Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Star Trek or Harry Potter. They belong to J.J Abrams, Gene Roddenberry and J.K Rowling

Warnings: Slash (malexmale pairings), threesome, AU, violence, angst, psychological disorders, sexual situations, badly written accents, etc.

Pairings: Established Spock/Kirk, Sulu/Chekov, Scotty/Uhura, Future Spock/Harry/Kirk

37. Silence

Quiet, Harry sometimes liked the quiet. He liked the lack of sound, the silence that left him only with his thoughts and the hush of his breathing. Nothing could hurt him in the silence, nothing could scare him or harm him. Silence didn't judge him, didn't leave him empty and fearful nor did it mock his vulnerability. It was just there.

Sighing and rolling onto his stomach, Harry hugged his pillow close as he contemplated his thoughts quietly. He had relapsed, he knew it. It happened enough times that he had grown used to taking steps back when he made progress. It was just how his disorder worked and despite how hard he tried, Harry wasn't going to fool himself into thinking he could ever be completely healed. The things he had seen and done, the way he had lived; it was all deeply ingrained in him and it would never go away. He would never be alright, not completely.

But it wasn't the relapse that bothered him, it was what caused it. Rather it was Jim nearly drowning, nearly dying before his eyes that had triggered it. Had he not been given CPR, had his luck not kicked in at that moment, the blond would have been a goner. He would have been a beautiful corpse tinged light blue with cold and no longer golden.

Digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, Harry took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. The whole situation, it had been too close; touched too close to his past and to the pain there. Because Harry had nearly lost someone he loved, cared for with all his soul and it frightened him more than he would show. And it made him wonder if perhaps growing close to his friends was a good idea, especially considering their line of work and the dangers that came with it.

Any day, one of them could be beamed off this ship and never return, not alive at least. To never be able to hear Scotty's jokes or be able to banter playfully with Sulu; to never watch Chekov read to Teddy or listen to Uhura sing; to never again hear McCoy's witty remarks or play a game of chess with Spock or to see Jim smile. The thought of losing any of them, especially Spock or Jim, brought such pain to Harry that it nearly crippled him.

"Perfect… just blood perfect," he hissed bitterly burying his face in his pillow. His throat was tight and his eyes burned, but he didn't want to cry. He had done enough crying to last a life time and crying never helped solve anything. Sure it sometimes gave you relief, but nothing else. Taking deep breathes and wondering if he was going to suffocate himself in his pillow, Harry forced himself to relax.

There was a part of him, the broken child in him (the child that lived in a cupboard, that flinched when he was yelled at or smacked around, who kept his head down and never said a word; a weak child, so weak and pathetic he was; weak! weak!) that wanted to run away and keep his friends out of reach. If he didn't touch them, they wouldn't be marked or cursed. The child thought he was dirty, filthy and tainted in some way, that's how Death always knew who to steal from him. He marked them and damned them.

But another part of him, the man he had become (the doctor who still believed in hope and light and warmth and laughter and smiling faces that made him complete; the soldier who lost so much but kept fighting because had to believe there was something worth living for) didn't want to give them up. The man was selfish, he had fought too hard and too long to give up. The man didn't want to give into his fears and give up what he had worked to gain.

Harry briefly wondered if he had some sort of split personality or something. It felt like it sometimes anyway and he wouldn't be surprised if it was true. The war and his childhood at certainly fucked him over. Perhaps he would have McCoy give him an evaluation just in case. Better to be safe than sorry the paranoid part of him exclaimed.

Rolling back over, bottle green eyes gazed up at the ceiling before straying around the room until they finally rested upon the window giving him a view of the passing stars. Harry loved the stars almost as much as he loved the plants of his home world. He also loved flying despite it having been years since he last flew on a broom, but being on the Enterprise wasn't so bad. It certainly made up for it so he couldn't complain. And before he knew it, the wizard had found his mind easing and he was asleep, all the thoughts disappearing for a time. There was nothing but the stars and silence.

Please review! Thanks!

~Seth