A/N: Poor Winona--she knows, on some level, that what's going on in her head is pretty wrong, but she's starting to not care. Bluehorserunning, you took what was in my mind and put better words around it than I could have; she's running out of the level of energy it takes to hate all her captors so much, and the fact that others have been kind to her isn't helping. I have a feeling she'll hang onto the idea of escape for quite a while simply because she thinks she ought to, but as time goes on it will be less a viable plan and more something she tells herself she wants.

I have to admit I didn't intend Nero's plan to actually work at all--like Amor Delirus, it was originally conceived as a straight-up tragedy, but apparently I'm more of a hopeless (if twisted) romantic than I thought. XD

It grips you so hold me

It stains you so hold me

It hates you so hold me

It holds you so hold me

Until it sleeps

--Metallica

----

Winona had no idea how long she stayed like that, curled up with her head on the Romulan's shoulder. After some small eternity her tears ran dry, but lingered sticky-salty on her face long after they'd ceased. Eventually she became aware that the Romulan was lightly stroking her hair, and what little of her mind still properly functioned registered that it was a very simple touch, shorn of the almost insane level of need that had infused every other touch he'd ever given her. For once he was only giving, asking nothing, and because of that she simply couldn't bring herself to move. It had been so damn long since she'd had any real contact with a human being; Doctor Sy's examinations didn't really count, since they were strictly medical, and though Nero wasn't human he was as close as she was going to find here. Her sanity had slipped to the point where she could hate him yet take genuine comfort from him. She was going crazy and she didn't care; it seemed like forever since she'd even dared ask for comfort. She was crazy, she was still hurting beyond what she'd thought she could possibly endure, she was--

--asleep.

----

Nero held her and watched her, long after she fell asleep. She felt so small in his arms, and he realized she had to have lost weight since she first arrived. Small, and cool, a living, breathing being who he for only the second time saw, really saw, as a creature in her own right, unconnected at all to Mandana.

The simple fact was that he hadn't put any thought at all into this plan of his. Fate had dropped this woman and her son on him, and he'd hung onto them because dammit, he deserved at least one good thing in his life. Two, in their case. It was only now, after all these months, that he was realizing the sheer level of silent agony he'd put Winona through--that he was actually acknowledging all that pain was his fault. Her reticence hadn't done it; even the grief-markings, painted so carefully on her skin, hadn't really made it hit home. Nothing had, until now. She was not simply an extension of Mandana, and he had to stop thinking of her as such, even subconsciously. He couldn't leave her alone with this any longer, though he was unsure if she'd let him help her. Yet.

Very carefully, so as not to wake her, he leaned back in his chair and drew her onto his lap--she was so much smaller than him that it was almost like holding a child. How had he not seen this before? Had he really been so blinded by his own grief?

Of course you have. Once upon a time Nero hadn't been nearly so selfish, and the breakdown of all Winona's carefully-controlled reserve seemed to wake some sleeping part of the man he'd been, Before. Oren, it seemed, was not wholly dead after all.

This is your fault. One finger traced the drying lines of her tears, close but not quite touching her face. It was, and he knew it, and he also knew there was nothing he could say that would ever change that. She had every right to hate him as much as he hated the Vulcans, especially Spock, and that thought…hurt, in a way he didn't think anything could anymore. It was something he might never be able to change, either. You should just let her go.

He knew that, too, but--he couldn't. Especially not now that he'd finally woken to Winona-the-person, the woman who hurt as much as he did. He needed her in a way quite different from either wish he'd already had; not as a wife, not as surrogate mother to his surrogate son, but as Winona, a woman he realized he needed to know much more about. The mother, the woman, the Starfleet officer--everything. Somehow he had to get her to talk to him, to trust him even a little.

-Why should she? You killed her husband, you're keeping her prisoner--what reason does she have to trust you?-

He recognized the inner voice, vaguely--the voice of Oren, of what little of his former self remained lurking in the back of his mind.

I'll give her one. I'll show her I mean her no harm--I'll make her happy, somehow. I know I could make her want to stay, if I had enough time.

-It's wrong, Nero. It's wrong and it's selfish, and what you want from her she would never give if her mind wasn't on the way to breaking. You have no right to do this.-

I love her. That's my right. And Nero was somewhat startled to realize he was starting to actually mean it. All these months, in the rare moments he looked at her at all, he'd done so as though she were a second Mandana, some element of his life re-incarnated. Pre-incarnated, he supposed, since this was long before either of them would be born. She wasn't, though, and he was determined to do something with this newfound realization. Just what he didn't yet know, but…something. As Mandana would have said, knowledge was power.

Winona shifted, her expression deeply unhappy even in her sleep. He brushed the tear-sticky hair back from her forehead, wishing there was actually something he could say. For now he'd settle for giving her what little comfort he could, and hope she wasn't quite so miserable on waking.

---

When Winona finally climbed, all unwilling, back to consciousness, she found she still had her head rested on Nero's shoulder, curled up like a very forlorn little girl. Part of her wanted to shove him away like something poisonous, but she was just so damn tired…she couldn't summon enough energy to even move. That…was a problem, a very big problem, but she was drained to the point that even the thought of moving was too much effort.

At least he didn't try to say anything this time. He was just there, something solid and close to human, and his presence soothed her in spite of everything. Half-mad murderer he might be, but he was also the only thing she had to hang onto at the moment

And it helped that he wasn't trying to manipulate her. Even bone-weary as she was, she recognized that there was no ulterior motive in him, not at the moment--he was offering solace the only way he knew how, and it was a mark of her mental state that she could accept it with only a little reservation. Even the strange distinctive scent of him, normally so nerve-wracking, seemed a bizarre comfort now, because she knew it, she was used to it--it was familiar by now, in spite of the relative rarity of his actual presence in her life the last few months. She was cracking apart and she knew it, but just now she didn't care in the slightest.

For a long, long while she lay still and said nothing, wondering why she wasn't hearing his heartbeat, not realizing that his heart was in his side. The steady rhythm of his breathing was soothing, though, so much so that she forgot to find him creepy, forgot to be nervous or wary or even unduly uncomfortable. All she could do was soak up his heat, wondering why it was so nice when the whole ship was already warmer than any other she'd served on in Starfleet.

The only reason she eventually had to move was because her legs were falling asleep. With a little trepidation, for she had no idea what she might see there, she sat back and searched Nero's face for…she didn't know what. Some expression, any expression that might give her a clue what was going on in his fractured mind. To her surprise she found no need there, no desire physical or spiritual--she had no words nor name for what she did see, and she suspected he didn't, either, that he understood this no more than she. There was a tinge of sorrow, a tinge of guilt--even, she would swear, a tinge of trepidation, as though he were waiting for her judgment as much as she was his.

"I should check on Jim," Winona said, when she finally found her voice. "Doctor Sy has him right now."

She stood, and fortunately her legs still had enough circulation to hold her, even if the pins-and-needles prickle took hold of her feet. Out of sheer habit she tidied up the pads, organizing them on the desk and carefully not looking at him--until he spoke, and her wide eyes snapped back to him, incredibly startled.

"May I…see him?" he asked, and Winona swallowed. He wasn't ordering her, he wasn't even assuming she wouldn't mind--he was actually asking, and if she said no, she had a feeling he'd respect it. So she surprised the hell out of herself when she said,

"All right."

He seemed just as surprised as she was, if the rise of those eyebrows was any indication. Maybe he found the whole situation as surreal as she did.

She gave herself a mental shake, and headed out into the humid warmth of the Narada. After all this time she actually managed to find her way--partway--back to the section of the ship that held her and Doctor Sy's quarters. Finally she ran into a T-junction and had no clue whether to go left or right, and wound up following Nero when he went right. Sooner or later she was going to have to finish learning her way around this damn ship, she thought vaguely, insofar as she could focus on any single thought.

She retrieved Jim from Doctor Sy, who looked a little startled to see Nero with her, but she said nothing. Jim had grown quite a bit in the last few months, his face no longer the red scrunchy face of a newborn. His big eyes were just as blue, though, and he was developing a head of golden fuzz, rather like his mother's hair. Winona took him into her quarters, which wound up rather cramped with Nero as well. He was staring at the baby as though he'd never seen one before--which, she realized, he might not have, at least up close. The child his wife was carrying must have been his first. Would have been.

"Can I--hold him?" he asked, and Winona looked at him skeptically. She didn't like the thought of handing her little son over to this man whose hands were half the baby's size.

"Have you ever actually held a baby?" she asked, and was unsurprised when he shook his head.

"Are they so fragile, that you think I shouldn't?" he said, staring at Jim's big blue eyes.

"Well…no," Winona admitted. "But you still have to be careful and support their heads." She demonstrated, and then, with very great reservation, passed the infant over. The awkwardness with which Nero held him was such a contrast with his ordinary demeanor that she almost couldn't fathom it--she'd never yet seen him look even remotely uncertain, but holding such a tiny creature as a baby seemed to actually unnerve him a little.

"His eyes are…blue," he said, sounding a little surprised.

"Most Caucasian babies' eyes are," Winona said, trying to resist the urge to snatch her son back. "They often change color as the child grows, but I don't think his will." They were even bluer than George's had been, deep as the sky and quite startlingly bright.

"Blue eyes were very rare on Romulus," he said, looking at the child with something like fascination. "And fair hair. Our ancestors who left Vulcan must not have been that genetically diverse."

It was a testament to how deeply numb Winona still was, that she could allow Nero anywhere near Jim, let alone let him hold her son. Were she in her right mind she would never be able to force herself to do that, to let him within an arm's reach of the baby. Once her…shock, whatever she wanted to call it…wore off, she'd probably shudder at the very memory, but for now it was not so terrible a thing. In this hazy cocoon of warm denial, everything was not so painful, and though it would be dangerous to stay here, she still didn't care. She'd give anything to keep that pain away even for a little while, and if that meant letting the bit of her that was swiftly fracturing have its say, then so be it. She could leave it any time she liked. Really.

----

Winona was right in thinking Nero had never really been around babies before. A very few young children, but never babies, small creatures this young. Jim was so small Nero half feared he'd…break him if he so much as breathed wrong. The child didn't break, though; instead those big blue eyes looked up at him, curious and too young to be afraid. The idea that he was looking at the future James T. Kirk simply…didn't really compute, any more than it had when Winona and her son had first arrived here. The idea of this little human as an adult was incomprehensible.

Would his own child have been like this, he wondered? Were Romulan babies less fragile than human, or were all newborn humanoids equally helpless? Mandana would have known what to do, exactly how to hold the infant, and would no doubt be chiding and instructing him in how to do it properly. Winona must not be finding anything wrong with his technique, or she'd surely be much more nervous. The fact that he held little Jim as though he were made of glass probably helped, a bit.

The child blinked at him, and then, quite without warning, spit up all over his coat and wailed a piercing siren cry.

Nero, murderous Romulan, half-crazed captain of a ship whose technology was far beyond anything Winona had ever dreamed of, actually jumped. Winona herself stared, and then started laughing, a dangerous edge of hysteria in it, covering her mouth as thought to muffle it. Her eyes were a little too manic as she took baby Jim and immediately started cleaning him up. She handed Nero a small towel, and, still laughing that truly terrible laugh, said, "Babies…do that. It should wash out easily enough."

Nero looked at the towel, and his coat, and the baby, and then at Winona, who seemed even closer to breaking than she had when she'd cried on his shoulder. He dabbed somewhat ineffectually at his coat before giving up--someone else on this ship had to know how to get baby spit-up out. He hoped.

"Winona," he said, watching her try to care for the squalling baby without breaking down again herself. She didn't seem to hear him, so he touched her shoulder, very lightly, and didn't know what to think when she didn't jump or flinch back. "Winona."

Now she did look at him, pale, strained, her grey eyes still red-rimmed from her crying. "Winona, don't…try to be anything but yourself," he said softly. "You don't need to hide your tears from me. I know you are not Romulan, and I don't expect you to--to pretend you are. If you need to cry, or scream--don't…be ashamed to."

He watched her very carefully, trying to gauge whatever reaction she might possibly have to that. He who was normally articulate enough now couldn't find the words he wanted, casting about through his knowledge of Standard to say what he wished and largely failing. Maybe there were no words in any language for what he was trying to say, but it seemed that Winona, in part at least, understood.

"I can't promise that," she said steadily, her grey eyes never leaving his. "I don't know that I could promise anything now, but…I…I'll try." He wasn't at all sure he liked the tone that underlay her words--it was still a little hysterical in spite of her obvious exhaustion. Even Nero could recognize, now that he'd really looked at her, how fragmented her mind was becoming, but he didn't yet know what to do about it.

He touched her hair, very lightly--a simple touch, gentle and nothing more, the kind of thing he might actually have done in his Before. He was as confused and near-broken as she was, and he knew there was for now nothing more he could say. All he could do was give her a very slight nod, just a brief inclination of his head, acknowledging his newfound knowledge in a way he simply couldn't put into words. The only returning sign she gave was a very slight widening of her eyes, but she'd not missed the gesture.

With that he left her in peace, feeling she might want some time to herself. He certainly did; he needed to try to sort out everything that had happened this morning, and trod the way back to his quarters even more silently than usual. He didn't even see Ayel, busy at work upgrading part of the navigational computer--his second-in-command watched him carefully, staring at his back long after he'd gone. Whatever Ayel might be thinking, even Nero might not have known, but he finished his job as quickly as he could and hurried off to find Onen.

----

A/N: They both surprised me a bit in here. Trying to keep their respective mindsets consistent was…difficult, and I hope I came close to doing it right. Next chapter will include the reactions of the Romulans closest to Nero and Winona--Ayel, Onen, some of the women who Winona visits at odd hours, and of course Doctor Sy. Most of them, I think, will be as confused as our two protagonists, each in their own special way. XD

I have not abandoned Amor Delirus, either, but this current chapter is not cooperating at all, and I keep going back and deleting huge chunks and starting over. That version of Onen, poor broken woman that she is, is proving very difficult to write, and since it's alternating between her and Uhura it's making my life unfortunately difficult. And as always, thank-you to all my lovely reviewers. You guys always make my day. :)