Chapter Text

{ Weaving Stage VIII: Nightmares }

"I can tell you're not the type of man to make that kind of mistake-," I started, glancing at the two men in the room.

Khan gave me a forceful look like a hot sun's glare and I folded under it.

"I did not shoot because I thought you were already dead," He answered, easily lifting my whole body by the arm and setting me back in the chair.

"Order's coming," Noonien murmured in Hindi.

I wasn't going to let them know I could speak anything but English, so I pretended I didn't understand.

"What was that?! And what are you doing with me-?" I couldn't stop talking, it was like I had gone insane. "Why did you take me from the jail- ? Whoare you-?!"

"451-9N," sounded over the intercom (Hindi). "on our way to Intake."

"I am no one and neither are you," Khan instructed (English). "If you want to survive, forget your name."

"But they must call you something-."

"You Americans don't know when to shut up!" Noonien exclaimed (English), exasperated.

I could read "EDUCATION INTAKE" (Hindi) on the screen as it lit up and started again.

"System's back up, we're out of here." Noonien gave Khan a tug by the collar (Hindi). "Your fingerprints are all over this, khan*, now just pull a name out of your ass! Time's up-"

"435-7K," Khan answered me (English). He rose slowly, moving to his own rhythm, although perhaps a bit more drawn out just to irritate his companion. "If you ever again end up at the bottom of a river, you may repeat it- but only once."

"I said 'pull a name out of your ass', you bastard!" Noonien gave Khan a loving smack over the head. "No, go ahead and save them trouble, put your neck in the guillotine yourself!"

Khan lingered for a sliver of a moment and then he was gone.

I took in a deep breath and held it.

"I'll tell you, but only you. And I want some answers in return- otherwise, I won't tell you anything more."

My demand came out a lot more calmly than I expected.

Spock's eyebrow twitched, but that was all that changed his expression.

He was silent for a moment and I raised a hand to shield my eyes from the bright, naked light that bathed the whole jail.

Determined.
Anger, guilt, fear-

"Wow," I finally exhaled, recognizing the emotions weren't mine, but the crew's.

"You are not entitled to make such demands," Spock finally answered.

I felt the tears tear up my chest leaving long, deep, invisible gashes.

"No," I found myself chuckling dryly while the tears kept climbing out of my breast. "No, I'm not entitled, am I?"

I stood up and stared at him- this stupid, sterile stranger- I focused all my anger on him, worked to glower at him like I'd never glared at anyone else before-

"I'm just some chick from the stupid ages! Some index card that didn't get filed away properly! I'm sorry for being such a fucking inconvenience! I'll go stuff myself and stand in the Smithsonian!"

I ignored the present fact that the elf- Vulcan- probably wouldn't understand my 21st century references.

I stepped up to the front of the cell but kept behind the yellow and red lines because I didn't know what the transparent wall was made of- or if it was wall at all-

"I lost my husband! I lost my world- I lost my life!" I meant to point at Spock but crying spasmed my muscles so instead I pointed at him with a crooked finger like some old Disney witch. "And your government is charging me with some crime- I don't know what is going on- and your crew is going batshit crazy up there," I gestured toward the ceiling as I started pacing in a circle. "-their emotions so loud I can't sleep, and I still don't know how the fuck I got here!"

I gripped my hair in my hands so I could feel the painful pull on my scalp.

"You're the only one who's treated me like any kind of human being," I tried to swallow the sobs that hiccupped out."...so I'm sorry if I thought quid pro quo would be reasonable to ask from someone who knows what this is like!"

I blew it- I'd started crying, and now I'd just be some "hysterical" woman or a "manipulative"-

"I apologize."

What?

I looked up to find Spock studying me carefully.

"You're correct," He nodded. "I have no reason to treat you with bias and I apologize if it seemed like I was."

I took a moment to hitch in my breathing, hold down the sobbing.

I pushed the tears off my face.

"No, don't say 'It's okay' unless you mean it."

"Then what do I say?" I asked.

Mam* had thought for a moment.

"'Thank you'?" I suggested.

"Yes, 'thank you'! Say 'thanks'."

"Than-thank you," I stuttered while I found the strength to reign myself in.

I can't believe he listened to me.
My shivering breaths were refreshing, the cell a little less cramped.

"...You want to know about the- injections," I tangled my hand back into my hair. "What makes you think that the c-."

Yes, the captain- but as this is against usual protocol, please don't leave a trace back to him.

You really care about him, don't you?

He is my friend.

"I'm not as good at that," I was flushed from trying to interpret and send mental messages. "but I understand."

Khan and Noonien gave off the same emotional vibration as the captain and Spock.

Warmth mixed with irritation and concern.

Classic friendship.

"If there are Augment Injections involved- um- this person isn't flying the ship, is he?

Spock looked at me incredulously.

"Well I don't mean like an airplane," I felt my cheeks burn into a deeper red. "It's just- he shouldn't be driving- I mean flying-."

A golden spark in Spock's eye.

At least I was good at making him laugh. I'd be sure to point out something from my world that he didn't understand.

"Where is this person?" I asked.

"Is that really of any significance?"

"Absolutely, " I nodded, closing my eyes.

Mam had taught me how to organize all the stimuli, all the readings, the vibrations from people.

I visualized dozens of cords, chains, and tethers hanging from different angles.

Many colors and textures.

I felt around- I couldn't feel much, it was as if I were wearing two pairs of gloves.

I guess I was rusty. (Understandable since much of my life was still draped in a fog.)

I managed to find a cord that gave off the same reading as the captain and I took it in my hands.

"...In his-."

"Sleeping," I thought aloud. "...in his room? That's good. How long ago was- um, this person- injected?"

"Over two years ago."

"Oh, well- if he hasn't gone nuts by now-," I stopped, noticing the flicker in Spock's usual calm vibrations. "-that's a colloquialism, sorry- I mean, if he hasn't exhibited symptoms by now-."

"What are the symptoms?" Spock asked cautiously.

"For men?" I thought for a moment, reaching into my murky memory. "The first symptoms are insomnia and strange, vivid dreams. Eventually your body will adjust to a much lighter sleep schedule, but in the meantime, the body thinks it's dying. Paranoia, delusions, irritability- but they pass- though the men always gain some higher level of aggression or violence that does not seem to dissipate...but there are more signs, worse ones...in extreme cases..."

"You know these facts from beyond your own experience?" Spock was surprised.

"You think I was the only one they tried to pump full of Augmented blood? I was held captive for two years, sir. I infiltrated an intelligence task force and got my hands on all the medical information I could."

Shit. I'd said way too much.

I noticed Spock had already carefully logged away the information.

"It is reassuring to find you are more easily accessing your memories," Spock observed, suspicion tingled under the cover of his peaceful aura.

I opened my mouth to speak but realized there was nothing to say. In spontaneous spurts of lucidity, I would think or comment on something from my life- not a memory I was unaware of, but rather one I hadn't been able to reach before-

Memories kept on a high shelf. All the while I was hopping and leaning and tossing my body to grab what I wanted, then just like that-

-it would teeter off the shelf and fall into my arms.

Hayagriva's Intelligence & Infiltration Task Force, where Khan had been the prince of his fellow warriors.

The task force- we had all called it IIT.

"So Khan successfully extracted you from the...'re-education' program," Spock assumed.

"He saved my life," My tears seemed to come from nowhere but I rubbed my cheeks dry again. "...What was the quality of the injections? How many did- this person- receive?"

"Quality?"

"Some Augments are- better crafted than others," I managed, trying not to talk about them like they were things rather than people. People rather than subjects. "...Depending on whose blood you are dealing with, the injections could cause more...drastic changes or more...fatal...ones...but it also depends on how many injections of Augmented blood- this person- received. How many?"

Spock hesitated and I sensed a really dark memory cloud him.

"They were...less...injections," He managed, giving an uncomfortable cough. "...more of a- transfusion..."

"A whole transfusion?" I exclaimed in disbelief. "Have- have you learned anything from my time?!"

"Previous experimentation had shown it to be fairly restorative-."

"At first!" I specified, putting my head in my hands again, tugging on my hair. "It always appears to be a magical healing potion at first, but then-! What the fuck-! Are you people completely insane? What circumstance would make you so ambitious-."

"A matter of life and death-," Spock's eyes were sharp like icicles.

"Then you should have left him dead!"

Spock's reaction was so instant and passionate that I nearly lost my balance-

Anger, rage, fury, agitation-

Out of all emotions, I hated feeling others' anger the most: it was a terrifying sensation, like speeding down a steep hillside of traffic with no way to stop. All my life I'd worked on finding a way to steer the anger I felt from others, and I had never been successful- it just knocked me off my feet and into a panic attack.

Instead it was just me behind the wheel of a huge SUV careening down Mount Everest.
That sickening feeling of falling and imminent destruction.

My stomach lurched in a threat of evacuation.

I guided myself down to the floor and sat staring off to the far wall.

"No, annwyl*, process it- process what you're feeling, what you're receiving from others. Process it like a computer: observe, assess, and organize."

Mam had always said I was more talented than she was, but Mam always underestimated her incredible ability to endure extreme, chaotic emotions and still function rather than just-

"I'm going to throw up-," I gasped, glancing around the cell and finding no trash can or toilet. "Where- where do I-?"

No time, take your best option.

My eyes and mouth watered painfully before I managed to bend over a small, black compartment in the back of the cell to hack and gag, choke and cough until I thought I was going to pass out from lack of breath.

"That is your drawer for personal effects," Spock spoke coolly.

Between the globs of disturbingly-bright colored sick, I could see a hair brush, a small mirror, a new pair of socks, and a bottle of some kind of soap.

At least it wasn't some expensive piece of 23rd century technology that they'd want me to pay for- I didn't have any money.

There was another terrifying realization that made me feel even more naked.

I leaned over the drawer again for round two.

"The large button on your left labeled 'Lavatory' would have been a better choice..." Spock turned from me. "...or the button marked 'Refuse'. Both fold out these amenities from your cell walls. Officer Atch'axah, would you take two Ondans out of the med kit for Miss Averly?" Spock requested.

I lied down on the floor, feeling the cool tile under my back.
Tile? Whatever it was...

I slid the soiled drawer closed with my foot.

-
Behind heavy gray doors, faces distorted and peeling like bloody, red wax.
I could hear screams both distant and close by me all at once.

The loud sounds of desperate fighting and tearing in the cells on either side of me.

Bodies were bloating and bulging, then bursting into giant, sticky blobs of blood, blobs of bone, which landed on the ground and formed into huge, white spiders that limped, lopsidedly toward me.

" Jānama*, no, Jānama, shhh." Khan was whispering to me in a soothing tone, rocking lightly back and forth.

I woke screaming- all the more surreal because my body wasn't acting under my commands. I was screaming and hitting him as hard as I could, kicking and attacking him.

But it had as much effect as a toddler banging his fists on your chest.
At least that was a relief.

" Jānama," Khan gripped me hard by the shoulders, pressing his fingers into my muscles to distract my senses."Nightmare, it was a nightmare."

I was coiled tight like a spring or a wild animal.

" It's alright, Jānama. I'm here."

Too weak to speak, I leaned against him but my body wasn't willing to release my muscles, which were still convinced I was in "fight or flight".

"How-how long does- how long can this last?" I managed in a shivering breath. "The- these symptoms of those fucking shots?"

Khan kissed the crown of my head and maneuvered us both back against the lumpy mattress.

He never answered my question.

With the hell I had gone through due to the Augment injections- the madness, despair, and bloodshed I'd seen from others who'd been injected-

I had to marvel how these people would rather have their captain alive via the shots rather than peacefully dead.

Maybe they hadn't learned from history-

Maybe my time was now like the Dark Ages-

Mysterious and poorly recorded.

"A'dilei*," Officer Atch'axah beckoned to me. "Place these strips on your tongue; they will banish your sickness."

I liked Atch'axah. There was a kind but firm set in her soft, blue face. Her hair was long, periwinkle dreadlocks she often tangled in her fingers when she was bored or stressed.

I hadn't learned where she was from, why she called me "A'dilei", or how she understood me so well.

She looked around my age, but since she was an alien, I guess she could be centuries old and I wouldn't have any idea.

From day to each day, Atch'axah was effortless camouflage which had, at first, made it difficult for me to trust her- but there was some type of creed she lived by- and spreading information, engaging in conversation- none of those were among the rules she chose as her lifestyle.

But aiding this military- federation, whatever they were- aiding their cause was not just her job, it was her passion and her life.

I could feel that much burn off of her like a bright flame.

I guess that's why Spock chose to come have this chat with me while Atch'axah was on duty in the Brig- only her, no one else.

"Medicine, A'dilei," Atch'axah called.

I managed my way to the circular portal in the cell's door and took two plastic squares that looked like the wrappers for hand wipes at a BBQ restaurant.

There was barely a moment of me staring quizzically at the tiny packages before:

"Peel open," Atch'axah instructed, gesturing to show me. "Place blue strips upon your tongue and the nausea will be banished."

Her English wasn't quite right, but she still good at it.

"...Thank you..." Reluctantly, I put the medication in my mouth.

The strips were thinner than anything I had ever felt or could feel.

Within a few seconds, they had dissolved on my tongue with practically no taste whatsoever.

"Is further medical assistance necessary?" Spock asked me.

Dammit, we'd taken a dozen steps backward-

His calm was laced with distance and chill.

Now he was less likely to listen to me.

Atch'axah waited for a nod from Spock before returning to her station at the large, circular desk in the middle of the jail.

"I'm sorry-," I began. "-I didn't mean that I-I wished your captain were dead, Mr. Spock, I just- the injections are horrific, it's hard to-"

Getting cold...

"-hard to imagine any circumstance-"

Colder, very cold.

I paused for breath and let the words settle in my mind before I spoke.

"You did what you had to and I understand that," I finally managed. "You do what you have to for your friends- and your captain," I sat back on the floor.

Getting warmer.

"I'd do the same thing for my friends and my-," I couldn't finish the sentence. Partially because I hated the reminder that my loved ones were gone.
Partially because the emotions from the crew were getting too erratic.

/Rage, rage, fury.

Fear, fear, entitlement.

"Get Singh off our ship! GET SINGH OFF OUR SHIP!"/

I shook my head.

That had to be a crossed wire- memory mixing with the present-

"Your people are going crazy," I commented, biting my thumb tightly in distress.

There was that feeling again- SUV speeding down Mount Everest-

"It's really bad, they want me off the ship."

Outside of America, few people had ever referred to me by my married name.

The tensions on the ship continued to escalate-

/"This isn't a choice-."
"Kirk can't force her on us like this-."

"We can march his ass out of his quarters ourselves if we have to!"/

"No, no, no, no, no," I took a sharp breath, bending my head into my lap as I rocked lightly.

Mam had always been so good at blocking out others' signals-

-
"Build a brick wall around yourself and imagine all the feelings bouncing off the wall."

"What if I still feel people?" I had asked.

"Use more mortar, more brick. For every reading that sneaks through your wall, you add another layer of brick."

"Wrenne?"

Mortar, brick.

Mortar, brick.

"Wrenne, are you alright?" Spock insisted.

"Something bad is going to happen," I shook hard like water affected by footsteps. "Your crew is freaking out. It's going to pop, this situation is going to pop just like a balloon-."

/"Not on our ship!"

"Drag her out of that fucking brig-!" /

Mortar, brick.

Mortar, brick, mortar, brick-

/"I won't kill him quickly..."

This strain strummed a chord straight to my core- whoever this was- their emotions were so genuine, so strong-

"I won't kill him quickly, I meld him into building his own hell and pry his ribs open so he has to watch the blood pumping through his heart while he tries to lift this damn ship over his head-."/

And Kirk's especially emotional nightmare was intensifying.

"The captain-!" I accidentally kicked against the cell's transparent front wall- no electrocution, just a ripple of stiff plastic. (How the hell does that work?)

"Tell me," Spock was watching me carefully.

Again, I was shocked to see him take me so seriously.

"Everyone- they're hysterical-- someone or some people want to- hurt other- people- I don't think the captain is safe-." I gave my dark hair another harsh tug, running into a wave of emotions that would drown me for sure. "I'm not safe, but- someone wants to hurt the captain, someone- someone is planning specifically and passionately to- hurt the captain- probably-."

Spock flipped open what looked like a slim cell phone and spoke into it.

My chest felt tight and the seconds were painful- all the brick and mortar I'd built might as well have been sinking into my sternum.

"Wrenne-," Spock began when he finished his call- but there was only so much stimuli I could process.

"Go away!" I screamed, throwing my hands over my head. "Go away and establish some order on your fucking ship!"

The usual panic and overwhelming emotion rose in my chest, digging its metal talons into my throat-

Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop-

Mortar, brick, mortar, brick, mortar brick, mortar brick-!

Spock placed his grasp inside the portal which closed tightly around his arm as he took my hand in his.

The towering tidal wave of knives and pins and sharp things slowly melted into warm liquid metal.

Harmless, warm, liquid metal.

I welcomed the calm, ran toward it eagerly, grasped it like a tether in a storm-

And happy memories brushed against me- memories I couldn't reach (still so high on that shelf) but ones that were familiar, hot, and comfortable- I couldn't reach most of those memories, but one did manage to plop into my lap-

That day in Palmyra, the meadow with the daisies- flowers Khan had never seen before- and I had felt his chest spasm and tickle with laughter- one of the final times I could forget our hands were stained with blood and war-

But the memory, my memory- that day in Palmyra with the daisies and the loving whispers-

-the memory had fingerprints smudged all over it.

I snapped my eyes open and slapped Spock's hand away.

Those new fingerprints on a memory I had barely recalled-

They weren't my own.

At some point in time, Spock had managed his way around my thoughts and memories to this most private piece of my life-

"You bastard- you bastard!" I yelled, kicking his arm away- eventually my foot accidentally slammed down on his hand- the Brig immediately lit up with red flashing lights and a piercing siren.

Atch'axah had been watching us.

Her timing was impeccable.

The portal spat Spock's arm back out of the cell.

The portal locked itself shut.

"That was my private and treasured memory of my dead husband and you purloined it?!" I shouted over the alarm, ignoring the security officers who were trailing in, closing around my cell. "Decided to just pop in and take a peek?! Did you think I wouldn't notice someone else had handled a scene from my life? I didn't fuck around with your head! - And you might as well be an open book to me, Commander!" I lied.

I wasn't good at sending mental messages but for this, I made the effort:
It's just a matter of time before I decipher you.

"Back away from the force field, 73," A deep, military tone ordered me. "The force-field is now destabilized and electrified. Do not step forward. If you do step forward, you will be electrocuted. Back away from the force-field and place your hands on the left wall, shoulder-width apart! NOW!"

I didn't hate cops but I was terrified of them. I told my body to scramble into the aforementioned position but my limbs struggled sluggishly under the stress of the crew's emotions

With tensions already so taut on the ship, kicking their first commanding officer wouldn't exactly ease their paranoia...or soothe the shrieking emotions on board that ripped gashes deep inside me.

I didn't mean to catch his hand under my foot- I shouldn't have been kicking so violently- I shouldn't have gotten carried away, upset as I was-

Once I stood as they had instructed me, the security officers flooded around inside the cell, bobbing like blood drops in those red uniforms- looked like blood coming up from a wound.

{ To be continued in Weaving Stage IX: Order }