A/N: I am a firm believer in the fact that the rating in general acts as a disclaimer for content. But thought it prudent to include this, just in case. This chapter describes, in very general and broad terms, assault. No graphic or explicit language. As well as a potentially sensitive subject matter about choice. Aside--the original story for this was written in 2005. By no means is my story meant to be an endorsement or condemnation of any political issue. I write from my life, experiences of mine and those I care about. Just wanted to put that out there.
May 30, 2386
Tom and B'Elanna's quarters were full to nearly overflowing with party guests. Five young girls, all Miral's friends, plus their parents, friends of Tom and B'Elanna, as well as Admirals Paris and Janeway, were all crowded inside.
His hands full of precariously balanced dishes, Tom made his way toward the recycler. Inside the kitchenette area, the soft din of multiple conversations had become muted, and he found himself alone. Apparently, B'Elanna had been stalking to take advantage of the opportunity, as she crept up behind him and almost startled him into dropping dishes. "Geez, B'Elanna, are you trying to give me a heart attack?" he said, placing the dishes inside the slot.
She was excited about something, he could tell right away as he saw her face. She grabbed his arm as she began, another indication. "Tom, what's up with Aaron?"
"What do you mean?" he asked innocently.
"Come on, Tom. You can't be serious. He's like a different person. He was laughing hysterically! I saw him crouched down, talking to T'Mira and Miral, telling them a story about one of his shuttle mishaps. I thought you said he was trying to get out of coming. He was the first one here!" she exclaimed.
"I twisted his arm," Tom said, shrugging, a mischievous grin on his face.
Not giving up on her theory, she continued, "And you know what else is weird? T'Lassa. Someone said she assaulted a security team and was stunned in the Cafe yesterday. And here she is, like nothing happened. Do you know about that?" she quizzed.
"I'm the Commander of the Station. I know about pretty much everything, eventually," he shot back. She put her hand on her hip, almost tapping her foot. "It didn't affect you in any way. It wasn't important," he said defensively.
"I don't know what it is, but something is off. You know how cautious she is about keeping her distance from people, standing away so no one touches her. She was standing so close to him their shoulders were touching. He brought her food and a drink. And you know, there were a few moments they were looking at each other and not talking. Weird. Like they were almost communicating telepathically or something like that. Is there something going on that I don't know about?" she grilled him.
"B'Elanna, since when did you turn into a busy-body? This is very unbecoming," he teased. She punched his shoulder lightly.
He grabbed her arm, pulled her aside. He looked around briefly, making sure they were alone, before he continued, lowering his voice further. "I didn't think it was my place to perpetuate gossip. But yes, something happened. Something that you have some past experience with." His eyes widened as he wiggled his eyebrows, hoping she understood what he was saying.
"Oh." He watched her thinking, then her face lit as he knew she caught his drift. "Ohhhhh." She gasped, "Oh my God. Really?"
"Did you know T'Lassa's husband was human? That she's part human? That T'Mira is more human than she is Vulcan?" he asked.
"No, as a matter of fact, I didn't. Isn't that odd? For that…" Her voice trailed off as her thoughts started to swirl.
"I think so," he offered. "But regardless, it happened."
Her hand flew to her mouth as she finally put the pieces together. "Aaron? Are they--"
"Look, you've been nagging him for months. You even enlisted me. I'm done meddling in his personal life, but just know this. She's all better and no one died. No one beat the hell out of each other either. And…he's happy. For the first time in eight years, I think, he's happy. I knew how she felt about him. You were right…about how Aaron felt. I don't think he knew, at least not right away. But, he knows now," he concluded.
She smiled, a warm, genuine smile. "He had all the signs. Who would have known better than me?" she said softly. Tom smiled in return, knowing she referred to the span of months in between her acknowledging her own feelings for him, and telling him as such.
"No hiding out in the kitchen, you two. You have a room full of guests, Admirals included," Aaron said as he poked his head into the area where they stood. "If I have to hear another of your father's stories about on the fly shuttle specification adjustments I'm going to poke my eyes out," he muttered playfully.
"We're coming," B'Elanna said cheerily, a wide smile on her face as she walked past him, gently tapping his arm as she went.
"What's that all about?" Aaron asked him, doing a double take over his shoulder.
"She's just happy for you is all," Tom beamed.
"Is it that obvious?" he asked seriously. "She's a Vulcan. It's not like she was sitting on my lap."
"No, but she put less than five inches between you while you were sitting on the couch. For a Vulcan, that's pretty much the same thing," he quipped. "Are you trying to keep it a secret?" he questioned.
"No," he said. "But she doesn't want to tell T'Mira yet. You know, a little…" Aaron made a wavy motion with his hand, indicating the delicate nature of the topic.
"No, I understand. But T'Mira is Vulcan. She's pretty observant," Tom countered.
"I know. She'll tell her eventually. We just want to let it...sink in for a while. Does that make sense?" he asked.
Tom remembered a conversation he'd had with B'Elanna in the turbolift on Voyager, recapping pretty much the same thing. "Of course. No worries here. And look on the bright side. At least now B'Elanna will leave you alone. And…maybe now T'Lassa can let you get some work done in your office without calling you every five minutes to maintain her Infirmary equipment."
"Ha ha, Commander. Very funny," he mocked, as he walked away.
"Funny? I was right!" he called after him, indignant, but laughing.
}LS{
Miral was in her room with her friends while the adults had full reign in the main rooms of their quarters. Sometimes she wished her parents didn't always have to have a party at the same time she did, but she liked a lot of people in their quarters in general, so it was ok. Her parents' parties were pretty boring, so it was always nice to have a bunch of friends here. The most fun was when it was her birthday.
That was one human tradition she was thankful her parents had introduced her to. Being three quarters human, one quarter Klingon, her particular mixed heritage was unique. It was something she shared with her mother, something they understood together. Each part of her heritage had been presented objectively. Her mother had always explained how her own mother, for whom Miral had been named, had forced the Klingon rituals on her, creating a rift, making B'Elanna feel like her mother wished she wasn't any part human at all.
In warm, close moments with her mother, Miral recalled her mother explaining how it had been her own father, because he was every bit as wonderful as he seemed, had encouraged her to accept herself as she was—half and half, not one or the other, neither side dominant, but together making her the unique person that she was, the person he loved. Miral knew that same love, that same acceptance was extended to her by both parents as well. Even knowing this, even living in a world where everyone was accepted for who they were, life was still difficult sometimes. She was unique, proud to be unique, but uniqueness also could create a sense of isolation.
Perhaps this was why Miral's best friend was T'Mira. T'Mira was Vulcan and human, but more human than she was anything else, with dominant genes that made her appear more like the parts of her that were actually present in smaller quantities. Miral had always known T'Mira was part human. It had been the slightly older girl who had approached Miral, explaining how she believed Miral to be of a similar mixed ancestry to her own, the only difference being Vulcan instead of Klingon. Even that tiny bit of Klingon could flare—causing Miral to bristle at being compared to a Vulcan, the polar opposite of her. Part of that anger, Miral understood from deep conversations with her mother, was jealousy. Vulcans contained what Klingons naturally exuded. T'Mira's acceptance of her had felt like her own parents' feelings. They were fast friends.
Opposites attracted, or so her father had always said. Truth be told, she always thought her parents were quite a bit alike, they just exhibited those traits in different ways. The same way she and T'Mira did.
T'Mira was older, and for a Vulcan two years in childhood was more like ten, but the Vulcan had never made her feel too young or childish in any way. They talked, they played sports and games. T'Mira had been fascinated by the antiques that Miral loved along with her father. They both liked animals and history. The fact that they never laughed or joked together, like she did with her other friends, never was an issue. T'Mira accepted laughter, even though she didn't participate in it.
Along with T'Mira, four of Miral's other friends were here. Leila Hawkins, a human whose mother was the station counselor, was another close friend, the same age as Miral. The other girls—Litayl, Melinka, and Je'ta, were classmates, friendly with the other three.
"Vulcan's don't celebrate birthdays, though, right?" Miral brought up, hearing the discussion that had been transpiring around her while she was thinking.
"Vulcans don't celebrate," T'Mira stressed, Miral swearing the girl was being sarcastic. "However, my father was human, and my mother always acknowledged his birthday. She still does, even though he died. She acknowledges mine as well."
"Klingons have lots of rituals, most of them involving some kind of pain being inflicted on some part of the body," Miral added with a comical shiver. "My mom says we just skip those. My grandfather, her father, is human and they celebrate birthdays too."
Turning conspiratorial, Miral whispered with a wicked grin, "Your Mom and Commander Michaels look…smitten."
"I am not familiar with that word," T'Mira explained.
"My Dad says it. It means like… like like each other," Miral laughed.
"That, I thought, was quite obvious, Miral," T'Mira deadpanned.
"Is Commander Michaels her boyfriend?" Leila asked urgently.
"Perhaps," T'Mira replied.
"That's good, right?" Miral asked with genuine curiosity.
"He is so cute I can't even stand it," Leila crooned.
"You are speaking about my mother's boyfriend, Leila. Isn't that…icky?" T'Mira offered, both teasing and mimicking with a straight face, and fooling no one.
Everyone laughed. Leila piped in, "Have you seen him? Tall, dark and handsome…like a prince in a holo fairytale," she sighed dreamily.
"He is quite Vulcan-ish, like Miral says," T'Mira offered. "Perhaps that is why it works. Why my mother finds him so…fascinating." The others laughed, not in mockery, but in a shared joke about her favorite word.
"Are you happy about it?" Miral asked her quietly. "You know what I mean," she shot out quickly, anticipating a common retort about emotions.
"My mother…wanted this. I am gratified that she has what she has always wanted," T'Mira said with a slight, twisted smile.
"So…yes!" Miral laughed, sensing the suppressed emotion within her friend that told her she was, in fact, happy. It made her feel better when everyone else felt better.
}LS{
The single candle flame fluttered on the table in front of them, flickering as T'Lassa's breath was expelled. It was the only light inside Aaron's quarters. He had kept his word, promising to continue meditation with her, knowing how much it had helped center him when he had felt the need to obliterate his conscious mind with the numbing effects of alcohol. She had taught him to hold out the pain, enrobe it in light, let it float away, so that sleep would return in peace. He knew how to do that, but, he had found, since having bonded with T'Lassa, there was no more debilitating pain inside him. So instead, he sat with her, feeling the soft slough of her thoughts in his brain like a whispered memory.
"It is complete," she said aloud, breaking the silence as she opened her eyes. The lights in his quarters automatically illuminated at a low level. Her face was peaceful and serene, but in her eyes, he saw something else burning under the surface, realized again that he had seen this look in her eyes before, and had always mistaken it for something else.
"Are you all right, Aaron?" she asked. "You seemed distracted, like you couldn't focus."
He reached out with his mind again, unable to resist the intimacy of communicating with her in such a fashion. Can you hear me, Las?
Her eyes widened at the shortened version of her name. Yes, Aaron.
He had heard that name for her, echoed in his thoughts. It had come out, without conscious thought. With chagrin, he realized this was what her husband had called her. I'm sorry.
But she had heard it all in his mind. She spoke aloud to him. "It was a nickname. Humans are fond of shortening their given names with close associates, as a way to foster familiarity."
"Vulcans don't, do they?" he asked, even as he nodded in agreement with her. His own first name didn't lend well to shortened, nickname versions.
"No. Not with each other. There is a part of my name unpronounceable to most humans, which we leave off. If you believe that counts." She looked away slightly. "But, as you know, my husband was human. He found it easier to have a shortened name for me."
"I shouldn't have called you that. I--"
She continued, undaunted. "His given name was Timothy. I, and his friends, called him Tim. It was no affront to me when someone else called him Tim. It is not a pet name. You dishonor no one by using it."
She felt him relax, and yet, something else still left him uneasy. "What is it?" she asked.
"I…" Words couldn't come. She felt his questioning and uncertainty.
She shifted to sit beside him, her thigh brushing gently against his leg. "I do not underestimate the difficulty of your initiation to Vulcan sexuality. It is quite different from its human counterpart."
"I don't remember most of it, the physical part anyway. I feel like my brain's been turned inside out. It doesn't bother me, it just feels strange," he told her.
"The physical part is not that different," she teased, the corner of her mouth curving up. Again, she felt a wall rise between them. He was trying to keep his emotions closer to himself, and away from her.
In his mind, she said, It is only logical to be as you are. Do not waste this energy concerned about what you cannot change.
"You're...different now, than you were last night." He chose to use his voice, a conscious decision that she felt, almost akin to a rejection of the intimacy of telepathy. The unasked question hung between them.
"How so?" she asked calmly.
"Last night, I felt… everything….from you, so intensely. Now you're…" His voice trailed away, edged with sadness.
She understood, in that instant, and felt compelled to explain. "It was the blood fever. I was unable to suppress my emotions because of it." She looked inward, then explained again, as if she needed to convince herself as well. "You have no reference for me, without it."
His emotions were still discoverable inside her, just as intensely as the first moment, because he was human. "My husband explained it to me a long time ago. The difference between looking at a photograph, or participating in a holodeck simulation."
"Exactly, " he said, and she sensed his understanding.
"You also will find, if you are ever far enough away from me, that you will only be vaguely aware of me. Even two Vulcans experience this. A Vulcan and a human...like that...is very rare. T'Mir had that with my grandfather, and she always believed I would too, that it was hereditary. She was right, of course."
"What about telepathy? How long range is that?" he asked softly.
She blinked several times, eventually glancing away from him before she answered. "I do not know. We have only ever been together on this station. I'm not sure how far away I could get from you, before it diminished."
"But what about--" he stopped, seeing the ever so slight discomfort, the tensing of her shoulder muscles. Then it flashed in his mind, as he sensed her embarrassment. He saw the green pallor of her skin flush a deeper hue. He sensed it, and then almost couldn't believe it. "You could never communicate with your husband like this?" he asked in amazement.
She flushed an even deeper green. "Not with words. Not at all like…." I have with you, she finished in his mind.
"I don't understand…" he said slowly, as he felt her wrestling with his incredulity inside his head.
She turned her face to the side. "T'Mir and my grandfather could, I know that. She told me. My mother and father could not." She looked alarmed for a moment, like she had told him something she shouldn't have. T'Lassa recovered quickly, turning her face to neutral. "She always believed it had to do with...intensity of...feeling...at the time of the bonding. Although there was no logical way to test her hypothesis, I do know, she chose to marry her human husband after they fell in love. The bond forms automatically, and no two are ever the same."
He forced her to look at him, turning her chin back towards him. His eyes were like daggers that cut into her. "Because you…." He chose to speak aloud, although found he couldn't actually say the words he was thinking. Loved me? His voice echoed in her mind.
"Those feelings you sensed," she started to say out loud, but he heard the heaviness in her voice, and the unevenness in her tone. She swallowed, resting her head against his cheek, as he released his hold. I have felt that way….for a long time.
He felt his blood rushing in his ears, the sound of his own heart pounding all the way to his bones. His bewilderment interfered with his coherent thoughts' formation. Slowly, he felt her emotion seep into his thoughts, his very blood. The first question he had asked her when he came to, asking her why she had never shared her feelings, now seemed incomplete. Although he knew the answer she had given then would have been the same. The searing pain he had felt coming from her, after the blood fever, took on another layer of meaning. The intensity and duration of those feelings she had been hiding from him now amazed him again.
Understanding all of this as his brain worked around their link, she spoke to his thoughts, You needed time. To understand what I saw when I looked at you….To see it for yourself, to know your own worth. To heal from those wounds.
Pictures of him at his very worst flipped by in her memory like pages in a book. The shame and disgust those images evoked in him roared in his mind, even as he fought to temper them. Overshadowing that inner shame, he sensed her impressions. She had never felt anything but compassion for him in his darkest days, compassion that slowly turned to love. She could not separate those feelings…they co-existed, fused together. The picture he saw in her mind, how she perceived him, cracked his heart open, and tears poured from his eyes, unchecked.
She felt the warm tears stream down her temple as he wept openly. She gently placed her hand against his other cheek and brushed away more tears. She sensed him recoil, afraid to inflict his emotion deep inside her. Your emotions are beautiful to me, Aaron. Share them with me…please don't hide them from me.
She felt his lips against her cheek, heard his jagged breathing and the pounding of his heart. She shifted only slightly, his lips inching towards her own. He kissed her tenderly. She sensed the softness of his lips, while at the same time almost shivering from the shared sensation of what her mouth felt like against his. Her softest sigh escaped into his mouth. He was aching for her, she knew. But even after this new knowledge, he held something close to himself still, shielding it as best he could with no abilities of his own, trusting that she would not force it. Do not be afraid to feel. It is part of you.
He stopped kissing her. She felt his regret, his need for more despite his restraint. His uneasiness to let them flow to her would not subside, despite her impassioned pleas. What is it, Aaron? Why are you troubled?
He looked away, starting speaking aloud again, his voice rough and coarse from his tears. "Humans don't ever have this with each other. I don't know why it's bothering me, but it is. I feel like I'm bombarding you with all this emotion, while you're so calm and cool." He covered his face.
"Why does that hurt you?" she asked innocently.
"Because you're Vulcan." She saw his impressions, pictures in his mind he had used as template facts all his life.
"I am Vulcan. It is logical to act as a Vulcan, is it not? It is appropriate for you to display your emotions. You are human. Why would you believe I would want you to behave as anything other than as you are?" she asked gently. She reached for his face, stroking his cheek with the back of her fingers with tenderness.
She watched his eyes close, even as she could feel him luxuriate in her touch. But, his voice was broken when he replied, "Every Vulcan I've ever met had a terrible aversion to human emotions. It's hard to just...let them go, especially knowing how intensely you sense them," he told her.
"I am not like any other Vulcan, I can assure you. I am only myself. Raised by a woman who found herself more comfortable among humans than her own race." He watched her hand reach up to the IDIC she wore around her neck. She pinched the silver triangle between her fingers. "We are more alike than different. We celebrate the differences. Understand who I am. Who we are, when we are together. No one occupies this space but us."
I love you.
It was more than words, more than just the passion in the thought he could feel and not just hear. It was the blanket again, surrounding him, covering him, soothing him. He brushed her hair back from her face, hesitantly, almost afraid to touch her. He wanted to kiss her again, touch her, feel her body against him.
She could feel the tension building inside him. She spoke aloud to him again. "Humans engage in sexual activity for many reasons. Love, comfort, procreation, physical release, healing, enjoyment…Vulcans are different." She felt it inside her then, like a physical pain, like a knife cutting through his body. The act last evening that he could barely remember--he was equating that with how a relationship with her would be, the only way she could share herself completely with him was during those random times. He still was unable to bend the prism to encompass all of what their feelings could be.
She needed more than anything to allay his fears. "That phenomenon has only happened to me three times in 93 years. Being married to a human was much easier on me. Once every 30 years is….not enough." He knew she was teasing him, trying to lighten the mood.
You are human, she said in his head. To love a human, you must love as humans love.
She reached for his hand, brought it up to her cheek. He ran his thumb along the curve of her cheekbone. Do not be afraid, he heard again. She kissed him, very softly, just a brush against his lips. "Do not humans make love simply for the feeling of closeness? Because they can't hear each other's thoughts?" He nodded, even though he knew she had sensed his feelings. She felt the pain in him begin to subside. "I do not wish there to be any space between us, Aaron."
His breath rushed out in a hot stream against her face. "That's all that I want, Las. I couldn't focus before. All I wanted was to be with you again," he whispered breathlessly. "I was just afraid that last night…was the only time it would be like that."
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him down to kiss her. "If we meld, you have access to what I'm suppressing. Always. It is the nature of the mating bond." One corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. "Just make love to me. That is what you want. It is what I want as well," she whispered against his lips.
She reached toward his face, her palms upward, a sign of docility. Before, she had grabbed him and forcefully initiated the meld, something she had been unable to control because of the blood fever. He closed his eyes and rested his hands by his sides, cueing her to his consent. She touched the bones on his face, gently, so lightly he almost didn't feel the contact. Slowly, the pinpoint of her essence in his brain grew, as if he were traveling through a telescope lens.
He felt her then, more intensely than any image he had seen since parting the night before. This is what I share with you, only you. In this place, when we are together. It will always be such, and you will acclimate to it, so that the connection becomes unconscious, like breathing.
He felt the softness of her emotions as they seemed to envelop him, just as before, only this time, he felt her desire for him, her wish that he do as she had asked him to do moments before.
She felt him immediately cease worrying, or doubting, as he had done most of the day. He questioned just one thing, she sensed. Her proclamation, about the longevity of it. There was no hesitation in him, no fear at her words. Just the question. Like he wanted confirmation of the pledge of permanence.
I cannot break the bond.
Do you mean you're stuck with me? he teased, amused, and she knew.
You may block it at any time, as I showed you. Leaving it blocked diminishes the bond over time. Vulcans do, on occasion, divorce, or part ways, she thought.
That isn't what I meant, he shot at her stridently.
I cannot break the bond, she said again. This time, he understood all of it. It was an attestation to her inability to disconnect herself from him, as if without him, she would perish.
She felt...something akin to gratitude as he absorbed what she was telling him. When he thought to her again, she felt the rush of his emotion come at her.
Before, when you were in pain….was the worst I've ever felt in my life. And you know, better than anyone, how bad I've truly felt. It created a feedback loop. The question from her fluttered in his mind. I'm an engineer, I can't help it, he continued. The opposite of the one that knocked me out before. The amount of pain I felt, from myself and from you...and me knowing you were hurting….because of me….
Even the memory of it in him cut into her. None of that was intentionally caused by you. She grasped his hand, pulling it against her chest. Hiding my feelings for you was my choice. It was probably the least logical thing I could have done. I let my fear overpower my logic. My human frailty….but part of me.
I may not have intended to hurt you, but I did, he told her.
That...pain had ...also...been inside me for ...a long time. She watched his face, how unbelieving still at the breadth and depth of her emotions when it came to him. It is not there any longer.
I meant what I said. I promise you, I will never be the cause of pain like that for you again. You mean….everything to me, he swore.
Anything else, any of his logical arguments, or even his teasing, fell away. He let the sentiment speak for itself, let her feel what he felt, even as he felt it rush back at him. It was intoxicating, addicting in its own way, to lose himself in the sensation of feeling what she was feeling. The burning in his chest he knew was love, the ache in every cell of his body that he knew was longing and desire. He had spent his life hiding his emotions; it was just his nature. After his complete breakdown, he had learned how he had used alcohol to numb his emotions that had intensified beyond his ability to contain. But no matter what, he felt better, and was better equipped to navigate his life with his emotions under control. With her, like this, everything relaxed. They were both safe, here, with each other.
He felt her hands, unzipping his uniform, peeling back his layers of clothing until her hands were against his bare chest. When he did the same, when his hand was touching her burning flesh, running across her shoulder and her breast, he felt something familiar from her. Like breathing after holding his breath, or drinking after nearly dying of thirst. Relief, he knew. Relief, he thought with amazement. Humbled, that something so basic had such a profound effect. Because it was him, his hands touching her.
He lifted her into his arms and laid her on his bed. He was slow, deliberate, relishing every touch on each slight curve of her body. He explored her body with his hands, and his mouth, in a way he had not taken the time to do last night in her fevered frenzy. She was completely silent, but he knew from the gentle flutter of her thoughts that she craved his continuance. She touched his face only briefly, allowing him to share the pleasure he had given her. Eventually, he felt her stop trembling, while the vibrations of her contended pleasure echoed in his mind.
Her hands reached for him, her mouth against his body. Thoughts flashed across his mind, and then, an instant later, she did as he had wished. "Are you reading my mind?" he asked, his voice tight as he labored to breathe.
She pressed him down into his pillows, leaving him gasping as she answered his question by acting out the dream in his head. Tears crept down the side of his face as he squeezed his eyes shut. He lost the moment, all sense of time.
And then he was inside her, feeling the tightness as she convulsed, arching up against his body, shaking as the pleasure washed over her. She remained soundless, barely breathing. He crushed her against him as he climaxed, his soft moan of pleasure hushing in her ear. She collapsed against him when it was over. Their breathing synchronized, calming at the same rate. He held onto her, lazily tracing the length of her spine with his fingers.
"Curious," she said after a while.
"What?" he asked.
"It was a ….unique sensation." He blushed at her directness. "I have never done that before." It was a profound statement, and he let it sink in. "You have, I assume, as a human. You were quite skilled."
His cheeks flamed florid. "It's easier….when I can sense what you're thinking. I could sense you not wanting me to stop."
"I have no frame of reference, but you found the activity more intimate. You were nervous," she explained.
"I wasn't sure….how you'd react. It is very intimate. There's a level of trust, and comfort, required for that. I wouldn't do that, with someone I didn't love. And I wouldn't have been thinking about you doing it to me, if I also didn't love you." He realized as he continued, he hadn't said those words out loud before. "I wouldn't have thought about it at all if I had known you would take my fantasizing as a directive," he laughed.
"Was it adequate? What I--"
"Adequate?" he laughed. "You were reading my mind at the time, were you not? Couldn't you tell?"
"You were torn. Between wanting me to not stop, and wanting to...complete the normal act," she explained slowly.
Talking dirty with a Vulcan, he thought. There was something to cross off the bucket list. He laughed, both out loud, and in his head. You make it sound like a real estate transaction. But I understand. What I don't understand is why.
"Why do I love you?" she asked out loud.
"I was such a mess….in some ways, I still am," he whispered. The memory from before, knowing how she had felt even at his very worst, still confounded him.
"Love is not logical. Nor can it be rationalized. It just is. Why do you love me?" she asked in return.
Because you saved me. He heard the words in his head, a loud proclamation he made completely on instinct. In every way you could have. He felt her awe and gratitude reflect back to him.
"I have often wondered how it works, when humans engage in this activity. You cannot even be sure the other person returns your initial emotion, has been satisfied, or even if you have caused physical pain. It is….unfathomable to me," she said.
"It's like you said before. Two humans can't know what each other is thinking or feeling. We can't merge our thoughts. All we can do is merge our bodies, for a very brief time. An enormous amount of trust must be present, to give so much, when you are unsure of the other. And you can never, ever, be 100% sure. No matter what. You must also have faith," he explained.
She placed her chin on her hand, engrossing herself in their conversation. "My grandmother spoke very often about my grandfather, who was human. He was a gentleman, sweet, and kind, she said. She trusted humans more than any other Vulcan I ever knew. And I know it was because of him. I was often reminded of her memories of him when I was with you. I believe T'Mir would have enjoyed your company."
"Aren't Vulcan marriages arranged when you are children? How did you end up married to a human?" he asked.
"I was betrothed at seven years of age. My father was all Vulcan, and believed it was an important tradition. My grandmother disagreed, but allowed them to arrange it. Both of my parents died in an accident right after I turned seven."
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
"My bondmate's... time…came while I was in Starfleet. I was on an away mission; our shuttle was shot down by Romulans in the Neutral Zone. We were stranded for three weeks before Starfleet rescued us. He found another mate. I…" She focused on the wall, as if seeing the scene again in her mind. "We were captured by the Romulans." He felt it, like a dark shroud, covering part of what she could not share with him. It felt cold, forbidding. He felt her dread, horrified at what she was concealing. Images transferred to him, hazy and vague, but so terribly horrific he recoiled.
"Las," he whispered, his voice tender. Inside him the anger boiled, knowing what the Romulan soldiers had done to her. What she did remember clearly was the pain that he could still feel, transferred from her, from 60 years past. He held her tightly against him, feeling the slight trembling in her as the images kept flashing through her mind. "Ssh…" he whispered.
"Tim, and T'Mir, were the only two people who ever knew." The cold words solidified the jumbled agony of pictures and thoughts. His insides felt knotted, disgusted that someone would violate her. Using her uncontrollable desire, her lack of inhibitions, to deepen the violation. He felt his gore rise, picturing now what it must have been like for her.
She garnered strength from the arms that held her, trusting him enough to tell him the truth. "My future husband and I were the only survivors of the crash. He tried to stop the...attack. They almost killed him. There were only two of them, though. When the other soldier…began attacking me…..I managed to grab his weapon." More dark shrouds, another layer of horrid memories. "Romulan weapons….don't have a stun setting." She laid her head down on his chest again, as it became more difficult to speak. "I tried to conceal what happened. I never told Tim...exactly what happened to me. He knew, figured it out...from how I was acting. He tried to help me...in his way. It was very difficult. And I pushed him away." Her control slipped ever so slightly, as he felt melancholy rise up from her depths. "I found out I was pregnant about three days after we were rescued."
He felt her horror, and her sadness for the same thing...a half-Romulan child, inside her body. Whose father had taken almost everything from her. A man she had been forced to kill.
"I don't know how he knew, but Tim did. He asked me to marry him. Wouldn't take no for an answer. He had never even kissed a woman before that….but he promised me he would take care of me. T'Mir told me in no uncertain terms that I was lucky to have found such a noble human, and that I should make my life with him. She was right. Our relationship evolved over time, and I came to love him, in a way I know I never could have felt about my bondmate." Her voice weakened as she explained. "I gave birth to my son. Our son."
He felt such a torrent of emotion coming from her. Uncertainty and fear, even hatred. Questions arose before he could contain them, this new ability still foreign in many ways. No words, but the question. Why?
"Vulcan telepathy….is not limited to voluntary mind melds, as you know now. Vulcan mothers can sense their unborn children's thoughts….very early. Both times I became pregnant, I knew because of that, rather than medical tests." She left the rest unsaid, all the while he sensed her memory of gentleness and love at the sight of her innocent child. How desperately she had loved him.
Her voice evened, took on a pedantic tone as she added, "T'Mir supported me, even though she had very little tolerance for Romulans, as her mother fought with Earth during the Romulan War. T'Mir and Sarek were friends. They grew up together. T'Mir's husband worked with Amanda Grayson at the Language Institute. The rift between Spock and his father…" She swallowed, looking away. "I know T'Mir told Sarek about what had happened to me, in general terms. It's why Sarek thought the reunification ideal was not attainable. Because they were untamed savages at heart. Spock thought otherwise."
He couldn't form the words, but rather the thoughts transferred anyway. His admiration, for what he considered a tremendous act of courage and sacrifice. "To act out of love...requires no courage," she argued out loud. He disagreed, she felt. Understanding how he believed to love itself was the most courageous act of all. He sensed it from her, reflected, as if off of a mirror. Her admiration of his courage.
"Do you know Ambassador Spock?" he asked, curious.
"I have met him twice, once as a child, when he attended my parents' funeral. The other as an adult, at his mother's funeral. T'Lira, my mother, and Spock went to school together." There was something just beyond the curtain, something about her mother, that she kept away from him. He was curious, but left it, as he sensed another shroud, more devastating and deep than any of the others, a virtual black hole of despair.
"Our child did not survive an epidemic of Rigelian fever when he was less than a year old. That experience usually destroys relationships. We...survived that together. Our bond strengthened."
"Oh my God, Las. I'm so sorry. I never knew…." He felt a calming inside her, peace settling the turbulence the terrible memories had stirred. "I didn't mean to make you live through that again--"
"You deserve to know," she said. "I haven't spoken that story out loud for 60 years, and even then I only told it once, to my grandmother." He felt her emotion radiate inside him, grateful for the trust he knew she felt.
"He was born in 2318 during the war between the Klingons and the Romulans. Ritalyn was still in short supply, while there were still refugees in many different locations, both inside and outside the Federation. He had different dosing requirements, because he was half Romulan." He knew all of that, aware of how pointless it had been, since the cure for Rigellian fever existed even in the 22nd century.
Her voice lessened to a whisper. "We spent the rest of our marriage trying to conceive another child. T'Mira was only a baby when he died. He had only seen her once."
"I'm so sorry," he said softly.
He didn't know what else to say, and just held her in his arms as she started to fall asleep. Even if he lived to be 150 years old, he knew he would want only to see her face each day as he woke, and fell asleep. A week ago, that thought would have frightened him. Now it lulled him to sleep.
