so far as to double check her figures and designs, offering unbidden tips or suggestions. His routine was off too. Suddenly he was the last one down and the first one up. A number of times, she awoke to find him already gone or watching her while she slept. If he was trying to be secretive or stealthy in his plans, he had a great deal left to learn.
Burying her hands in her hair, she pulled her head down, feeling the warmth of blood flowing into her neck as she stretched the muscles. Her mind continued weaving theories the majority of which centered around him plotting an escape attempt.
Another glance at the clock revealed it was 3:16 AM. Groaning inwardly, Kathryn picked up the schematics and began working anew.
Playing with his Captain Proton program was quickly vetoed because Kamiens hated wasting time or energy on leisure activities. Maybe there was an error with his piloting program that they were forcing him to fix. Or maybe they put him to work some place he was too scared or ashamed to tell her about. Or something he didn't want to tell her. The last thought gave her pause. They'd spent nearly every moment together since they had landed on Kamien together. They'd shared tales of their past, their fears, plans they'd held for the future...at least before arriving. There was little she wouldn't tell him if he asked.
The doors to their quarters announced his arrival. An apprehensive look crossed his features when he saw her sitting there. Hands knitted together in front of him as he stepped inside.
"You're up late," he stated in a neutral voice. He walked purposely towards her, dropping a kiss onto her brow. It was an action he used to take every day when he returned home from working in the flight simulator. It was domestic, familiar, comforting. At least it was at one time.
"You're getting back late," she acknowledged his presence, and returned to her work, deciding to let him make the first move.
"I was working on something and lost track of time."
It was the type of lame excuse her father had used when he missed her ballet recitals, helping her on science fair projects, skipped family dinner. Kathryn released a noncommittal noise. At least, after awhile, her father had told her the truth-- keeping Starfleet from entering armed conflicts with Cardassians, Klingons, and Romulans was more important than watching her butcher Swan Lake. She wondered idly if whatever it was he was keeping from her was as important as all that.
"New project?" Kathryn asked, not bothering to look up from her PADD. The same PADD she had all but avoided looking at was now the most interesting thing in the room.
"Something like that," he replied, walking to the food dispenser to allow a natural pause in the conversation. "What are you working on?"
An evasive maneuver. Not a very good one at that.
"Shuttle schematics." Her concise answer sounded harsh even to her own ears.
Turning off her PADD, she turned toward him in her seat. "And you? What are you working on?"
"Project with the doctor," came his indirect answer.
He turned toward her, offering her a weak smile before walking toward the bathroom. Instinctively, she knew what he was up to. He'd take his shower, giving her enough time to forget about her line of questioning before turning in for the night. He'd successfully used this tactic before, and she had no intention of letting him get away with it again.
"Anything I should know about?"
"No. Nothing major. We were just working on a way to expand his program so that he can download the Kamien biology database straight into his matrix," he explained, not meeting her gaze.
Of all the classes she'd taken in the Academy, Interrogation and Human Behavior with Dr. Ellis had proven to be the most useful. Among the things covered were means of detecting deception from another. Looking to the left while concocting a story, shifting their posture into a defensive stance, and a slight increase in pulse rate were classics. While she couldn't confirm the latter without a scanning device, the other two were quite prominently on display right in front of her.
She felt her jaw tense in anger. He was nearly through the doorway to their bedroom when, in a small and cold voice, she directed her response. "You're lying."
Tom halted in his step and turned towards her. He had the good decency to look guilty. Shoulders slumped, his gaze left hers. "You're right. I am."
"Care to tell me what's been going on, or do I have to figure that one out on my own too?" She said, rising from her seat.
"Kathryn..." He started.
"The truth," a warning tone filtered her voice.
His face fell as a pain filled expression colored her face. "The truth," he repeated. "The truth is that I wasn't sure how to tell you. Didn't want to tell you," Tom said in a smooth voice as he reached her side. A shaky hand cupped her cheek. It was a diversionary tactic. One that she pushed away from. A hurt expression filled his face. The action was totally clear; she was offering no support whatsoever.
Despite her reaction, Tom edged towards her. His hand threaded through his hair as she turned an emotionless stare at him. She felt her heart begin to beat so fast she swore that she could hear it pounding in her ears. His eyes lowered and she watched his Adam's Apple bob up and down.
A dozen new hypotheses came to mind. They were moving him to a new room and placing her with a different 'roommate'. Kairon had decided to finally kill them all, or had he killed more of her crew? They were planning on sending him on some mission that he wouldn't come back from. She paused, recalling how carefully he had watched her the last week. Was something going to happen to her? Had it already happened? No. She shook her head. Couldn't be that. If something really were to happen to her, Kairon would have told her. He loved taunting her. Maybe it really was an escape plan.
Her eyes locked with his, desperate to read him. The emotion there changed rapidly. His tongue darted out of his mouth to lick his lips. It was a delay tactic that she now knew well. God how she wanted this to be all be a rouse or a bad dream. Anything but an escape plan. Escaping this place would mean facing her real life and the consequences of the life she had led here.
"I need to ask you two questions and I want you to promise me that you will answer truthfully."
The shocked expression on his face gave him away; he hadn't meant to speak yet. Two questions? The ill ease in her stomach was growing more intense as she watched him close his eyes. He was pausing to choose his words carefully. She'd only seen this unsure, terrified version twice-- the night of the fire as she was losing consciousness and when she woke up in sickbay some time later. Anger began to melt into concern. His aloofness and less than detailed responses were scaring her. They'd shared nearly everything in the last year--near death to morning breath to mourning dead friends, lectures on cleaning up dirty laundry to putting the seat down. What was it he was keeping from her? Was it really about her? God the way he was looking at her now made it seem so.
"Tom?" she said, furrowing her brow. The growing apprehension colored her voice. She heard him draw in an audible breath.
"Do you trust me?"
Kathryn leaned forward in her seat, pausing to briefly ponder the question. He was keeping something from her. Trust in a relationship entails a willingness to reveal things to the other person despite the fact that you know it will hurt them. It means not keeping secrets in the first place. Covering his hands with her own, her eyes searched his for the answer instead. And she saw what she was looking for on his face. He wanted validation and affirmation that she felt something for him, that she would hear what was to be said instead of walking away from him. For once, she was willing to break her cold front. Never letting her gaze stray she spoke her reply clearly. "You know that I do," she said, smiling. For now at least she meant it.
A pause...a heartbeat. His warm hands still held hers. Biting his lower lip, he looked down at the concrete flooring of their room. Her anxiety grew. She returned to her original theory; he was planning an escape. Suspending the truth drove her to verbally nudge him forward. "I thought you had two questions?" she said, smiling again. His eyes locked with her for a moment. The look on his face made her believe that he had forgotten she was there for a moment.
He left her side and moved to stand in the window eyes locking on some distant sight. There was no peace to be had or comfort to be drawn from him as she watched the play of emotions across his face. The look was true and clear-- he was terrified.
"Do you remember the first time I told you one of my legendary stories?" he said, with the ghost of a smile on his face.
Kathryn came to stand behind him but made no movement to touch him. His mannerisms belied more than his voice did. "Of course I do," she said, quietly.
"And on the bridge right before we landed? I promised you that we would get through this."
She saw the muscles in his back and shoulders tighten beneath the flimsy fabric of his t-shirt, and she wasn't entirely sure if it was him or her hand that was trembling as she touched him. Why recall the past like this? Why the sad lilt to his voice? The distant tone he used reminded her of the way her grandmother spoke of her grandfather years after his passing. As if those days were gone and now lost...intangible.
"And we have. Things have gotten better, Tom. We got out of The Yard...alive. The work that we do now...it isn't anywhere near as rigorous. G'tan Kairon has been kinder in his treatment."
"Appearances can be deceiving, Kathryn," he said, looking at her reflection in the glass. Somehow...gods somehow she knew it was an omen. Standing there beside him, watching him watch her in the reflection in the glass.
A pause ensued as Kathryn mulled over Tom's foreboding statement. Had Kairon placed them here to give them a false sense of security? In their past encounters with him and his associate, Talken, they'd both learned that the pair of them had been nothing but lab rats from the first. Perhaps Kairon had decided they weren't moving quickly enough in this 'relationship.' Her heart sped up. Were they changing Tom out with another of her crew? Or were they planning on forcing them to be together. She shook her head slowly at the implications of that last thought. Steeling herself against the worst, she allowed herself to speak the comforting words that had formed in her mind, not fully believing them.
"Whatever it is it can't possibly be as horrible as the built up you've given it."
Tom gave her a skeptical look through the glass. She began to wonder when that pane of glass had suddenly became his armor and what it was he was protecting himself from. Her reactions perhaps? Her eyes were drawn back to the real being rather than the reflection he cast as he crossing his arms in front of his chest. It was a protective stance. Yet another means of distancing himself from pain. The action was not lost on her. Stepping back, dropping her hand from his shoulder, she watched him watch her again.
"The first story that I told you. Do you remember it?"
She closed her eyes, recalling that night. The guards had brought her back to her cell beaten and nearly broken. His soft voice crooned her back to him through that tale. He wove a fantasy land reminiscent of the fairy tales her mother had read her in her youth. That sorrowful voice that begged her to stay with him that helped her remove her mind from her physical pain and center it on things that would never be. It was the vehicle that dropped her in the middle of this existence. Over time, she looked forward to the nights. Tom would comfort her with his words and actions, anchoring her to this world. Like those stories, she knew that he was a constant in her life. She found that her voice had taken on a wispy tone when she finally spoke.
"How could I forget?" she said, moving closer so that she was standing beside him. "You conjured a wedding up out of thin air."
Tom closed his eyes, pain etched all over his features. "Thin air," he repeated just above a whisper.
His reaction was unexpected. By unspoken agreement, they rarely mentioned his stories during their conversations, but, when they did, it was always truthfully. Both acknowledged what happened there were things neither would have. Night time was spent in his creations. They weren't meant to bring pain just to act as their verbal holodeck. Kathryn squeezed between his body and the glass. Gripping his upper arm, she wordlessly asked him to open his eyes. "What is this about?"
When he finally did respond to her silent bidding, it was written clearly across his face. He'd lost something of great importance to him. It was as if he was mourning something. Deep blue eyes were swimming with unreleased tears.
"The...uh... the work that the doctor has been forced to do is a little closer to home than I thought."
"Oh? Don't tell me he's making replicas of himself for a singing quintet," she said, smiling. It was a small attempt to break his mood. All hope faded with his next line.
"No, it's a little more serious than that."
Kathryn stood straighter, and motioned with her hands. "You're making it sound like it's our impending doom," she deadpanned. In truth, she was beginning to feel his anxiety as clearly as an empath would. The build up was not only to prepare her for the final outcome but himself as well. His eyes dropped from hers and she saw the fight in him leave. The truth he was avoiding was about to come forward, and, for the first time in days, she wasn't sure that she wanted to know.
"This place. There's more to it than what you've seen," he started. His gaze finally met hers. "It was nicknamed 'The Farm' by the people that used to work here for more than one reason."
Her brow knit in confusion. An authoritative tone colored her voice as she spoke. Despite it, she knew. She knew it sounded desperate, but she wanted it to be true. "They work on producing plant seeds that will yield better growth," Kathryn said, waving her hand toward the greenhouses not far from their patio's window.
"And people to work in the fields for them," he said, finally meeting her eyes.
"What?" she said, in an incredulous tone.
"Remember when we first got here? The other, older prisoners used to whisper about a secret location where they would genetically enhance the people of Kamien for a specific purpose?" Tom explained.
"Yes, but those were just rumors...besides, they only 'perfect' their men for a more precise soldier," she said, crossing her arms.
"They don't stop at creating their own kind anymore."
"What on Earth..."
"Think about it; they find a race of people that are inherently good at one set of things. Then, they recreate them in a laboratory, splice their genes with them and other species to create a hybrid that is resistant to the diseases here on Kamien. They can make them better at mathematics, genetics, even gardening by manipulation of their gene sequences. Add in a proper education and you have the perfect little genius to run your farm, harvest your crops, or beat your prisoners to death. Course, they couldn't stop there."
She shook her head, not wanting to believe what she had heard and certainly not wanting to hear the rest. The Kamien guards that had taken pleasure in beating her and killing her crew were partly human? That queasy feeling she had was growing exponentially. Wrapping her arms around her, she distanced herself from Tom. Her eyes were locked onto the floor until he spoke again.
"They are recreating a hybrid of the crew. I've seen it," Tom stated.
"When? Where? How?" Her voice more emphatic with each question. In all the hypotheses that had crossed her mind, this situation had never occurred to her. Numbly, she sat and listened to him elaborate.
"The Doctor was ordered by Kairon to show me. Their home base is somewhere here on The Farm, but I'm not sure where. He took me down half a dozen corridors. All of them looked the same. I couldn't keep track," His eyes left her again, and she knew some of that was a lie. Too stunned to push him, she began to think to herself aloud. "But why would he show you? A good statistician never reveals his strategy."
It was a chance to focus on something other than his eyes boring into hers. Breaking away from him, she began to pace in the center of the room. The real question went unasked. Why? Why would the Kamien use valuable resources on recreating her crew.
"They need someone to train their young how to pilot their shuttles." It was a half-truth that was riddled with lies. His eyes told her and so much more. This reveal was only partially complete.
"He just came out and told you? After telling us an elaborate lie about grain work and shuttle specs...it just doesn't make any sense."
"I know. B'Elanna seems to think that..."
Her heart skipped at beat. B'Elanna was long since dead. All those in the camp had been forced to listen to her and those in her cell block scream as they had been buried alive. She's been shackled and drug by her hair behind one of the soldiers until they'd reached the massive grave's depths. She'd struggled against him, fighting and clawing and biting until she's been knocked unconscious and thrown into the great maw. Tom's hand on hers jarred her from those memories as her icy stare turned on him.
"B'Elanna's alive?"
He nodded. "And Harry."
"They're alive, and it never occurred to you to tell me?"
"I bumped into her on my way home. She was on her way to one of the science labs with Harry."
Her father had used that line on her mother in a different form. 'Just bumped into her on the way to lunch, dear. Thought that I would invite her along. I didn't know you and the girls were coming to the office.' It was always a different cadet or secretary or 'an old Academy friend.'
Statements like that which told partial truths without revealing anything always augured the loss of trust. In her youth, she'd witnessed them used first hand. She could recalled the day her mother asked her in a quiet voice to take Phoebe and wait outside, the yelling match that followed, covering her little sister's ears with her hands in an attempt to keep all the noise from upsetting her, the finality of the sound of her mother slamming her father's office door behind her, the rough way she grabbed her hand and pulled her away, and the tears that streaked down her mother's face with perfect clarity. Kathryn closed her eyes not wanting to reveal anything to him.
"Why didn't you bring them here?"
"They were ordered not to come." His reply was weak and they both knew it, but he didn't seem to care. That single fact raised her ire.
"Since when does B'Elanna follow orders that she doesn't agree with?" Kathryn mused. Jealousy surged in her. Was he cheating on her? No. They'd never had a cemented relationship. At least not in the waking realm. A nagging voice in the back of her mind made her recall how Tom had lamented B'Elanna's death and how close they had been before being trapped on this planet. Maybe it was an elaborate set up Kairon had made to see how humans reacted to betrayal.
"For the same reason that I have to teach those kids how to pilot a shuttle, and you have to do what they tell you to do...they have leverage, Kathryn."
His words, though muffled by the glass he still stood in front of, held a distinct color--anger. Gone was the meek, reserved facade he had placed on himself from the beginning. Though she wasn't quite sure why, she felt relieved. Maybe because he knew she wouldn't let the matter rest until the last hand was revealed. Maybe because he had expected her to hear the tone in his voice and drop the matter or divine the final answer for herself. To be honest, she didn't care. She was tired. Tired of lies of omission, half-truths, and trying to ply this secret of his out. She could feel the exhaustion in her very bones. They'd been running toward this point for almost a year. It truly was time to stop living in a dreamscape.
"What could they do that they haven't done before? Beat me? Set me on fire? Work me into the ground? They've already saved my life twice. Why would they risk all that precious time on someone they went to such great lengths to save?"
"There are worse things in this world than being beaten, Kathryn."
She felt her jaw tick with anger. Fighting the urge to shake him and ask him what the hell he meant, she decided to use tact.
"They can't do anything to us we haven't already survived, and we are both worth too much to them alive. The crew is too..."
"Don't you think that they would have thought about that?" Tom interrupted, anger showing fully in his voice. He turned towards her finally, motioning toward the cameras as he spoke. They knew they were being watching.
Her irritation was seeping into her very posture. "I can't read your mind, Tom. "
He sat on the sofa opposite her desk rather than the chair closest to her. The distance seemed like a great chasm between them. Grey eyes followed his shaking hand thread through his hair. Her mouth turned into a thin line as she watched him trying to control his anger and another emotion swimming just beneath the surface.
"From the moment we were put on Kamien, we were divided. Always in pairs. Always males with females. Always couples that had shown some interest in one another on the ship. "
She wanted to interrupt him, correct him. He and B'Elanna were much closer to pairing off than she to him, but the resentful undertones of his speech prevented her. This was his story to tell.
"It never really occurred to me until the Doctor lead me around the compound, but now it all makes sense. After all, we were nothing more to them then animals in a cage. What else were we good for other than work detail? They could easily clone their own to dig trenches or sew uniforms. No, they wanted something else."
Kathryn tilted her head to the side as she considered what he had just said. Always in pairs. Always males with females...like animals in a cage. Her mind worked like any other, bringing up bits of long lost knowledge. It finally settled on the tale of Noah and his ark. Two of each animal were brought aboard so they could repopulate the earth. Then, she recalled what she'd learned in biology in her youth; cloning and genetic enhancement was still imperfect. One dormant gene could be switched and the child could be born deformed. It was why Starfleet medical was against experimentation; the results could be disastrous. But a child created willingly was much less likely to end up with medical problems given the vast amount of preventative medicine now given during pregnancy. It would also mean more genes to replicate and create from.
"They wanted us to mate?"
Tom nodded his head slowly. "But we didn't cooperate in their little plan, did we? No, that would have been too easy. So, they decided to go for the next best thing. After all, it was just a matter of mixing base pairs. And why go for the kill when you can go for the pain?" He said, a cruel smile twisted at his lips.
It was meant as a joke. A harsh, inconsiderate joke, but it was enough. Enough to make the blurry watercolor he'd been giving her come into focus. Brilliant, perfect, focus. She felt the air being sucked from her lungs as if it were all too much for her mind to handle. She resisted the urge to let her knees buckle under her like she wanted. Kathryn Janeway was many things but a fainting, simpering fool was not one of them.
"Her name is Hope," he said softly. Voice still painfully neutral. His eyes were locked onto her, searing through her in an attempt to read her, and she knew. God did she knew it was written plainly across her face; she didn't want to know any of this.
"Hope?" Kathryn repeated. Her heart was thumping wildly against her ribcage. Her eyes left Tom's and locked onto her hands that were neatly folded in her lap. She knew she was shaking, but she unable to stop. He kept his distance, offering her no support as she had to him earlier.
"Yeah. The Doc and Neelix named her," he ventured, voice still dispassionate.
Her reply slipped from her lips without thinking. "We can't become attached to her, Tom. We just can't. If we ever hope to get out of here with everyone else..." She saw him stiffened at her comment, hands clenching in his lap.
"She's. An. Innocent." Each word articulated precisely as if to give them all a stronger meaning.
"How can you be so sure? How do you know she isn't programmed like all of their soldiers are? It wouldn't be hard to do now that they've had nearly a year to learn our biology." She volleyed, her volume was audibly louder.
His emphatic reply was instanteous. "Then we'll find a way to deprogram her."
"I can't have her to worry about; my priority is getting my crew off of this planet and the sooner the better," Her shaking intensified as she tried to keep herself from breaking down. She knew Kairon was in his office somewhere, watching, laughing, enjoying her torment.
He stepped around the coffee table till he was inches from her; his face was starting to flush with barely bottled rage.
"You haven't spoken about escaping in months, Kathryn. Now, suddenly it's a priority? Pretty damned convenient. Are you that impatient to escape or are you repulsed at the idea of having my child?"
"Tom, listen to yourself. This isn't our child. She's Kairon's and whomever created her. She was made in a laboratory in a DNA sequencer. It's nothing more than a reminder that Kairon is in control."
"What difference does it make where she's made? She's our flesh. Our blood. Our child." His voice grew more forceful with each phrase uttered.
"She may have my chromosomes and she might even look like me but she is not my child." Her eyes darted to his, trying to impress upon him the truth as she saw it, knowing that he wasn't burying it.
"Let me see if I have this straight," he started, backing away from her. "You're only willing to accept a child if we created her? Oh wait...that didn't quite work out either."
Glee-filled eyes turned on her as he spoke, and she watched him trying to control the smirk that wanted so desperately to appear at the jibe he'd made. Her reaction had been raw, pain laced features that she made no attempt to hide.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she hissed, knowing full well what he was alluding to. She was daring him to speak it aloud.
"Feigning stupidity doesn't suit you," he said, tilting his head to the side. "You acted as though nothing happened after we got back from that warp ten flight. Just let Chakotay leave our children on that planet. Never even considered going back after them. Never questioned him about his order to leave them there either. No. You were just so happy that he cleaned up our little mess that you didn't want to know the details, did you?"
"And I was supposed to do what, Tom? Invite them into my life with open arms? Take time off from my responsibilities to raise three children? Leave the bridge during an armed conflict because I was lactactating? You were falling in love with B'Elanna at the time and I had a ship to run. We were friends. Tentative friends at that. We had no business having children let alone three!" she replied, squaring off with him.
Tom glared at her icily. "They we ours, Kathryn. Made of our flesh and our blood. They never asked to be born. Never did Hope." He said, pausing to look her over. In the silence, she knew he was calculating his next blow.
"What is it about Hope that you can't accept? That's she's mine or that you had no control over her creation? Maybe that's it. Maybe you can't accept her because you didn't get the roll around you wanted," he said, advancing on her. Heart thundering in her chest, she backed away, suddenly afraid of the gleam in his eyes. Her retreat was cut short when her back encountered the wall of their bedroom. "Maybe that's why you left those kids behind; you were mad that Tom Paris of all people managed to separate those dimpled knees of yours."
She slapped him good and hard against his cheek. An angry red mark was left in its wake. When she replied, her voice was hard and cold. "I felt the same that afternoon as I do now-- violated. I might not have remembered it. I might have made jokes about it with you, but I still felt that way. Dirty and used and empty and so confused I didn't know what to think. "
Instantly, he sobered. An embarrassed flush came to his cheeks.
"Kathryn...I," he started. It was an attempt to backtrack. To take back the hurtful things he had said, but she knew that some part of him had to believe it to have spoken it. She stepped back from him and raised her hand to stop him.
"How long have you known?"
Tom instantly lowered his eyes. That action, in and of itself spoke volumes. It belied a conscious that was guilty for having kept something so large from her. It let her know that he knew that she had figured him out.
"One week."
"A week?" she laughed humorlessly. "A week," she said, moving to the farthest corner of the room. "So all those nights you were late getting back, or snuck out thinking that I didn't know..."
"I went to see her," he supplied.
"And it never once occurred to you that I might want to know? Were you waiting for the cards you dealt to finally bring you the payoff you've been after? Maybe that's it," she ground out, eyes narrowing at him. "Maybe this whole set up was about some grand payoff. You expected me to fall apart and cry all over your shoulder so you could play hero, is that it?" She asked, advancing on him this time. Her hand reached up to caress his chest with a tenderness that her voice was utterly lacking. "That must be it. After all, what better way to 'pry apart my dimpled knees' than to salve a broken heart.
"I've got to hand it to you; you had me convinced for a couple of months there, Tom. But what happened? The little dreamscape didn't turn out quite right, did it?" She asked, pulling away. "Maybe that's your problem. I'm not some simple whore you picked up at Sandrines."
Slowly, he shook his head. "That was harsh."
"What were you expecting me to do? Give you a medal? Throw my arms around you and tell you that I love you?" She asked, sitting on the edge of their bed. Her eyes racked over him seductively. "Or is sex all you ever wanted?"
She watched from her perch on the bed as his face flushed again in anger. The vein on the side of his neck was throbbing against the surface, and she knew, without a doubt that, he was more than tempted to hit her.
"You're right. I do picture making love to you, and yes, it did start out as me simply being attracted to you, but I had too much respect for you. I loved you, Kathryn. I cared for you too much to use you like that."
All the while he spoke, his eyes hadn't lost the reserved look that had been there all night. The fact that he was protecting himself even as he professed his love for her didn't sit well. The fact that he referred to loving her in the past tense and wanting her in the present hadn't been lost on her.
She rose from the bed and stalked towards him once again.
"You want to 'make love' to me?" The question was spoken in the same icy tone he'd been using on her.
"You want to make that damned fairy tale of yours come true?" Two more steps and she faced him. Her hands reached out and cupped his face. The rough stubble of his beard broke the smoothness of his skin. Eyes that were dilated, darting across her face like a typewriter in motion. He was searching for any evidence of what was to come next. She struck in a hard, demanding kiss. Hands came to rest on her hips, pulling her against him.
At contact, she heard him draw in a deep, shaking breath. As soon as she had evidence of his willingness, she pulled back. She knew he wanted this. Had known for some time. In the way he looked at her. In the way he moaned her name in his sleep. In the longer than necessary showers he had taken early on, and the stories he had created lately. The raw, needy look was always there as he spoke of all the things his dreamscape version of self had done to her, with her. The uneven breathing as the story progressed, the way the sheet tented and he quickly turned away from her, the way he would disappear into the bathroom the nights he couldn't control himself. The muffled sounds coming through the paper thin walls. It was why she would ultimately have power in this moment. Or so she thought.
"Too spineless to take what you want?" His eyes were awash with lust and anger and tinged with something even more dangerous. Primal and cruel as she taunted him openly.
He gripped her arms forcefully, fingers biting into her flesh so deeply she felt momentary panic. Before she could protest, he moved in, plundering her mouth again. His tongue thrust its way in. It spoke of a need to dominate, of frustration, and fear.
"I know your dirty, little secret, Kathryn," he growled against her flesh as his lips and teeth worked against her neck. "You used me to feel. To anchor you here. Just like you used Chakotay." She moaned against him, feeling his speech vibrate through her whole body. His coarse facial hair rubbed against the soft skin of her neck. Her hands pushed against his chest, trying to pry herself from his grasp to regain control. His hands, still locked around her upper arms, closed down tighter against the muscle and bone.
The spicy soap he used mixed with sweat and the salty smell of dried tears infiltrated her senses. In the past year, she'd grown accustomed to his scent. At any other moment in her time there, she would have found comfort in it and the idea that as long as it lingered in the air, he was still with her. Not that night, and not ever again.
Warm breath wafted out beneath the low voice that taunted her, tickling the fine hairs around her ear. "You get off on the pain, don't you, Kathryn?" He pushed her against the wall, nipping the flesh of her exposed shoulder. Rough, calloused hands slipped beneath the thin fabric of the t-shirt she wore to bed, ghosting across her nipple before twisting it cruelly. "That's how you center yourself. Without it, you can't function."
He pulled back as he spoke as if what he had said was a revelation. All she could do was focus on the burning pain in her arms wondering how he had managed to trap her against the wall. Wide, fear filled eyes locked on his mouth as he spoke, but the roar of blood past her ears prevented her from hearing. Muscles twitched as his lips turned into a knowing smile.
"How were you expecting it to be, Tom? Slow...vanilla... missonary?" She asked, racking her fingernail down his chest. "That's how you envisioned it, didn't you? Candlelight, soft music...maybe even rose petals on the bed. Not that you could get those things here, but you'd tell me to close my eyes and picture them."
His knee slipped between her legs and she began to rub against him, wantonly seeking friction. She gasped at contact, smiling saucily at him. Releasing a noise somewhere between a gasp and a groan, Tom continued building the fantasy. "I'd take you on a soft matress, press you down into it until you were begging for release."
"And then you'd what? Kiss me so that your mouth muffled my screaming your name."
"Or I'd take you to the edge and leave you there." The last was said with a taunting smile.
She stepped back, placing her squarly against the wall. Both chests were heaving in a vain attempt to gain oxygen to their starving lungs. "Why didn't you ever do it?"
"I suppose you're going to tell me that you love me next and try to convince me to stay with you. That I'll choose you over Hope."
Her nails dug into the nape of his neck, forcing him back to her lips. Partly to regain control, defining the boundaries, and silencing him. Those soft lips that spoke of truths she didn't or couldn't hear. This moment was already marred. Tainted. Empty. She didn't need reminders that this may be the last comfort he would ever offer her. She was supposed to return to the being she had been before they arrived, but the full circle had grown askew. The drawing became a misshapen oval. Broken, unfixable. Without hope of escape. Without him or any sense of normalcy. Breathing become difficult. Sound and colors were dulled. Only smell and touch and taste remained.
She watched his mouth open again and quickly stopped him from speak again, drawing his mouth back to hers. Experienced but shaking fingers eased down his shoulders, caressed him through his shirt, seeking to map planes, plateaus. Thin grey fabric that separated her from him. She tugged the hem from his pants, drawing it up and over his head. Hands sought those same planes she'd felt moments before as fingertips encountered the patch of fine hairs that surrounded his navel and pointed lower. Nails skimmed downward, cupping him through his pants. Tom pulled back moaning loudly into the air.
"And what if I told you I loved you?" Kathryn asked, locking her eyes on his. They were still filled with lust and anger, but now pain came into them. Even before he spoke, she knew the answer.
"There is no happily ever after here, Kathryn. There is no hearts and flowers. No rings and promises. All we've ever had are stories and borrowed time." He'd chosen the child over her when she'd chosen to shatter the dreamscape they had built. She'd be damned if she was going to spend her last night with him thinking of the child again. Resigned to their own decisions, she kissed him again, pouring every ounce of pain and punishment and resentment into it. The song modulated. A new key was born. Harmonic minor changed to atonal. Centerless and yet not without purpose or plan.
Busy hands jerked the fly of his pants down and tried to pull him impossibly closer in the same instant. In the course of movement, he stumbled over them as they lay caught on his boots. Growling in frustration, she knelt in front of him, slipping both off. Her rough hands skimmed across his thighs as she rose, eliciting another moan from him. She leaned forward, brushing a kiss against the inflamed skin. This was how she remember him from New Zealand. Well tanned, lean, muscular, with a dangerous air to his eyes. Jaw set, telling everything he was feeling while his body seemed indifferent. Indifferent to whom he was with so long as he could bury himself in someone. Anger and sense of need always brought out the reckless youth inside of him.
When she stood even with him, he offered her a lecherous smile. "Shame. I was curious to see what else you were going to do while you were down there."
"Does that mean you'd drop a few extra bars of latinum on the end of the bed before you leave?" she volleyed.
Comment ignored, his hands worked their way up her body, lifting the brief nightshirt that had teased him once too often. All the while, he was kissing and nipping at her neck, marking it as he did so. The burning and prickling feeling of his mouth sucking on her flesh and the pulsing within it as the flow of blood returned. The pain shot straight through her, sending waves of need and revulsion. It shouldn't be like this, but it was. She'd expected him to back down, shy away. Never had she expected him to take her. That had been her fatal error. She'd forgotten the brassed off ex-con was caged beneath the facade of a gentle smile and good humor.
Rough and unapologetic hands pushed her against the bedroom's wall. She knew he'd take control. That it would be wild and hard and that he was going to take out all the pain that he felt on her body. She knew it just in the way his gaze held hers. This is what they both wanted. Both needed. Release and solace all in one. The markings were just a reminder of what she had lost that night.
She reached for him only to have her hands held above her head. Suddenly a too strong hand grabbed her wrists and squeezed them painfully. The blood flow in them slowed and she watched them turn a deeper shade of pink. The smirk returned to his eyes and finally broke across his lips. An evil glint overshadowed it, knowing that he was causing her pain and that she was enjoying it.
His lips descended from the neck he seemed to favor to her shoulder and down, resting briefly at her left breast. Teeth grazed her nipple then bit into the puckered flesh. Rosy pink turned ruby as the blood gathered just beneath the surface. Kathryn struggled weakly against the vise-like grip that held her wrists in place, sobbing at the pain and the enjoyment of it.
He turned to the other nipple then, circling with his tongue, showing it affection he hadn't bothered to show the other. He watched her arch up into him, begging for the release that would never come. The message was clear; he was enjoying his game too much to end it so soon.
The trail resumed. Insistent kisses paved a cool path down her chest, past her navel, ignoring the searing heat at the base and continuing to her thighs. There, he worked from the knee up, kissing and nipping the flesh there just as he had at her neck. She arched up into him the moment he neared her apex. Fingertips bit into her flesh, mirroring the injury given to her arms. He blew his cold breath against her, watching her writhe against him, toward him. Mewling with sound and need and submission. The feeling of warm fluid pooling inside her and the disgusting need that had taken her over. There eyes met, and she silently begged him to make good on his promise.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He asked, enjoying her distress. Recently freed hands worked through his hair, trying to drag him to the source of her pain. He grabbed one wrist in his hand, clamping down on it with brute strength. Bones shifted, nearly giving way, blood roared through her veins demanding entrance into her fingers. Threatening eyes dared her to try to escape his touch. The silent warning was left unspoken. No touching unless necessary or permission was given. Her heart thundered against her chest. The wild look in her eyes scaring her more than she wanted to admit. One final squeeze and he released his hold on her wrist, leaving a small kiss on the inside flesh before letting it drop to her side.
He returned to her lips not giving her a pause to consider what had just happened. The kiss deepened as her leg crawled up his thigh. Smoothed skin rubbing past sparse patches of hair. Calloused hands started at her hips and moved to her knees, wrapping her legs around his waist, pressing her firmly against the wall. His right hand left the knee it was supporting and reached between them, guiding himself into her. Her eyes never left his as he as he drove into her, setting an impossibly fast rhythm. She screamed as he did so. It had been years since she'd been with a man, and he'd given her no time to adjust. Hadn't readied her enough. Burning, splitting, blinding pain. Eyes welling with tears. His hands left her body totally and touched the wall on either side of her head. His eyes were closed, not looking at her.
She had leaned forward, resting her cheek on his shoulder, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing the pain etched on her face. The pain grew more intense as he drove harder against her pelvis. Bone crushing against bone, bruising the tissue inside her. The abrasive cement wall behind her gnawed away at the layers of skin with each stroke, leaving a bloodied trail on the institutional grey walls. Up and down and back and forth. More pain to add to the mix. She bit her tongue, willing herself not to cry, not to give in, not to let him win. Hands desperately clawed at him to push him away, to make him open his eyes and look at her. What he had made her become. Hands that had come to rest on his shoulders clawed their way down his back leaving red welts in their wake.
He growled into her shoulder, long and low before biting hard enough to draw blood. The copper, tangy fluid entered his mouth and he licked his lips, swearing he could taste the fear in it. He pulled back to let her see her essence coating his lips, teeth, and tongue. The lump in her throat that had been building since he had begun pounding into her escaped in a low sob. His eyes softened for a fraction of a second before they closed. Lips traveled to her left breast and his tongue swirled on the purpling flesh drawing a bloody circle in its wake.
"A few more tricks like that one, and this won't last much longer," his husky voice broke in. As he spoke the words, his strokes became more erratic.
"Is this all the tactics that the self proclaimed ladies man knows?" Kathryn whispered, nipping at the shell of his ear.
"Maybe I didn't think you were worth the effort." The pounding grew harder and he took one step back, changing the angle by taking more of her slight weight onto him. Her small hands wrapped around his biceps, seeking a steadying purchase. Fingers flexed, dipping deeply into his flesh, nails breaking skin, marking him as he had marked her.
"Or maybe this is your little way of forcing me to make a child with you," she volleyed, still meeting his strokes.
"I'm not the one that came on as a bitch in heat." His eyes were closed again and she knew it was less about ignoring the partner now and more about drawing out the moment.
"I'm not the one that's leaving." she bit back.
He came as she spoke, riding out the wave before collapsing against her and the wall long enough to catch his breath, not caring that she hadn't come. "And I'm not the one that lied about falling in love," he ground out before slipping out of her and going into the bathroom. Sinking to the bitterly cold floor, she sat listening to the sound of the shower spray hitting his body. Knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, she waited. Numb and empty, rocking back and forth, watching the reddened flesh turn the deepest shades of blue and black. She was shivering from the cold of the cement seeping into her skin, the adrenaline high that was wearing off, and the pain that was filling into her weary body. She became conscious of the fluid and pain between her thighs and the humiliation at the knowledge that she had brought this on herself.
The shower clicked off and, within a few moments, the door to the bathroom clicked open. The sounds echoed through the silent room, and her shaking hands covered her ears at the suddenly too loud sound it made. Grey eyes watched bare feet stop just shy of her and the trembling began anew. Thin fingers that she recognized all too well and suddenly hated reached within her line of sight to recover his boots. Another sound...again too loud...filled the room. The bed's springs giving way under his weight as he sat to pull them on, lace them up. Eyes always locked on the boots. Never on her. What he had done. Agonizing seconds ticked by. All she wanted was solitude and quiet and the shower in the other room.
Tom's smell was heavy in the air. Sweat and arousal and come and the scent of the soap he'd been given. It radiated from him as he sat on the bed mere meters from her, but, mostly, she smelled him on her. The mattress shifted again and heavy boots clunked their way to the door. The moment the door swished closed behind him, she flew from her spot on the chilled floor to the bathroom, vomiting the meager contents of her stomach before turning on the shower to purge herself of any proof of what they had just done. Sitting just beneath the water's scalding stream, she watched the pink tinged water swirl around the drain. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she registered the fact that her back ached, that the fluid between her thighs had been tinged with red, and the pain within.
Even beneath the burning water, she was shaking. The shock of pain and what had happened was filtering in. Every time she closed her eyes, fevered, cold, wild, eyes stared back at her. Taunting her. Blue eyes that had always offered comfort swirled the deepest of blacks. Shadow fell on profile. Sunken, hollow cheeks. Lips stained with her blood offering nothing but a cruel smile. The face of her friend turned into the face of her torment. He'd taken her trust, her first signs of dependency, offered her the tiniest shred of hope for a future with him before snatching it away for a child neither one created. The walls of this place were moving in on her, devouring anything that was left of her old self.
Red, swollen wrists gripped a washcloth, rubbing in slow, careful circles at her skin. Familiar, well practiced moves. She had started this. It was her fault. He would have stopped at any time. All she had to do was ask him. But from the silent heat of the shower came the clarity of mind. Memory recalled the lust filled heat of just a few moments before. Part of her wanted it and the other part was disgusted by it. That thought made her feel so dirty that she didn't think there was enough water in all of Kamien to soothe it away.
Soft cloth swirling on skin and the sound of the water beating its path against her was too loud, too hard against her skin. The white material came into contact with the open wound on her shoulder and she released a scream as the soap mixed into the skin. She pulled it away, looking at the red stain on the cloth, knowing it was far from the last area that needed to be cleaned. Careful strokes rinsed blood from her arms, hands, fingers, chest. Mapping out the bruises and marks as she continued lower. Careful strokes became more rough, tearing away the layers of skin that he had touched.
Never idle hands left reddened flesh in its path. Every square inch of her was cleaned. Hair was plastered to her skull, the water from the shower hooked around her cheeks, past her jaw to fall down a path on her chest, pooling in the natural valley that her legs provided when drawn to her chest. The water, mixed with soap, swirled there, burning the flesh more deeply. Hands knit through hair, pulling her head down.
A pitiful cry escaped her lips as the shower head beeped before turning off. She'd reached her allotment of water for the day. With great effort, she reached up for the handrail beside the shower stall and attempted to pull herself up. Dispassionate eyes watched the muscle in her abused arms shake beneath the strain before giving up entirely. She sank back onto the floor, her backside slamming against the wet floor. She shifted to her knees, using forward momentum to force herself up. The handrail that had betrayed her before was used to steady her unsure feet.
The towel resting on the rack was humid to the touch and felt rough against her skin. Like an automaton, she went through the motions of drying off and dressing in another t-shirt. One that he hadn't touched. One that didn't smell of him.
Bare feet padded against cold concrete to the spot her underwear had been thrown. Tom had ripped them from her in his haste. Though she wasn't sure when he would return, she knew that he would. Kairon would probably insist on it just to see how they would interact under these new circumstances. She watched shaking hands scrub the bloody streak her back had caused against the wall. Rhythmic motions of the sponge. Up and down and up and down. The emotions that she'd forced out of her mind came roaring back with each movement as she recalled the perfect Technicolor of what had just occurred. Nausea began to threaten its way through her system again. Pain was soon replaced with rage. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. It was supposed to be soft and tender or not at all. Never had she considered it would be hard and fast and cruel.
The door chime echoed through their quarters. The sound of it shocked her briefly from her reverie. The sponge she had been using fell from her hand. Bending carefully to retrieve it, she ignored the ear splitting sound, returning to her task. A beat later, a pair of Starfleet issue boots came to rest at her side.
"If you came for a seconds, I'm afraid you'll have to find another whore." Her hand returned to the wall, rubbing up and down again.
A hand reached out and carefully encircled her wrist in an attempt to halt Kathryn's motions. Tear-filled grey eyes went from the wall to the second person in the room. The haunted look behind the gaze she favored her visitor with was enough to make them release their grasp.
"What happened?" Concerned brown eyes boared into that of her captain's. From the moment B'Elanna had stepped into her superior's quarters, she'd been overwhelmed by the smells within-- fear, rage, blood, and more than anything else, sex. Eyes darting from the blood covered wall and the small bloody footprints across the floor to her captain again. The smell of fresh blood was still coming off of her. An embarrassed flush came over Kathryn's cheeks.
"It's time to go," B'Elanna said, quietly. "Finish getting dressed. We don't have much time." Kathryn's emotionless eyes returned to her visitors. A chill ran up her spine at the total lack of expression she saw there.
"I take it Tom didn't tell you that Harry and I found a way to get off of this planet?"
At the mention of his name, there was a brilliant blast of malice that shaded her grey eyes.
"No. He must have forgotten to mention that little detail," Kathryn said finally, turning her attention back to scrubbing the wall down.
"We only have a few minutes," B'Elanna ventured, hoping to prod her into getting dressed.
Her eyes returned to his, seeking answers. "And what if I want to stay here?"
XII: Shards