The First Time
She Lost Control: Part II
He Intervened
She lurched forward.
Like a whip, his arm shot out after her.
Like iron-steel, his hand clamped down on her wrist, his fingers wrapping round firm.
As a friend (and he had to stress this to Sulu who would later comment on it), he pulled her back against his chest, her right elbow digging hard into his stomach and her left shoulder knocking audibly against his chin.
Clenching his jaw through the pain that surged across his face, he snaked his arm around her waist; his left hand brushing cool skin exposed by the shirt that had ridden up in her haste movement; and tightened his hold even as she struggled against him.
Especially as she struggled against him.
In that moment all he could discern were her noises of frustration, of anger, of hurt as she watched the object of her fury escape.
"That was my fight!" She would yell at him once he'd secluded them in the privacy of his Captain's quarters a half hour later. "You had no right to cut in like that!"
"I had a right." He would reply lowly. So lowly, she would be thrown by his lack of spark in argument. Though he leaned casually back against his desk, his shoulders were tense, his arms crossed tightly before him.
He would lift his eyes from boring holes in the floor to pin her to the very spot she stood.
And in his silence, though she would fight vainly to cling to her wrath, panic would creep in. For what could she argue with words, the truth that was being so blatantly said without?