Author's Note: Thank you for all your support with this series! We are getting SUPER close to Contagion and Conspiracy!

Yes. This chapter is a little trope-y. I really wanted to show that Richard & Tasha's relationship was no some passing thought. It took time. It took trust. So there's a few almost-misses, near kisses type scenes here.

I am very behind on responding to comments - but will get back to ya'll in the next day or so!

I really needed a fluffy palate cleanser to go with this. To that end, you can find Sunday in the Park With Duckie out now. Please be warned, it is set after Generations so there are some heavy spoilers!

As a reminder, Data doesn't know these things about Tasha yet. He knows that there's more to her backstory (and this is just a snippet). But Data is content with Tasha sharing only what's comfortable.

When the story moves into The Course We Set (S3/S4), Data and Tasha are going to really take a deep dive into themselves & cope with their trauma directly. With that comes storylines like Brothers & the introduction of Noonian Soong & Ishara Yar. That will spark a lot of soul-searching on behalf of Data & Tasha.

Also please note that because of the fractured timeline, the Tasha Yar Castillo knew & loved had a different Starfleet experience than our Tasha.

This includes a different relationship with Data. I don't want to go so far as to say that difference alone is why she went back - but that lack of personal ties certainly contributed to Tasha's decision to ask Guinan 'the question.'

There's also some hints about Turkana and why/how the Federation got involved there in the first place. More on that to come in The Course We Set (when we meet Ishara) and in The Change of Command (Nemesis and beyond) where Tasha, Data, and the crew will find themselves wrapped up in a mystery that leads back to Turkana….

Please be advised this portion of the story is a dark turn. I want to assure you – this series has a happy ending. But this part is filled with pain and loss.

Some of the language choice in this chapter is designed to capture the impression of nine-year old Tasha trying to understand her trauma. As she is so young, she doesn't quite fully comprehend what's happening. So, the language used in reference to that is intended to portray the confusion that can accompany CSA.

Content Warning: Strong language, violence, abuse, child abuse, CSA, sexual assault, torture, graphic injury, enucleation, pregnancy/childbirth, miscarriage, stillbirth, abortion, self-harm, suicide, character death, murder.

The next morning, Tasha awoke with a dry mouth. The first thing she noticed was the sound of the storm still raging outside as the wind howled above.

It was warm and she was afraid to open her eyes for fear that the room might spin.

Her head ached. Her stomach was queasy.

And there was a warm body spooned up behind her. It felt nice. And for a moment, Tasha wanted to melt – then she remembered the events that had led to this moment.

The storm.

The brandy.

The emotional break following twenty-nine years of accumulated trauma…

Tasha groaned as memories of the night before came flooding back. She wanted to crawl into a small hold and hide for the rest of her short life.

Castillo stirred awake.

"How do you feel?" he whispered.

Tasha replied with a long, barely decipherable grumble.

He slipped away and returned a moment later with fresh water and their sole toothbrush.

"I always hate that feeling on my teeth after a night of drinking," Richard said as he handed it to her.

Tasha was about to climb out from under the blankets when she realised she wasn't wearing anything.

She gasped loud enough to catch Richard's attention.

"Oh.. I uh. Well, I didn't think I should try to dress you last night in the middle of, well," he said, fumbling for an answer..

"It's fine," Tasha replied in a tone that indicated it was anything but alright.

Tasha reached for the closest garment she could find – an oversized spare undershirt from the emergency pack – and quickly threw it on.

She stumbled down to the water to wash off and rinse her mouth. The water felt good as she splashed it onto her face.

But the stream of clothing that littered the path down to the water was an unsettling reminder of her own humiliating behaviour from the night before.

Gods, what were you thinking? She chastised herself.

She was ashamed for the way she'd thrown herself at Castillo. He didn't deserve that. And he certainly hadn't deserved her emotional meltdown on top of that.

It made Tasha feel even worse that Castillo had turned her down. He recognised she was drunk and in no condition to consent.

He may have been attracted to her at one time – now he just pitied her.

And that felt worse.

All of a sudden, Tasha was too warm.

The steam from the cave and the heat from the rocks wasn't doing much to help her wicked hangover. Tasha wanted to hurl but knew that would only feel worse. She had an empty stomach and there was nothing to spew.

A small whimper escaped her lips as something cold made contact with her skin.

Castillo knelt down next to her and pressed a cool flannel against the nape of her neck. He'd seen her go down and knew just how ugly warm air could get when one was queasy.

Tasha tried to get up. Castillo stopped her.

"Just stay here," he said in a soothing voice.

He guided Tasha to lay down on the floor. She was breathing hard. Tasha's entire body was shaking.

"That's it," Richard said as he brushed her hair away from her face.

"I'm fine," Tasha insisted. "Please go."

She was fighting a losing battle against her body and didn't want Richard around.

Before she could order him to go, Tasha gagged. She dry heaved, choking on the bitter acid as her body tried to expel the contents of her empty stomach.

Tasha didn't have the strength to snap back when Castillo cleaned her face.

She visibly grimaced.

"I'm sorry," Castillo said, fearing he'd somehow hurt her.

"I'm sorry," Tasha replied. "I feel terrible for what I put you through. Please forget it ever happened. It won't happen again."

Castillo simply shook his head. His expression was full of pity and that made Tasha feel even worse than before.

"Please. I don't want your pity," Tasha urged.

Richard smiled and Tasha scowled.

"Why are you smiling?" Tasha snapped.

"Well, if you don't want my pity I thought we could talk about my shoulders again?" Richard teased. "Or maybe my smile? You still haven't told me exactly what it does to you."

Tasha groaned and rolled onto her side.

"Sorry. I was just trying to make you laugh," Richard explained.

"Please. I already feel terrible enough," Tasha replied.

"You shouldn't," Richard said.

It was a risk – but one he felt needed to be voiced.

"Nothing you said last night was anything worth feeling bad over. You shouldn't be ashamed of wanting to be loved," Richard said. "You deserve that."

Tasha rolled her eyes. With great effort, she pulled herself into an upright position.

"Look, I was drunk. I wasn't speaking sense. Please forget about it," Tasha said. "Don't read into it. I was completely minced."

She would give anything to go back in time.

Go back in time, indeed. She mused to herself.

"No," Richard said.

A beat passed.

Instinctively, Tasha moved away.

"I won't forget. You may not remember what I said – but I care about you," Richard shared.

Tasha opened her mouth to protest. Richard was prepared.

"I'm not saying that because I want to slip under the covers with you or because I'm hoping you'll feel that way about me," Richard explained. "In fact, after what you shared, I completely understand and agree with why you asked me to knock off the flirting."

Richard reached for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm saying this as your friend that's here at the end of the world," he said with a smile. "I'm sorry for what you had to endure. But that doesn't disqualify you from being loved. It shouldn't stop you from finding happiness."

Tasha's chest felt tight.

The conversation was all too reminiscent of an uncomfortable experience on the Enterprise following a polywater infection that had nearly destroyed the ship.

Data had been kind too.

And gentle.

Tasha had propositioned Data. Her inhibitions were lowered. She considered Data a friend. Most importantly, Tasha trusted Data.

She knew that he would stop the moment she asked him to. Data would never hurt her.

And Tasha's instincts had been right.

After a heated snog, she'd panicked. They had stopped. And Data stayed with her until a cure could be administered. They'd talked about her childhood, her years spent in captivity, and the terrible abuser Tasha had fallen in with during her time at Starfleet Academy.

Data had stories of his own – including trauma from being continually dehumanised by a cyberneticist that kept him in a box.

They'd laid together on Tasha's bed and bonded over their collective scars.

And when it was done, Tasha had gone into full damage control mode.

It never happened. She barked at Data.

He'd come by her quarters later to apologise. Data assured Tasha he would never speak of it – going so far as to offer to delete his memory engrams.

But if you would permit me to keep them – know that it will forever remain between us. I have never felt such a connection with another being. And would like to retain that, even if I must do so in silence.

Yes, Tasha Yar had been presented with an opportunity for a real relationship built on mutual trust. Data hadn't even asked for anything romantic or sexual. He simply wanted companionship.

And Tasha had rejected him because she didn't feel worthy.

Now the universe was dangling another opportunity in front of her.

Richard Castillo was an honourable man. He didn't make demands. He respected Tasha and her boundaries.

"You're an incredible person," Richard said before he kissed the back of her hand. "And someday, someone will be very lucky to have the privilege of making you happy, Nastasiyla."

Tasha flinched at the use of her real name and Richard could sense he'd done something wrong.

"I'm sorry. Last night you said that… well, what should I call you?" Richard asked.

"Yar. Yar is fine," Tasha said.

It was the only thing that felt appropriate.

Richard Castillo was far too good a man to ever wind up burdened with someone like Tasha Yar. It felt terrible, but Tasha knew that she needed to stop things before they went any further.

She needed to brush him off.

Tasha's mind drifted back a warning, a lesson that had shaped her worldview since childhood.

2346 | Turkana IV

Tasha Yar hit the edge of the crate as the truck ground to a stop. There was a noise outside followed by a loud clang as the lock was detached.

Tasha cowered in the corner.

She wasn't sure how long she had been inside that crate. It was difficult to tell, and she was too small to peek out of the air holes near the top.

The door flung open. Sunlight streamed in – temporarily blinding her.

A man yanked her out by the arm. Tasha would have stumbled and fallen out of the truck bed were it not for the fact she was so scrawny.

The weight of the chains on her ankles created an uncomfortable pull as Tasha hung there for a moment while the man inspected her.

Then he dropped her onto the dusty ground and threw a ration bar at her. Tasha looked at the bar and then back up at the man.

"Eat," he barked.

Tasha was hesitant. Even at the age of nine, Tasha knew that everything came with a price.

"Eat," he snarled.

His name was Fannin. But everyone called him the Dog Catcher. Technically, he was unaffiliated. The Dog Catcher worked independent of any clan, gang, or faction.

And he traded to everyone.

"The man I'm bringing you to won't pay if you die before we get there," Fannin said.

It wasn't the first time Tasha had found herself sold to someone.

She unwrapped her ration bar and ate it slowly. Tasha knew that the kind of people who paid more for healthy children were safer than the ones that took the sickly.

Those that were too sickly or weak could find themselves sold for organ harvesting, snuff pornography, or worse.

As Tasha ate, Fannin pulled another person out of a crate and ordered the same. She was older than Tasha – but still a child.

"Please! Take me back to Riverhold. I'll work for you. I'll do whatever. I'll-"

She cried out as Fannin hit her.

"Your father has had three moons to pay his debt," Fannin hissed. "Selling you to Turgon will barely be enough to recoup the cost of my investment."

Tasha froze.

Turgon.

She knew that name. She'd feared it since childhood. Turgon was the man responsible for killing her father.

Her grandmother.

Her adoptive family.

Turgon was one of the most powerful men on Turkana. He had a ferocious reputation. Turgon ran a vast empire that included smugglers, arms dealers, and mercenaries. He ran a considerable number of establishments including pubs, silk houses, building developers, and general goods stores.

Turgon had a monopoly on everything from prostitution and gambling to weapons, supplies, and even grain stores.

And Turgon had laid claim to Tasha since before her birth.

Years earlier, Tasha had fled with her siblings to escape Turgon's men. They had come to collect what was considered their property.

The next generation of Yars.

"How old are you?" Fannin asked the woman.

"Sixteen," she answered.

He laughed.

"How fortunate for you," Fannin remarked. "If you're lucky, you might wind up in one of the silk houses."

Fannin gripped her chin. He turned her face side to side as he examined it.

"Maybe even a private whore," Fannin said.

The girl was terrified.

"Don't panic. There are far worse places you could land," Fannin said.

The Dog Catcher specialised in capturing people and he sold them for all sorts of purposes including slave labour, sex work, slave soldiers, and medical experimentation.

"Do you have any skills?" Fannin demanded.

"I-I-I work with my mother as a laundress," she stammered in hopes this would save her.

Fannin just shook his head and laughed.

Then he rounded on Tasha.

Fannin picked her up by the front of her frayed shirt.

"It's a good thing I got you when I did," Fannin said. "Have you bled yet?"

Tasha shook her head.

Fannin grinned, baring his yellow teeth. His hands smelled of motor oil and his breath reeked of tobacco and oppin leaf – a plant Turkanans often chewed on for its stimulating properties.

"I know how to work a farm. And clean. And erm… I have some words," Tasha offered.

Tasha couldn't read much. But in her short life she had been exposed to a variety of work. And she had learned to read grain sacks and packing boxes – enough to make her dangerous.

"I'm a good worker," Tasha said.

She was hoping to show that she was strong. She didn't want to be sold off for parts.

"I know you are. I know exactly what you are, Yar," Fannin said.

Tasha's eyes went wide with fear.

"You look just like your mother. Slippery little thing you were too," Fannin said. "But I caught you in the end. I always do."

Fannin was delighted. He had been ever since he'd captured her. At first, Fannin thought he had merely found a young, healthy slave to fetch a high price.

He had been thrilled to discover Turgon's mark. All Yars were branded as infants.

"Turgon is going to pay a fortune for you," Fannin said.

Fannin dropped her again and then walked to the side of his truck to relieve himself. The two prisoners found themselves with a moment alone.

"You're a Yar?" the girl asked in shock.

Tasha checked to ensure Fannin wasn't looking. Then she turned back and nodded.

"I suppose I should be lucky I'm too old," she said in a hushed voice.

Another few years and Tasha would have been too old too. It was a cruel reality that she would find herself caught.

But in accordance with the old religion, Tasha thought it was penance. Because for the last year, she had lived a relatively safe life on a remote farm with an adoptive family that had taken her in.

Everything came at a cost.

"You've been sold before," the girl realised. "Is it… is it really awful. Are they all like him?"

Tasha shrugged.

It wasn't always violent. Most of the time the world didn't make sense.

For a time, Tasha and her sister had been taken in by a man with a nice house. He was never angry. He didn't yell or raise his fists. He liked to brush Tasha's hair and give her toys and ribbons.

They called him 'daddy' and he called Tasha and Ishara his little dolls.

Tasha would sit on his lap, and they would play a tickling game. He would always tuck her into bed with stories and snuggles and kisses.

Sometimes he would sit in a chair in the corner and breathe funny while Tasha tried on all the pretty dresses he gave her. They were lovely, soft things that came in boxes.

He made Tasha feel special. Adored. Beautiful.

Safe.

Then suddenly it all ended.

Daddy bought new little dolls every few months, cycling through children like they were disposable.

And to fund his perversion, he sold them on to work at a textile mill.

The people at the mill told Tasha she was lucky. There were no tickle games nor snuggling. None of the adults would take her into the bath.

In fact, there were no baths.

Just hours upon hours of hard labour.

No, the adults at the mill didn't touch her in ways that felt funny.

But they kicked her if she wasn't fast enough. And they stole her food ration. More than once Tasha or Ishara had been lashed if they fell ill on the job.

Tasha was often told that the mill was better. Safer.

But daddy had never beat her.

The world felt very upside down to nine-year old Tasha Yar.

"It's not always violent. The silk houses are nice. You'll be very lucky to go there," Tasha said. "They have baths and protection. I saw one once. They had guards outside. And lovely pillows. And real ice."

There were beautiful stone baths and running water. The whole place smelled of perfume and candles. The people working seemed pleasant. They wore lovely soft things and beautiful gold bracelets.

And there were guards too – ready to intervene and protect the workers if anyone got out of hand.

It was better than what a Yar could hope for.

"I'm scared," the older girl confessed. "I've never… I've never been with a man before. My father forbid it. We can't afford any more mouths you see."

Tasha turned toward the older girl. With astonishing composure, she offered a word of advice.

"Don't cry. Don't beg. It won't matter. And don't fight – they'll just hurt you or you'll hurt yourself," Tasha said.

She had learned that the hard way.

"Just let your mind go somewhere else," Tasha said. "Think about the happiest moment you've ever had. Hold onto it. And go there."

All of nine and Tasha Yar was already weary of the world.

"Do you know this Turgon?" the girl whispered.

She was from Rivermark – a city that was outside of Turgon's territory. They had warlords of their own. She was unfamiliar with this Turgon.

"He's a bad man. A very bad man," Tasha whispered.

"Yes. He is," Fannin said, looming over both of them.

Before she could react, Fannin picked up Tasha and threw her back into her crate.

"And you will do well to remember that," Fannin warned.

"She's just a little girl," the other girl protested.

"She's not a little girl. She's a Yar," Fannin said.

Tasha grunted as she hit the edge of the crate.

Outside, there was a scuffle as Fannin pushed the girl up against the truck.

She sobbed as Fannin locked her restraints around one of the mental bars, preventing any escape.

"Please! My father will pay!" she begged. "Have mercy! Please!"

Tasha sat perfectly silent as she listened to Fannin unbuckle his trousers.

"Be gentle. Please. I've never-"

"Little girls from Turkana don't get gentle. They don't get kind. And they certainly don't get mercy," Fannin growled.

Inside her crate, Tasha clutched her knees. She closed her eyes and thought about her favourite stream. The water was cold there. It always felt good to soak her feet there after a long day in the field.

She thought about the wildflowers that grew in the pasture.

And she clung to the memory of eating sweet brackleberries with her adoptive family during those first warm days of the Honey Moon.

Anything but the sound of the girl sobbing outside.

2344 | Narendra

"Yar?" Castillo said, pulling Tasha back to the present.

Tasha startled.

"Hmm?" she asked.

"You slipped away there for a moment," Castillo said.

They were sitting across from one another on opposite sides of the fire. In spite of the chill from the storm, they both felt it was best to resume their separate sleeping spaces.

It had been twenty-four hours since Tasha's drunken debacle. She had been unusually distant since – even more emotionally unavailable than before.

The storm showed no signs of letting up and Castillo was starting to get stir crazy. He was starved for conversation and growing increasingly worried about Tasha.

"I just want you to know that you can talk about it. If you want that is. I won't judge you or make a joke. I'll just listen," Richard offered.

Tasha had to check herself to avoid snapping. There was no telling how long they would be trapped together, and she didn't want to add to the tension.

"Thank you. But please just forget it," Tasha requested.

She turned her attention to the corner of the cave to watch the condensation drip back down into the water.

Richard stared at the fire for a while. They would have to put it out before bed. Their brush supply was running low. He knew he probably shouldn't have lit one. But they were both cold. And with everything that had happened, Richard thought it was alright to splurge on a little comfort.

"I meant what I said before. I don't care," Richard said out of the blue.

Tasha didn't react.

"I don't care if you were a sex worker. I don't care what you had to do to survive. I'm sure it wasn't an easy place to grow up and you aren't responsible for the things you had to do," Richard said.

Tasha laughed and shook her head.

"You think I was a whore?" she asked, amused.

"You said that… well, what you said last night made me think-"

Tasha put up her hand to stop him.

"Sure. You know, it's probably better that way," Tasha said.

She signed and crossed her arms before turning away from him.

"I'm sorry. Forgive me, I didn't mean to imply that you were one. I certainly didn't mean to offend you-

"Don't be sorry!" Tasha insisted.

She waved her hands as if they simply disagreed on which flavour of ice cream was best.

"I would much rather have you think I was a whore than-"

Tasha stopped herself. She forced laughter, trying to play off the slip as a joke to lighten the mood.

Richard and Tasha sat in silence as the fire grew dim.

There were no sounds save for the roar of the storm and the steady drip of condensation on the water.

With each passing second, tempers grew more frayed.

Tasha felt suffocated in the cave. Were it not for the storm, she would have made some excuse to go out. It was too constricting to be trapped there with Richard.

Castillo was uncomfortable too.

He felt like he was walking on eggshells. Trying to make conversation with Tasha was like navigating a minefield.

She had shot down his offer to play cards.

Tasha didn't want to talk.

Richard had been so grateful Tasha made it off the Enterprise. He wanted her company. Most of all, he didn't want to be alone.

But now that she'd clammed up he felt he might as well have been.

The storm passed and weather conditions improved.

The mood in the cave did not.

Tasha was scrubbing out their cook pot with a paste made from wood ash and a little water. Her ingenuity never ceased to amaze Richard.

"I was thinking maybe we could make another pass at that farmhouse?" Richard suggested. "With winter coming and all it might be good to stock up on some of those supplies, eh?"

During their first trip to the smuggler's den, they had left in a rush – carrying only what they could take in their already full packs.

"Sure," Tasha replied without looking up.

She had been all business since the night of her emotional confession.

"I'm uh… I'm going to go get some more brush too," Richard said.

"Great."

Richard sighed and ran his hand back through his curls. He was growing irritated by these one and two word sentences.

"Yar, I don't want to put you on the spot here – but I'm starting to lose it," Richard shared. "We've been stuck in here for days and you barely speak to me. You can't even look at me."

It was suffocating.

"I'm not asking you to make goo goo eyes or because I want anything from you. I just want to be able to have a conversation," Richard said.

"I'm sorry," Tasha replied. "I don't mean to be lousy company. I'm just-"

"Talk to me," Richard pleaded. "Baseball. Uh… favourite desserts. I don't care if we complain about the weather – just don't do this."

Tasha didn't turn around.

"I have to clean the pot or it won't be usable," Tasha said, ignoring the issue.

"You keep reminding me that we're both probably going to die out here. Do you really want to spend the rest of your days like this? Miserable?" Castillo asked.

Tasha remained cool.

"I'm not miserable," she said.

Richard rolled his eyes.

"You've been a sourpuss ever since we arrived," Richard said.

Tasha whipped around.

"I don't recall asking to come on this little adventure," Tasha hissed.

"I saved your fucking life!" Castillo hollered.

Tasha's mouth grew thin.

"Don't remind me," she replied.

Richard laughed in disbelief.

"Why not? Why the hell not?" he asked as he threw his arms up in the air. "You remind me every single minute of the day about all the great sacrifices you're making to save my life. Your selfless devotion."

Tasha was furious. It was all coming out now.

"I didn't ask you to-"

"And I didn't ask you!" Richard shouted, cutting her off.

There was a pregnant pause as they glared at one another, neither keen to make the next move. Richard was hoping Tasha would see reason.

Tasha was worried that if she opened her mouth she would say something truly hurtful.

"Well, one of us has to think about getting you out of here. About survival," Tasha said.

"Oh, that is rich coming from you," Richard countered.

He couldn't fathom her denial.

"All you have done since we landed here is talk about your demise and a laundry list of reasons why you deserve to suffer," Richard said, his voice dripping with disdain.

Tasha baulked.

"You don't know anything," she snapped.

"You're right. I don't!" Richard argued. "Because you don't talk. You brood in the corner. You make this entire cave insufferable!"

Richard's voice softened.

"And it doesn't have to be like this," he urged. "Please. I just can't stand watching you do this to yourself."

Tasha was in full deflector mode.

"And you think I want to sit here and listen to you prattle on with your stories about your mother and your perfect life and your stupid childhood?" Tasha roared.

She didn't mean a word of it – and they both knew it. Richard could see right through her.

"Dammit, Yar. Why do you do this? Why do you put yourself through all of this?" Richard asked. "Why punish yourself?"

He took a step closer with the intention of offering an olive branch in the form of a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

Tasha recoiled and shook her head.

"How many times? How many ways must I tell you? You don't know anything, and you would run for the hills if you knew what I really was," Tasha scoffed.

She had to twist the knife, to put an end to it once and for all.

"And we both know how foolish that would be. You wouldn't last an hour out there without me," Tasha said. "So fine – you want to do this your way? Do it. I'm done!"

Tasha threw the cook pot for good measure.

"Look – if you want to play little Miss Misery that's fine by me," Richard declared.

He was tired of watching Tasha torture herself.

Richard snagged his pack and threw on one of the Klingon coats they had salvaged from the farmhouse. He started to march toward the door.

"I'm going to replenish our fuel. I think it's a great idea that you take a day off," Richard said. "Why don't you take a hot bath while I'm gone, hmm?"

He nodded toward the water.

"Learn to fucking relax," Richard said.

He picked up a bottle of brandy and threw it at Tasha. She caught it with ease and scowled.

"Better yet, I'll be sure to stay away all day. Wouldn't want to ruin your storm cloud with a spot of sunshine," Richard said.

Tasha said nothing.

"Have a great day, Yar. But I'm sure, knowing you, you'll find a way to make it terrible," Richard said.

After a mock salute, Richard turned on his heel and headed for the cave exit.

Tasha stared down at the bottle of brandy in her hand. She was seething with rage.

How dare he?

This man knew nothing – about Tasha, about her life.

"Goodbye, Yar," Castillo said.

"You think 'Yar' is my name?" Tasha asked.

Richard stopped. He was tired of this fighting. He was tired of the back and forth. One minute she dangled a snippet of information about herself before snatching it away.

"Yar… Nastasiyla…I-"

Richard trailed off.

"Fine! Fine!" he said, putting up his hands as if to surrender. "If you want to pretend like you aren't bothered by what we've seen and done here, like you're some unbreakable super-soldier with a heart of stone… if that's what you need to do – fine."

He was sick of her attitude.

"You may be able to lie to yourself – but you can't lie to me," Richard said, his voice full of pain. "You don't have to lie to me. Whatever you had to do before – it's not like that here. I know this isn't who you really are."

"You don't know anything about-"

"You're right. I don't. That's why I'm going to go out for a while. Because the thought of being out there, taking my chances with the weather and the Klingons and the Romulans is somehow more appealing than staying here with you, Yar," Richard spat.

Without another word, Richard turned on his heel and left.

"It's not my name. Yar. It's not my name," Tasha said.

Richard froze in place but did not turn around.

"I-it's a social class. A designation," Tasha explained.

She clutched her hands at her side, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet.

"Property," Tasha confessed, her voice so low it was barely a whisper.

Richard felt sick. A chill swept down his spine as he tried to wrap his mind around this.

Had she really just said 'property?'

"Since before I was born, I was marked for life by the same bastard that made my mother a Yar too," Tasha said.

Richard turned back and met Tasha's eyes. She was breathing hard. Tasha had never shared that information with anyone.

"You thought I was a sex worker? Whores have rights on Turkana. Yars don't. They treat slaves and dogs better than they treat Yars," Tasha said.

Her face was hot. Her throat felt tight.

"And men like Turgon, the bastard that branded me and put me in a cage– he has hundreds of Yars," Tasha roared.

Tasha's hands trembled. She looked over at the wall, unable to meet Richard's eyes.

"They train you. Break you down until you don't even feel like a person anymore. You forget what it means to be human," Tasha shared.

She had been nine when her training began. Turgon preferred to get them younger. A Yar's fifth birthday usually signified collection would soon follow.

Turgon and his men had stripped away any semblance of dignity and individualism.

"We're taught to be nothing more than Yars. To take orders," Tasha said.

Richard stood motionless as Tasha bared some of her deepest trauma.

"You were enslaved," Richard said.

"No," Tasha said, shaking her head in anger. "You don't understand. I knew you wouldn't understand."

She was distressed. Tasha started pacing – stopping only to kick the cooking pot into the rocks.

"I believe you. And I am sorry for what you had to endure," Richard said. "It's not your fault."

It's not your fault.

Tasha shook her head.

"You don't get it. You have no idea of the things I've done," Tasha said.

That notion was so deeply embedded in Tasha that it was like a part of her DNA.

"Yars have three duties. We're trained as elite warriors. Child soldiers. Proficient killing machines free of influence and feeling. No remorse. No need to pay us," Tasha said.

They were conditioned to believe they weren't people. Tasha had learned to suppress her emotions in a way that had stuck with her since childhood. It allowed her to compartmentalise her trauma – an asset during her stint in covert operations.

"We serve as personal guards and swell the ranks of the warlords we're branded to," Tasha went on.

It explained why Tasha had been so upset by the thought of taking out a young Romulan soldier.

"And we're trained to fight other Yars. That's… that's our main purpose. It's entertainment. Cage fights. Arenas. Sometimes just a bloody hole in the ground," Tasha fumed. "Wherever they can make money."

Minor warlords had makeshift pens. Men like Turgon had arenas complete with drink service and reserved boxes for high-dollar clients.

Some fights involved knives or a weapon known as a maidai. It was a stick weapon common to Turkanan martial arts.

"But most fights are bare knuckle. And-"

Tasha paused, disgusted with herself. But she had come this far, and Richard had yet to run out of the room.

"Fights are to the death," Tasha said.

She glanced back at Richard, meeting his eyes for the first time in the conversation.

"Do you know what it takes to kill someone with your bare hands?" Tasha asked.

Richard blanched. He was aghast.

"I won my first fight when I was twelve. That's why I didn't feel anything when I offed those Romulans," Tasha spat. "I don't feel. I can't feel."

Because if Tasha started to – she couldn't stop.

"You couldn't do it. You don't have it in you. Because you're an honourable fucking man," Tasha said.

Richard's eyes were full of pity. Tasha knew that look well and it made her feel wretched.

"Good Yars are prized – the ones that show skill and obedience, that keep their noses clean."

Narcotic use was rampant. For some, it was administered to treat physical pain. It started as treatment and became an addiction.

Some masters used it as a way to control their stock. Dependency was a powerful motivator.

Others simply wanted to dissociate.

Tasha couldn't blame them. It was all about surviving to the next day. Tasha had longed to slip away too, to numb herself to the pain.

And she found that relief in dreaming of escape.

And retribution.

Tasha had clung to her rage. She memorised every face, every name. Tasha survived on spite – keeping her head down and her real feelings hidden.

"I wasn't kidding when I said I would rather have you think I was whore," Tasha said as hot tears leaked from her eyes.

Masters had the right to use their Yars in any way they saw fit – a privilege Turgon took full advantage of. Tasha had been trained and conditioned for that too.

There were strict rules forbidding any sort of sexual activities between Yars and the other social classes.

Sometimes Turgon would grant one of his men time with a Yar as reward for service or loyalty. Tasha had once spent an hour at the hands of one of Turgon's enforcers.

She had been a birthday gift.

But Masters could (and did) sell appointments between their Yars and interested parties.

For a steep price.

There was an even higher price for violating Turgon's terms of use. Tasha had seen Turgon viciously order the ruin of one man after he tried to stick his wick in the one place it was forbidden.

Only a master could make the decision of when, where, and with whom a Yar would breed. It was a crude and dehumanising form of reproductive control.

Turgon had allowed the man to live – telling the man if he enjoyed Yars so much, that he would take great pleasure in fathering them.

Turgon had then paired him off with one of his Yars and laid claim on all the offspring.

"Win fifty fights and-"

Tasha trailed off. Her face soured.

"You win your freedom," Tasha said.

Her inflection of the word freedom led Richard to believe it was anything but.

And it wasn't.

Rather, it was retirement from the fighting arena. A Yar could find themselves granted a position in their master's service as a personal guard, private consort, or other duties depending on their skills and relationship with the master.

Some Yars gained celebrity-like status for their exploits in the arenas. Retirement came with luxury and the responsibility of training the next generation of Yars.

Then there were Yars like Tasha's parents. They had been granted a plot of land to work as tenant farmers for Turgon.

Regardless of how that retirement took shape, there was one duty they all shared.

"You win the right to be bred like cattle. To make more Yars," Tasha said through gritted teeth.

Men like Turgon made excellent money in providing the best stock. Sometimes he would pair them off among his own population. Other times, Turgon would buy or sell Yars themselves, 'breeding' opportunities, or the rights to any subsequent children.

"You're expected to produce children – none of whom will ever belong to you. We're all marked out as Yars. Branded from birth," Tasha spat.

Final fights from prized Yars drew huge crowds – as did the aftermath. Thousands of tickets were sold annually by Turgon to witness a prized Yar's bresaedh a'chend.

First break.

"I was conceived in a bloody arena where men paid money to watch children fight to the death before being forced upon one another," Tasha shared.

Tasha's mother had been thirteen when she'd given birth. Her father was just a child himself.

Castillo was horrified.

Tasha paused long enough to breathe – the first time she had stopped since launching into her furious attempt to spill just why she felt like a monster.

"And I was good. I was so good," Tasha spat. "I was so fucking good that I escaped. Forty-nine fights and I knew that I had to get out before my last one. Before I was-"

Tasha paused.

"I knew that I would never escape if I had a child," Tasha said.

Her expression hardened.

"And I found work as a courier. I worked for an arms dealer. There's not a lot of work to be found on Turkana without starting young as an apprentice. Not unless you join one of the factions," Tasha said.

The very notion left a bitter taste in Tasha's mouth.

There was protection that came from joining one of the factions. They were powerful. And they provided steady meals and safety.

But Tasha had never had a desire to die fighting in a civil war for a barren, polluted rock.

"I ran arms, weapons, explosives, prisoners, narcotics. Sometimes medical supplies – but mostly it was weapons," Tasha said. "And I didn't care who I sold to or what they did with those weapons. I supplied some of the worst men on Turkana with the very means to continue the cycle of violence that has terrorised my people for generations."

Tasha scoffed.

"I sold to slavers. To warlords. The fucking factions," Tasha went on. "Bad people. Very bad people. And I made good money doing it."

Tasha had made enough to find her sister and to buy Ishara's freedom from contract at a munitions plant. It had been sheer luck – and the only good thing Tasha did with her earnings.

"I could have helped other people. I could have used my time, my skills, my savings," Tasha said, shaking her head. "But I didn't. Because there was only one thing I cared about."

Even years on, Tasha couldn't shake the feeling that came from that time.

"I was so selfish. I only cared about myself. About getting off that planet. Finding someplace with clean water. A space of my own that wasn't a bedroll in a swamp or the backseat of my vehicle," Tasha said.

She'd spent so many nights alone in the Turkanan wilderness.

"I just wanted to find somewhere that felt safe. Some place Turgon couldn't touch me. Where I didn't have to live in fear of getting pregnant," Tasha shared.

Tasha had seen far too many people die in childbirth. It was such a terrifying prospect.

"My people have a belief that nothing good comes without tremendous cost. And I disregarded that. I thought it was nonsense. Just stories told to make us feel better, to convince us to be grateful for backbreaking work and starvation," Tasha said.

She frowned.

"I came so close to escape. I had money. I had a plan. Passage booked," Tasha shared.

Tasha had gone so far as to fake her own death in an accident during an annual cross-country race known as the Firehawk just to throw Turgon off her trail.

"I thought I was leaving for good. I had arrangements to work on a salvage station. And then the universe reminded me that there's a price to pay," Tasha said.

Castillo shook his head.

"Whatever happened there was not your fault, Tasha," he insisted.

A sad look crossed Tasha's face.

She sat back against the rocks and reached for one of the bottles of brandy. After removing the cap, she took a long swig.

"But it is. Because before I left, I did something that I thought would bring me peace," Tasha said.

There was a strange look in her eyes.

"I knew I could never get to Turgon. He was too well guarded. So, I tracked a different target," Tasha explained.

It had taken weeks.

"I found the man that sold me to Turgon. The one that put me in that cage. I caught the Dog Catcher," Tasha said.

She giggled.

"And I convinced myself that I was doing a good thing. That it wasn't just about me. That this was going to save countless others from being sold into slavery or rounded up as Yars," Tasha explained.

Tasha closed her eyes. Her head dropped back against the warm rocks.

"I wanted him to suffer like I had. I wanted to know what it felt like to be in a cage. To feel cut so adrift from justice, to scream, to plead, to be afraid," Tasha went on.

Richard listened intently as Tasha explained her last days on Turkana.

"I wanted him to feel the anger that had burned inside me. I was so consumed with rage," Tasha shared. "And I wanted him to understand what it felt like."

She had taunted him in his final moments – throwing his own words back at him.

Dog Catchers don't get gentle.

They don't get kind.

And they certainly don't get mercy.

"There's a snake on Turkana known as the Corranai Adder. They're dangerous. Venomous. And fast," Tasha said.

They were one of the fastest reptiles on Turkana – and a rare (but symbolic) form of assassination. Tasha had captured and sold more than a few during her time as a courier.

"I locked him in a cage. I humiliated him. I released a bag of very angry Corranai Adders onto him," Tasha continued.

She looked up at Richard – stunned he was still there listening at this point.

"And when he begged for mercy I-"

Tasha hesitated.

There was no one save for the moon that knew this secret. It had died with the Dog Catcher that night on Turkana.

"It was the strangest thing. He started with threats. Then he tried to bargain for his life. And when he realised it wasn't about money, that's when he broke," Tasha said.

She shrugged.

"And that's what I wanted. I wanted him to know what it was like to be helpless. To beg for mercy. And to know that you're so worthless another person who could help that they would rather leave you to suffer," Tasha said.

It was exactly what the Dog Catcher had done to her and countless others.

Tasha stiffened as Richard took her hand.

"You were a child. You're not responsible. Whatever you had to do-"

Tasha laughed uncomfortably.

"But I didn't have to. Don't you see? I chose to. He begged me for mercy, and I covered him in kerosene," Tasha said without flinching.

Richard may have tried to check his reaction. Only Tasha could see he was mortified.

"I regretted it the moment I dropped that match," Tasha confessed. "I couldn't stop it. I wanted to."

She shook her head.

"You know, it's been fourteen years and I can still taste it," Tasha said.

She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to block out the memory of that night. For years the Dog Catcher had haunted her nightmares.

He still did – albeit in a different way.

"And because I did that I was punished. My escape failed. I was caught again," Tasha shared.

The passage she'd booked and promise of work on a salvage station had been a ruse. The mercenaries weren't really interested in smuggling refugees. Rather, they preyed on people like Tasha.

She'd given them everything she had only to be betrayed and sold to slavers. The moment they say Turgon's mark on her body, they were determined to turn her back for profit.

Tasha was rescued from that fate thanks only to the intervention of the USS Renegade.

"You see? I never fully atoned for what I did. I should have been sent back to Turkana. To Turgon. The universe was trying to send me a message," Tasha said.

Richard cupped Tasha's face.

"I am so sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry this happened to you."

Tasha swallowed hard as a thick tear ran down her face.

"You were a child. You endured all that and survived. You've dedicated your life to Starfleet. That's admirable. Nothing to be ashamed of or feel guilty over."

He was trying to make Tasha feel better but was at a loss for what to say.

"Chose to join Starfleet?" Tasha asked in surprise.

"I think it's incredible that you did in spite of everything," Richard assured her.

Tasha's brow furrowed.

"I suppose it was still voluntary service in your time," Tasha remarked.

Castillo's heart sank.

Had things changed so much in twenty years?

Richard felt awful. He was horrified in knowing what Tasha had to endure. And his heart felt heavy in the knowledge that Starfleet itself had become such a militarised institution.

Tasha sighed.

"That's not entirely true. I had a choice. Starfleet service in exchange for Federation citizenship or they would send me back to Turkana," Tasha said.

She dropped her gaze to her lap and started to pick at her fingernails.

"And when they found out I was from Turkana IV, well, I was the perfect recruit for Covert Operations. You know they target certain cadets, right? Psych profiles, where you grew up. It all feeds their need for disposable teams," Tasha said.

Starfleet had figured out that it could curtail public outcry by recruiting certain demographics for specific teams like covert operations.

High causalities rates went largely unnoticed when there weren't parents, spouses, or friends to miss the victims.

The brass in San Francisco realised that the orphans, unattached, and children looking for stability and a better life made for the perfect recruits.

And children they were.

Refugees from Bajor and Bolarus IX.

Runaways from Orion and Nasraldine.

And Turkana IV.

"The things I've done in the name of Starfleet," Tasha said as she turned away.

Her voice was bitter.

"I've seen too much death. And much of it by my own hand. G'kantal. Agnellus VII. Thirteen on a mission I can't talk about," Tasha rattled off.

Tasha scoffed.

"The greater good."

She thumbed away the moisture on her face in a desperate attempt to cling to a semblance of composure.

"I wasn't kidding when I said I don't date. I don't socialise. I drink alone. And I drink alone to forget. So that when I close my eyes at night I don't have to think about them," Tasha said.

Tasha was grateful for the soundproofing on her quarters because there were times the night terrors were bad enough to wake anyone in the vicinity.

"It sounds like you were faced with an impossible choice. You did what you had to do in order to survive. It was a no-win situation," Castillo offered.

"Don't Kobayashi Maru me," Tasha argued, putting up her hand.

She clucked her tongue with disapproval. Then Tasha laughed.

"When we first met and you called me angel face," Tasha began.

She grinned and shook her head.

"It was nice, just for a moment, to think that someone could see me as something other than a monster," Tasha shared.

Richard hadn't known her name – only that she swept in at the last minute and saved him.

"And you weren't going to be around. You'd be gone long before you ever knew who I really was. You were safe and-"

Tasha stopped talking as Richard pulled her into a tight embrace. Neither of them spoke. After a few seconds, Tasha relaxed and clutched his shirt as they gently rocked back and forth.

"That's why you feel you deserve to be here," Richard said aloud. "You feel it is penance. You think it's punishment."

His voice was soft, his heart full of empathy. He didn't judge Tasha or the beliefs of her homeworld. Rather, he wanted Tasha to recognise that he understood.

"I must sound like an idiot," Tasha said.

"You sound like someone that's had to endure a lot of cruelty and years of abuse," Richard said.

"I owe a great debt for my sins and-"

Castillo shushed her.

"That's your trauma talking," he said.

Tasha was beyond tears. She just felt numb.

Stuck.

"I never wanted any of this. At times it feels so unfair. But then I remember all the people I could have helped and didn't. I killed a man for revenge because I thought it would bring me peace," Tasha said in a strange voice. "And instead, I've cursed myself for all eternity."

She stared off at the wall.

"There can be no redemption. There's no coming back from this," Tasha said.

Suddenly, she tensed up and pushed Richard back.

"Don't," she said.

He reached for her hand. Tasha retracted her own, clutching it close to her chest as if she had been burned.

"You may not see it, but you're not cursed. You feel like you have a great debt because you've been abused and conditioned to think that way," Castillo said in an even voice.

"Don't tell me how to feel!" Tasha snapped.

"You're right. I'm sorry," Richard apologised.

He didn't want to say.

"I'm not a counsellor. But I think your guilt is misplaced," he said.

Tasha recoiled as he reached up to thumb away a fresh set of tears.

"Don't. I don't deserve to be-"

"Please stop that," Richard requested.

Tasha averted her eyes. She turned toward the water and sighed.

"I'm sorry for breaking down like this. And now I've wasted half the morning."

"Stop," Richard insisted.

Only Tasha wasn't listening.

"You're right. We should be out there replenishing our supplies," Tasha went on.

"Angel face."

Tasha stopped. She turned back, visibly appalled.

"I had to get your attention," Richard said with a shy shrug.

Tasha was guarded, heavily suspicious this was another attempt to tell her how to fell. Or worse – he pitied her.

"I didn't know you when I called you that on the ship. I'm sorry it was triggering," Richard explained.

She said nothing as Castillo offered her a small smile.

"It's just… what came to mind. I told you all the stories my mum used to share about angels and-"

Richard paused. There was a small hissing sound as he drew air in through his teeth.

"Knowing everything I know now, I would still say it's fitting," Richard commented.

Before she could open her mouth to protest, Castillo cut her off.

"Mum used to say there was a guardian angel watching over me and all the stupid shit I've done," Richard shared.

Lucia Castillo had often chastised her son with 'what would your angel think, eh' whenever he was too rowdy or late or got into a spot of trouble.

"I'm awfully glad I got to meet her and that she's no saint. Makes me feel better that I know she's looking out for me," Richard said.

Tasha wanted to melt. But she couldn't shake the feeling Richard was motivated out of compassion rather than sincerity.

Tasha couldn't allow herself to fall for words that rang hollow – she knew it would only lead to heartbreak.

"You don't have to pity me," she assured him.

Richard shook his head slowly as he held Tasha's gaze.

"Even if I knew all of this when we first met, I'd have still asked you to dinner. And still been a bumbling fool," he said.

This time, Tasha didn't flinch when he cupped her face.

"I can't stand watching you put yourself through this torment. Say what you will, but I know you're bothered by the things you've had to do. That doesn't make you a monster, it means you have a heart," Richard went on.

Richard had seen it every time she had to kill someone on Narendra. Tasha found no joy or thrill in that act. She resented the violence.

"I had a dog once. Found him. He was skittish – like you. He'd been kicked around and-"

"Did you just compare me to your dog?" Tasha asked, aghast.

Richard's shoulders slumped.

"I-I-I'm not good at this. I'm so sorry. I'm trying and I just don't know what the right thing is to say. Or what I'm supposed to do," Richard said.

He frowned, struck by an idea.

Richard closed the distance between them. His kiss was neither impassioned nor desperate. It was slow and reassuring – the kind of kiss Tasha had always imagined spoke to a love that was…

Well, she couldn't really put her finger on it.

Safe?

Secure?

She couldn't pinpoint the feeling. So, Tasha closed her eyes and let it happen.

There was a distinct lack of urgency (and not in a bad way). Tasha knew exactly what it felt like to experience a forceful, consuming kiss. And this couldn't be further from that sensation.

Aside from his lips, Richard wasn't pressed against her. He didn't grab at her or try to force himself.

Comfortable.

That was the word Tasha settled on.

It felt comfortable. She was at ease.

She could breathe.

And Tasha knew that if she wanted to stop that Richard would listen.

This was the first time they kissed that it wasn't rushed. There was no battle to get back to. No escape pod breaking apart.

It lasted longer than Richard had expected but was over sooner than Tasha would have liked.

When it ended, they stayed close. Richard nuzzled against Tasha's face. His hand found hers.

This time it was Tasha that initiated the kiss. Their fingers intertwined while his thumb gently caressed the side of her hand.

"I shouldn't have done that," Castillo whispered.

"No, you shouldn't have. You really shouldn't have," she replied.

Richard pulled away.

"I'm sorry," he said.

His hand slipped from her grasp.

"I'm so sorry. Y-y-you asked me not to and I violated that promise," Richard stammered.

Now he was the one feeling guilty.

"I know," Tasha acknowledged before she captured his lips.

At first, Richard welcomed the attention. But he couldn't set aside his fear that Tasha needed time and space to sort out all of her trauma. He didn't want to rush her or push Tasha to find reassurance in the wrong place.

"No," Richard said.

"It's alright," Tasha replied as she leaned in close.

Her breath was warm against the side of his mouth.

"No," Richard repeated.

He gripped Tasha's shoulders to keep a firm distance between them.

"I don't think this is right," Richard said.

Tasha was stung. She had finally opened her heart to someone only to face rejection.

"I'm not drunk," Tasha asserted. "This isn't some desperate attempt for self-assurance. I know what I'm doing."

Her voice grew heated.

"I know. I know," Richard said as he put up his hand. "I just don't think this is a good idea. You're in a very vulnerable place and-"

He regretted the use of the word 'vulnerable' the minute it slipped from his mouth.

"I didn't mean that," Richard said quickly.

"Then what did you mean, huh? I'm so pathetic you felt inclined to what? Lay on the empty platitudes and a sympathy kiss for good measure so I'll stop moping about?" Tasha roared.

She was furious – and mostly at herself.

Richard sat back on his knees. He buried his head in his hands.

You idiot. Now you've really mucked it up. He chastised himself.

Blankets rustled. Then there was a scuffle of noise as Tasha pulled on her boots and loaded up one of the makeshift packs.

"Where are you going?" Richard demanded.

"Out," Tasha replied in a cold voice.

Castillo scrambled over to Tasha's position and threw his arms around her.

"Don't go," he pleaded.

Tasha tensed.

"Stay. Please," Richard urged.

He rested his chin on her shoulder and reached for the pack.

"I'll go out today. Take today and rest. And if you cannot do that, then there is plenty of work to be done around here," Richard said.

He tightened his embrace.

"Please?" he asked in a soft voice.

Richard pressed a tender, chaste kiss against the side of her head before taking off with the pack – leaving a stunned Tasha to sit alone on the floor of the cave.

It had been a foolish choice to go alone.

In the back of his mind, Richard knew that from the moment he left the cave.

He felt it after he put his foot through thin ice on a frozen creek. It was a good thing he'd taken Tasha's well-stocked pack because he had the materials necessary for his survival.

Spare socks.

Firestarter.

Kindling.

She was always thinking ahead like that. Survival was so deeply rooted in her person it was as if it was in Tasha's DNA.

And for all her claims of selfishness, she spent an awful lot of time thinking (and working) for others.

Richard hissed as he slipped off his frozen boot. His sock was already crunchy. He hadn't merely put his foot through into icy water – he'd done a number on his ankle too.

At least the cold will help with the swelling. He mused.

Castillo delicately wrapped his ankle with the emergency medical wrap in the kit.

It would be a long hobble home.

As soon as Tasha was alone, Tasha collapsed onto the ground.

She didn't want to think about anything. Tasha just wanted to slip away from the world for a while.

She wasn't entirely sure how long she stayed there listening to the water drip. But when she got up, the sun was already starting to droop in the sky.

Her timepiece was attached to her pack so Tasha couldn't check. Though she estimated it was likely mid-afternoon and would be dark in a few hours.

So, Tasha set to work cleaning up their campsite. She picked up the pan she'd tossed earlier.

Once that was clean, Tasha got a fresh bucket of hot water to see to their socks. Richard and Tasha only had six pairs between them - two of their own, a spare set from the shuttle, and the rest were great woollen things they'd lifted from the farmhouse.

Tasha understood just how important it was to keep them in working order. They had no sewing supplies nor material to make more.

Therefore, it was essential they maintain what little they had.

She sniffed the bar of soap they'd taken from the farmhouse. It was pungent but not entirely unpleasant. There was an almost spicy quality to the soap and Tasha had an inkling it would be doubly strong after a day stomping about in leather boots.

It had been more than a decade since the last time Tasha had washed clothes by hand. And it was hard work.

She paused to wipe the sweat from her brow when her eyes fell on the bedding.

They'd been sleeping on it for weeks. And it was certainly overdue for a good cleaning.

Now's as good a time as any. Tasha surmised.

Tasha strung up the blankets using their climbing jute. She beat them senseless with their heavy cooking pot. She scrubbed until her hands were raw.

Finally, Tasha laid them out on the hot rocks to dry. There was a wonderful sense of fulfilment that came from completing that task.

A symbolic washing away of the darkness that Tasha had carried for long inside her.

She glanced down at her own grubby uniform.

Might as well. Tasha surmised.

She warned you. A little voice said in the back of Richard's mind.

Tasha's concern for Richard's ability to make it on his own out on Narendra III may have been said in the heat of anger – but she was right.

The sun was going down and the temperature had dipped dangerously low.

As he drew closer to the cave, Richard grew increasingly spooked.

Richard tried to tell himself that it was the dark. His injury. Maybe the cold, desolate nature of Narendra's windswept moors.

But he couldn't shake the notion that there was something out there.

Stalking him.

Tasha had been monitoring the tracks of some sort of large creature that was around the cave. She'd spent most of their evenings (after a long day of work) hacking away at the rocky soil to dig a trench and fashioning large spikes with their limited wood for a rudimentary trap.

It's the wind. It's just the wind. Richard repeated in his mind.

It was biting. And Richard desperately hoped that would be the only thing biting his skin that evening.

He increased his pace. It was hard to do given his injured ankle. But fear outweighed pain.

Richard gritted his teeth and pushed on. He wanted to get back to the cave, the warm air, and the safety of not having to watch his back.

He wanted to get back to her.

"Argh!" Richard cried out in pain.

He fell and clutched his side. It was warm and wet.

Blood.

Tasha inhaled deeply, savouring the steam as it filled her sinuses.

She was floating in the hot water on her back, simply soaking in the atmosphere. There were no reports to write nor Security briefings to prep for.

Sure, she was facing subsistence living on a planet that was barely M-class.

But war with the Klingons seemed so far away. Romulan threats couldn't penetrate the cave.

In that moment, Tasha Yar was completely at peace.

Richard Castillo stumbled into the cave. He was frozen, bloody, and at the mental breaking point that came from isolation in the wilderness.

He hissed and grimaced, clutching the rocks for support.

Finally, he was home. He was safe.

But as Richard surveyed the cave, he realised something was off. The bedding was gone. The cooking equipment was packed up. Even the fireplace looked clean.

And the part of the cave where Tasha slept was empty.

Panic settled in Richard's core.

She's gone. He realised.

Richard kicked himself for being terse with Tasha earlier. He was sure he'd driven her away. He felt he had no one to blame but himself.

His mother had always warned him that one never knew what others had gone through. She'd cautioned him to confront obstinance with kindness and to react to anger with compassion.

Now Richard was alone.

And cold.

Injured.

Bleeding.

It couldn't get much worse.

The familiar sound of an arm moving in water caught Castillo's attention. He peeked over the rock formation that blocked the water and spied Tasha below.

"Tasha," he sighed in relief.

Her back was turned to him – much to Richard's relief. It wasn't Richard's intention to spy on her. He was merely relieved that she hadn't gone.

Though his eyes lingered for a moment longer than necessary as he imagined what it would be like for his fingers to trace the length of her exposed spine.

Or put his lips on her bare shoulders.

She was as lovely as he'd imagined. And Richard would give anything to tell her that. She would probably deck him.

And I would deserve it. Richard mused.

A sudden dizzying sensation shook Castillo from his moment of reprieve. He was losing blood and needed to see to his injuries.

Castillo grabbed the medical kit and stumbled down the path to the water.

"Yar?" he shouted.

Richard cringed.

"Dammit," he said aloud, chastising himself. "I meant Tasha! Tasha?!"

He shouted in desperation. It would be a miracle if he reached her before he lost consciousness.

Tasha was lounging against one of the hot rocks in the water when she heard Richard shouting. It sounded like he was in pain.

She rushed out of the water and straight up over the rocky cave floor just in time to see him stumble against the rock wall.

Richard froze. His mouth went dry.

"I was pretty… pretty…"

Only 'worried' wasn't a word he could formulate.

"So very pretty," Richard said in admiration.

The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop himself.

Richard blanched and swallowed hard.

Suddenly, he collapsed.

"Whoa, easy," Tasha said as she caught him.

She helped ease him to the floor. Richard was clutching his side and breathing hard.

"What happened?" Tasha asked as she knelt down to assess the damage.

"Trap works," Richard managed to choke out through clenched teeth.

He yelped as Tasha's fingers found the wound at his side. Wound was, perhaps, an understatement. There was a decent hole – the spear had gone clean through.

"You should have left it in place," Tasha said as she tried in vain to keep pressure on it.

"And freeze to death out there?" Richard countered.

Tasha made a face.

"Break the spear," Tasha explained.

Richard blinked.

"Didn't think of that," he admitted.

Tasha tried to rip the edge of his pant leg for a makeshift bandage but found it was frozen.

"I uh… put my foot through the ice," Castillo confessed with a sheepish look.

Tasha knew it wasn't the time for 'I told you so.'

"I need to get the medical kit," Tasha said.

Castillo had dropped it less than a metre back on his way down.

"Stay," Tasha ordered.

She leaned across him to reach the kit and Richard's entire body tensed. On instinct, he let go of his wound and dropped his hands to his side. He kept his fists clenched tight.

Tasha popped open the kit. When she turned back, she found Richard pressed against the rock wall – eyes firmly shut with his hands at his side.

"Are you in pain?" Tasha asked, concerned.

Richard nodded.

Tasha stuffed a compress at the wound on his side.

"Hold that," she instructed.

Richard shook his head in the negative.

"Hold that," Tasha barked.

When he refused to move, Tasha grabbed his hand and pulled it onto the wound.

Castillo whimpered when she began to run her hand over his thigh.

"Where does it hurt?" Tasha asked.

He appeared to be in great pain – just as he had when she'd put pressure there in reaching for the kit. She was concerned he'd broken something or was suffering from internal bleeding. The traps they'd dug were deep and a fall could spell disaster.

"Relax,," Tasha said softly.

Instead, Castillo responded with a sharp intake of breath as Tasha poked and prodded his leg. He shuddered and tried to move away.

"Richard," Tasha implored.

He was drowsy from the blood loss. Tasha had administered an emergency quick clot (the last in the medical kit). It had stopped the bleeding but did little to replenish the lost blood.

"Hey, hey. Stay with me," Tasha said, snapping her fingers.

Richard kept his eyes closed. His head began to droop.

"Come on. You need to stay awake," Tasha urged.

She cupped his face and tried to gently shake him. Castillo grimaced.

"Please don't," he whined.

"I need you to tell me where you're injured," Tasha said.

Richard shook his head.

"Fine," he lied in a tight voice.

"You're not fine," Tasha retorted.

Then her voice softened.

"Relax. Why don't you tell me another story about your mum. I'm just going to slip off your trousers so I can get a look at this leg," Tasha explained.

Richard clutched the waistband of his trousers. His knuckles were white.

"N-n-no," he stammered.

"You've lost a lot of blood," Tasha said.

Richard's shoulders slumped. He fell back against the rocks and turned his head away.

"I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry," he apologised. "I mean I'd felt them, you know. Pressed against me in the escape pod and then the other night when you were minced but-"

Castillo groaned.

"Seein' em, well… you," he confessed, gesturing vaguely. "In all your glory."

Richard ran a trembling hand back through his curls.

"It's a damn good thing that hour I promised never happened," he went on. "You're absolutely right, you know?"

He was delirious.

"I am all talk til I've got my trousers down. Then I'm a bumbling idiot," Castillo remarked. "I mean, my last girl-"

He stopped himself.

"Tell me about her," Tasha said.

She was keen to keep him talking while she patched up his injuries.

Richard scoffed.

"What's there to say? She left," Richard answered.

He bit down on his fist as Tasha tightened the temporary bandage around his abdomen. She would have to seal the wound. The dermal regenerator was dead, and the medical kit had nothing to use for a suture.

"I'll need to cauterise this wound," Tasha advised.

Richard nodded in understanding. He expected as much.

"I'll be right back. Keep talking," Tasha said.

"I uh… I didn't make it to the farmhouse," Richard said.

"Probably for the best. We really ought to head back there. But we need to go together," Tasha called back.

Tasha's eyes narrowed as she checked the progress in the fire. Their options were limited for objects that would work to sufficiently heat and cauterise the wound.

In the end, they'd settled on using the handle of one of the cast iron cook pots. It was the closest thing they had in size to the wound that wasn't too large. Anything bigger and they ran the risk of burning the uninjured flesh around the wound.

"Be gentle," Richard requested.

"Talk to me. What happened? Why did your girl leave?" Tasha asked.

Castillo shrugged.

"She felt I was rather pedestrian," Richard shared.

"That must have stung," Tasha said.

Richard hissed.

"Not as much as this," he pointed out.

Tasha pulled away the handle to inspect her work.

"One more I think," Tasha said.

She carefully returned the handle back to the fire to heat again.

"I'm sorry," Tasha said.

"It's not your fault. I was the one that got hurt," Richard said.

"I meant about your girl," Tasha clarified.

Silence descended upon the pair.

"She… well she's in Command. Wants her own posting. I'm happy serving on the Enterprise. I don't want to be in the big chair. I just like to fly," Richard explained.

He raised his eyebrows and rocked his head side to side.

"She felt I should really focus on advancing my career. Networking. She was concerned I was wasting my potential," Richard said.

He took a slow breath.

"You know, I started Starfleet a little later than most. It's always been just me and my mom. I wanted to join as soon as I was old enough. But I waited. A year went by, then another one. Before I knew it, I had friends that were officers and I hadn't even taken the exam," Richard admitted.

He felt guilty about leaving his mother alone on Earth.

"I loved my job on the Enterprise. I wanted to spend some time. See what's out there. But it was always my plan to eventually try and transfer back to Earth. Something closer to home. Maybe piloting the Jupiter supply run or Utopia transports," Castillo said.

He wanted to eventually find a position that allowed him to be close to home while still working as a pilot.

"What was her name?" Tasha asked.

"Laura," Richard said with a wistful sigh.

"I'm sorry things didn't work out with Laura," Tasha said with sincerity.

Richard just smiled and shook his head. They had different goals and that was alright. He was just glad things hadn't gone further. He knew they wouldn't have been happy.

"So, after she said a number of things I won't repeat, she called me a big oaf and that was that," Richard said.

He chuckled.

"Worst. Shore leave. Ever," he said.

Tasha smirked.

"Worse than this?" she teased.

"Believe me, this is a big improvement," Castillo replied.

He howled as the hot handle of the pan made contact with his wound. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes.

"Here," Tasha said as she handed him a bottle of Romulan ale.

"Now why didn't we think of this earlier?" Castillo asked with a wry smile.

He took a swig from the bottle.

He could have used a belt before she started burning his flesh. The burning sensation was immediately replaced by a cool, pleasant tingling as Tasha massaged an analgesic cream over the side of his torso.

"I mean, if I took you to Risa for ten days I don't think you'd throw a bottle of champagne at me for taking you to a baseball game," Richard said.

"A bottle of champagne?" Tasha asked.

Castillo responded with a grim nod.

"And a hairdryer. A rather expensive vase. And one of those tins of mixed nuts from the hotel minibar," Castillo shared.

"You poor thing," Tasha said.

Richard sighed.

"I proposed that night. She ugh, well… she didn't think the London Kings game was an appropriate spot," Christopher went on.

"She didn't like baseball?" Tasha prompted.

Richard shook his head.

"We met at a London Kings game," Richard answered. "I thought it was nostalgic. She thought it was improper."

Though she'd used more choice words to describe her disappointment.

"Nor did she feel it was right for me to ask until I'd made Lieutenant Commander."

He paused and shook his head.

"I was such a fool," he remarked.

"I'm sorry," Tasha said in earnest.

Richard shrugged.

"Probably for the best since I wound up here in the end. In any case, I learned an important lesson. She broke my heart and my wallet," Richard said.

He'd spent every last bit of his Federation credits to make her happy.

"I wasn't enough for her. And that's okay," Richard said. "She wanted prestige. I didn't have the kind of means to keep her happy."

"I think if you love someone and they truly love you, things like that shouldn't matter," Tasha said.

She stopped. Tasha felt awful for rubbing salt in his metaphorical wound. She quickly apologised.

"I'm sorry. It's not my place."

"It's alright. I know I'm a big oaf," Castillo said.

Self-deprecating humour had always been Richard's go-to in moments of doubt.

"There," Tasha said as she finished.

Tasha gave him a quick peck on the cheek and then sat back on her knees.

Richard blinked slowly.

"Sorry," Tasha said.

She bit her lip and dropped her gaze to her lap.

"I thought you might need some… reassurance," she settled on.

Richard felt warm.

"It's fine. My uh.. well, my mum used to do the same thing. Usually followed by a light swat on the back of the head for busting it open trying to do something I shouldn't have been doing," Richard said.

"Well, I'm just glad you're in one piece," Tasha replied.

For a brief moment, they held one another's gaze.

Suddenly, everything was too close. Too intimate.

Tasha cleared her throat and turned her attention to the medical kit. For a moment, Richard watched as she packed the contents back inside.

"Thank you," he said.

"It's nothing," she replied quickly.

"You're always saving me," he said.

Castillo reached up to tuck her bangs back.

"You really are my guardian angel," he teased.

"How's your ankle?" Tasha asked.

"Believe it or not, it's not the worst of my injuries," Castillo replied.

He was sitting at an uncomfortable angle against the rocks. Such a position was necessary given the injury on the side of Richard's body.

It had been twenty-four since Richard's injury. He was inconsiderable pain and in no condition to leave the cave. That meant Tasha had gone out on her own to search for brush – though she had stuck close to keep an eye on him.

It was evening now, and Tasha's trip had been moderately successful. They had enough brush for the next few days and some to dry for long-term storage.

They would need more.

Much more.

But things were stable for the moment. And Richard and Tasha were keen to take victories where they could find them.

Following some back and forth, Tasha had finally acquiesced to Richard's demands – after he'd threatened to go on hunger strike if Tasha didn't share his meals.

She begrudgingly took the world's smallest serving of rukesh porridge.

"Tasha," Richard said in a warning tone.

"We really need to ration this. And feeding two people-"

Tasha paused and grumbled.

"As you would say, we're probably both going to die on this frozen rock. I'd rather go with a full belly and the knowledge you had one too," Richard said.

Tasha pursed her lips and shot him a look.

"You said that in your time the Federation was close to a peace treaty with the Klingons. Who knows, there might be a diplomatic outpost or even a colony here in the near future?" Tasha suggested.

Richard frowned.

"I think that's highly unlikely. There's already people living on Narendra III. The Federation isn't going to colonise a place with-"

Richard trailed off as he observed Tasha's reaction. She simply laughed and shook her head.

"What?" he asked.

"Do you really believe that?" Tasha asked.

Richard scoffed.

"Look, I know things are different in your timeline. A lot has changed. But the Federation doesn't move in and take over where there's an existing population," Richard argued.

"You really don't know your own history," Tasha said with a grin.

Richard blinked in disbelief.

"Angel face, I am your history," Richard teased.

Tasha rolled her eyes.

"Look, somewhere between my future and your history things got screwy. But the Federation wouldn't-" Richard explained.

"I lived it," Tasha interjected.

Richard fell silent. Tasha turned her gaze, staring off into space.

"That is, I lived the aftermath of it," she added softly.

She turned back to Richard and studied his face.

"Do you really think that's how it works? That the Federation is some golden organisation that can do no wrong?" Tasha asked.

"I didn't say that," Richard replied. "But the Federation has laws. And Starfleet is bound to uphold them. Along with its own principles."

"The Prime Directive isn't some enlightened philosophy. It's a convenient excuse to hide behind," Tasha threw back.

She started to pick at her fingernails.

"It's a way to excuse isolationism. To distance itself from conflict. From poverty. But when they need something, they find a way to justify it by crying it's for the greater good," Tasha went on.

Richard didn't argue. He simply listened.

"We don't intervene on Bajor because the Federation doesn't want to risk war with the Cardassians. War has raged between the Meropa and the Bolians for decades. The Federation considers it an 'internal matter of the Bolian state' so as to avoid being dragged into open conflict," Tasha pointed out.

She knew that much would be the same for both timelines.

The Meropa were allied with the Kzinti. The prospect of war frightened the Federation.

"There's enough food. Fuel. Resources," Tasha said.

Scarcity, hunger, and poverty were problems of the past for most.

"The Federation was more than inclined to find cause to set up a mining colony on Turkana. But it couldn't be bothered to provide food replicators or crop irrigation," Tasha continued.

There was a distinct hint of bitterness that tainted her voice.

"All your history books say that Turkana was a failed colony," Tasha said. "The Aaed Mountain erupted. The subsequent environmental disaster led to famine. Civil war followed. Then the breakdown of order."

Tasha chuckled.

"And the Federation decided whatever it was in our soil you were after wasn't worth the cost," Tasha concluded. "But you won't find that in any of your Starfleet logs."

Tasha had looked.

She'd been stunned – appalled even – to see how skewed the history of Turkana IV was in the eyes of Federation scholars.

"Your ancestors weren't colonists?" Richard asked.

The corner of Tasha's mouth curved upward.

"No," she answered with a coy smile. "We're the people that scared off the Federation."

Her ancestors had always been on Turkana. They were one of the dozens of worlds of humans dotted throughout the quadrant and proof positive that the panspermia concept was more than just theory.

"Why did your people reject the Federation?" Castillo asked.

He was genuinely curious.

Tasha bit her lip.

"It's alright," Richard said quickly. "I'm sure it's a complicated series of factors."

"Not really," Tasha said.

She folded her hands in her lap as if they were discussing nothing more than water cooler gossip.

"The Federation came in and introduced industry and space travel. And many on Turkana were too enthralled by easier living to realise we were being used as a labour force while the Federation stripped our land and poisoned our water," Tasha explained.

"Then there wasn't always resistance?" Richard asked.

What little information was available on Turkana indicated that the people had rejected Federation efforts to colonise the area.

Violently.

"Not everyone believed in joining the Federation. You see, there's never been a centralised government on Turkana VI," Tasha said.

Before the Federation arrived, Turkana had been divided between dozens of clans and various government city-states that had their own laws, their own currencies, and their own interests.

Tasha's family was from the north of Turkana. In the centuries before Federation interference, the northern clans operated under a loose confederation of tribes headed by an elected leader. While there were occasional skirmishes, there was mostly peace among them.

"In their day it was said you could light a signal fire at one end of the high plains and that it looked like wildfire as each clan lit their own. That the flame would carry as far as the eye could see," Tasha said.

Tasha used to sit at her grandmother's feet, eyes wide with wonder, as she listened to stories of Turkana's past.

But it wasn't like that anymore.

Now they were scattered.

Divided.

Clinging to a way of life while simultaneously incorporating the narcotics and modern tools of destruction that had accompanied Federation presence.

It was a recipe for disaster.

"My grandmother was just a little girl the last time the clans banded together."

They had united against the Federation.

"The Citlali, the Cassini, the Namid. Liúnians from the frozen basin. Kras dwellers. Estari from beyond the rainshadow," Tasha went on.

She paused. A strange smile spread across her face.

"My grandmother's people were called the Tähti. It's said that every Tähti fought with the strength of ten ordinary men," Tasha recalled.

They had a reputation for endurance, speed, and tenacity.

"It's what made them such great Yars," Tasha remarked with a hint of sorrow.

"What happened?" Richard asked.

"They failed," Tasha said.

Her comment hung in the air for a moment.

"There were a handful of clans loyal to the Federation. And in a twisted interpretation of the Prime Directive, the Federation wanted Turkana to take care of the problem itself so it could act like its hands were clean," Tasha said.

She dropped her gaze to her lap.

"They supplied men like Turgon – his father actually, Turgon the Elder. They armed them. Paid no mind when his mercenaries came and went. Did nothing to prevent their trade with the likes of the Orion Syndicate and Acamarian Raiders," Tasha explained.

In essence, the Federation was directly responsible for turning small-time clan leaders into powerful warlords.

"Turgon the Elder had Orion and Nausicaan mercenaries. Air support. Chemical weapons," Tasha said.

Tasha's face darkened.

"And when they were defeated, the Federation tasked the warlords they'd bought with administering justice. They called it an internal matter," Tasha said, her voice dripping with disdain.

Tasha hated that phrase. She knew exactly what it meant and how the Federation used it as a shield.

"That's when the real atrocities started," Tasha said in a faraway voice.

The clans that had risen up against the Federation were punished.

"Turgon the Elder took the Tähti," Tasha explained.

She lifted her head to meet Richard's eyes.

"Just the children," Tasha said. "He slaughtered the rest of them. And the children, my grandmother's generation, became Yars."

Now Richard fully understood what Tasha meant when she described being marked from birth as a Yar. She was born into it – the third generation.

"I'm sorry," Richard said.

He wasn't sure what else to say to that.

Tasha waved him off.

"No, no. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to dump all this on you," she apologised.

"I think it's fascinating," Richard said.

He blanched.

"I mean… uh… I'm s-s-sorry it happened. It's not a good thing obviously."

He was fumbling.

"I'm just, well, I'm interested in your history. In you. In whatever you want to share," Richard stammered.

During the first few weeks of their time in the cave, Richard could barely get Tasha to string together more than two words that weren't about survival or the weather.

Now that the floodgate had opened, Tasha was keen to share parts of herself that had never seen the light of day.

As the firelight crackled on, Richard listened with rapt attention to Tasha's tale.

"They uh-"

Tasha's face flushed. She bit back a smile.

"They broke all the rules. Threw tradition to the wind," Tasha said.

Tasha had never spoken about her parents to anyone.

"Because they fell in love?" Richard asked.

Tasha nodded.

"My people don't have a marriage custom. Bonding is outlawed. And real love? It's forbidden," Tasha said.

While there were people that grew to care for one another, love was an exception. And it was frowned upon.

"Turgon was supposed to take my mother as his consort," Tasha said.

It was an arrangement made long before her birth at a time when Tasha's grandmother had been a child herself.

"Turgon the Elder wanted his son to have offspring with any children my grandmother bore. He wanted to tie his own blood into the Tähti clan," Tasha went on.

It was a power grab. Turgon the Elder sought to buy goodwill from the remaining Tähti in his possession. It strengthened his claim on their territory. And given their reputation as hearty people and fierce warriors, Turgon felt the Tähti would make superior consorts.

"My mother had so impressed Turgon that he promised to grant her a gift for winning her fiftieth fight," Tasha went on.

Tasha's mother was Turgon's prized Yar.

It was customary for exceptional Yars to be shown favouritism. And in the case of Tasha's mother, Turgon was most keen in order to win the support of the other Yars who believed their treatment might improve were Turgon's heir to be sired from a Yar.

"She asked for my father," Tasha said with a hint of pride. "She asked that Turgon pair them for mating instead of becoming his consort."

It was hardly a fairytale romance.

But Tasha's parents had truly cared for another.

"Turgon agreed provided that my father also win his fiftieth fight. It was a false promise. Turgon knew full well my father didn't stand a chance. Turgon paired him against a far more experienced, older Yar from a rival warlord for his final fight," Tasha said.

It was all part of Turgon's plan to ensure he could follow through with his plan without directly rejecting the request.

"No one thought he would win. But somehow. Someway."

Tasha trailed off and laughed softly.

"Fate. I think it's rather beautiful. These two kids - in the midst of all that violence - found each other and risked everything to be together," Tasha continued.

As Turgon's consort, Tasha's mother would have enjoyed a life of luxury. She would want for nothing – save her freedom.

She had turned all of that down to be with the person she loved.

But there was another condition to their arrangement.

"I told you I was marked from birth. Branded as Yar. All of my siblings were. But I wasn't just branded as a Yar. I was promised to Turgon too," Tasha confessed.

That had been the cost demanded by Turgon for the loss of his promised consort. After the upset caused by Tasha's father, Turgon realised he could take advantage of the situation.

Their offspring would belong to him. He could claim one for himself and have a generation of new, skilled Yars from two his best.

Richard's brow furrowed.

"Your parents were going to give you to that monster?" he asked in disbelief.

"It was a no-win scenario," Tasha said, throwing Richard's earlier statement back at him.

Tasha sighed and leaned back against the rocks.

"I don't blame them. They were just children. They loved each other. And they dreamed of a better world," Tasha said.

"But?" Richard prompted.

He could see the corner of Tasha's eyes were moist. She sniffled and wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve.

"The other Yars-"

She began to say.

"It's hard for me to not feel responsible because I've always carried a sense of guilt. For as long as I can remember," Tasha said in a low voice.

She took a shaky breath.

"They said my parents had broken our most sacred tradition because they'd taken the Ceangal Azurdorcha or "dark bond."

"It's a ritual. Two people seal their love for one another with an act of coupling in the moonlight," Tasha explained.

Richard was in awe as he listened to the details. There was something lonely and terribly romantic about the notion of such a bond. For most on Turkana, it was the only time they would ever truly be together.

"It flew in the face of tradition. A direct challenge to the universe. To powers greater than any of us," Tasha went on.

The other Yars (the remaining Tähti in particular) had called Tasha cursed.

"Their bond. Their offspring. Me," Tasha said. "When they were killed by Turgon's men – the others said it was because they were cursed. Because they had defied the gods."

Everything had a cost.

"And that as the product of that union, I would spend the rest of my life atoning for their sin," Tasha concluded.

Tasha had carried the burden of that since childhood.

"Every time something good happens, the universe comes along to remind me that I don't deserve it," Tasha said softly.

She sniffled.

"That's why I have to believe in things like fate and love. In getting you off this stupid chunk of ice. That you're going to see your mother again. I have to believe in that or I'll lose my will to live," Tasha said.

Her hands were trembling.

"So, when we first met… when we were repairing that console… before I knew any of this and I told you that I bet you would like divine in moonlight-"

Richard trailed off.

"Maybe it was fate?" he said with a cheeky grin.

He was hoping to make Tasha smile.

And it worked.

Richard relaxed as he saw the corner of her mouth curve upward ever so slightly.

"You know it wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault," Richard assured her.

Tasha fell silent.

She closed her eyes and took a series of slow, steadying breaths. It was the first time she had ever revealed such information to anyone.

She was still processing it herself.

Her moment of peace was interrupted as Richard fell into her.

"Sorry, sorry," he apologised.

He'd tried to quietly slide in next to her. But his injuries made it difficult to be subtle.

Richard threw his arm around Tasha as she rested her head against his shoulder.

"I think it's wonderful," Richard commented.

Tasha frowned as she stared at the fire.

"I mean you. After all that you still believe in love and hope," Richard explained.

He took a risk in kissing the top of her head.

"You still dream of a better tomorrow," he added.

Tasha relaxed into the embrace. She closed her eyes and listened to the fire crackle. She felt safe – safer than she had in a long time.

"I'm going to get you home," she promised.

That night when they finally went to bed, Tasha was reluctant to slip into her own sleeping space alone.

It wasn't that she wanted any sort of sexual or romantic attention. She simply liked the physical intimacy of being so close to someone, of feeling safe in the arms of another.

Castillo winced in pain as he tried to slip his shirt overhead.

Most nights they slept with their backs to another on opposite sides of the fire.

The noise was enough for Tasha to turn around, concerned for his well-being. Richard was facing the rocks and didn't see her.

Tasha watched as Richard slipped his arms out one by one, mindful of the wound on the left side of his torso.

She kept her eyes peeled on his bandage in order to ensure it didn't come loose.

Richard threw his shirt aside and said there for a moment. He was waiting for the pain to pass. Every twist, the slightest movement was enough to send searing pain through his body.

Tasha's eyes wandered up from the medical wrap along his spine until she reached his bare shoulders. It wasn't the first time she'd seen them.

But it was the first time she was looking when he wasn't trying to hide himself and she was sober.

Tasha quickly and quietly rolled onto her back, embarrassed at her own voyeurism. Her face felt warm. Tasha squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to push away thoughts of his stupid grin.

She carefully opened one eye and took another quick look.

After all, Richard had already seen all of her.

Twice.

And he was fond of pointing out – they were sharing a toothbrush.

It wasn't like she was watching him in the bath.

Great. Tasha said, chastising herself.

The very last thing she needed to be thinking about before bed was the thought of those shoulders being wet.

Tasha grumbled to herself in frustration.

She did like flirting with Richard. It felt so easy, so natural. There were no expectations. He respected her. And Tasha really did think he was awfully handsome.

Finally feeling safe enough to move, Richard turned to settle into bed when he caught sight of Tasha staring at him. There was an unmistakable look on her face.

They locked eyes and Tasha's eyes went wide with fear at being found out.

"Goodnight," Richard said with a smirk.

Richard grimaced and bit his tongue as his foot collided with a rock in the dark. Worst of all, it was on the side with his bad ankle.

His toes throbbed with pain.

He stopped and waited for a moment, breathing as quietly as possible as he listened for any sound of Tasha stirring.

It was late and Tasha was asleep above next to the fire.

After several agonising seconds, Richard started back down the dark path to the water. With his injuries, he needed the support of the rock wall to travel. They were low on fuel so there wasn't much to use for light – not that he trusted himself with a torch anyways.

Suddenly, Richard stumbled. He caught himself on the rock wall just in time to save himself from going down. But it was at an awkward angle. He twisted in a funny direction and cried out in pain.

The sound was enough to rouse Tasha from her slumber.

"What are you doing?" Tasha asked as she fumbled around in the dim light of the cave.

She threw off her blankets. Before her eyes had even adjusted to the low light, she felt her way down the path to find Richard.

Tasha slipped her arm under Richard for support and helped him back up to his feet.

"It's been three days. I'm grimy. I just want to scrub up," Richard said.

"You should be resting. You need to heal. I'll bring you a pan with some hot water," Tasha offered.

Richard hissed and clutched his side.

"As much as the thought of you sponging me down has a certain appeal, I'd really like to get in the water," Richard protested. "I went through all the work of getting down here."

It had taken considerable effort.

"I don't want that to be for nothing," Richard said.

"And what if you had fallen, hmm?" Tasha asked.

"Why do you think I waited until you'd fallen asleep?" Richard threw back.

He pointed at the water.

"Alright," Tasha agreed.

Together, they stumbled down to the water. Tasha kept her eyes focused on the sliver of light ahead streaming in from the surface above.

"I think I can take it from here," Richard said.

He could feel the warm water on his toes.

"Yeah, I'm not about to let you fumble around in the dark in water," Tasha declared.

Richard could barely get around their camp. It was hard enough for him to reach the latrine. Tasha was worried he could slip and hurt himself even worse in the pool of water.

"I don't intend to fumble around in the dark. I know what I'm doing," Richard protested.

Fumble around in the dark.

They both fell silent. The unintended innuendo hung in the air.

Richard cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck.

"I uh… I just meant-"

"It's fine," Tasha squeaked in response.

They had both tried the chemistry between them. But it seemed the harder they tried, the more their circumstances pushed back.

"Thank you, I'll be fine," Castillo lied.

In truth, now that he was in the water and had the wet, slippery rocks below, Richard realised just what a foolish idea it was to come down to the water alone.

"I'll be alright. If you just want to help me get down here," Richard said.

"Here?" Tasha asked, surprised.

They were standing right at the edge of the water. It was an easy incline. But Tasha knew it wouldn't be comfortable trying to scoot along the bottom to deeper water.

"I thought you wanted to take a proper bath?" Tasha prompted.

"I'll get round to it," Richard assured her. "I just want to take my time. Relax, yanno?"

Tasha wasn't buying it for a second.

"I got it, I got," Richard said.

He brushed off Tasha's assistance and balanced himself against the rocks.

Tasha hadn't gone more than two steps when Castillo lost his balance while trying to shimmy out of his uniform.

His trousers were halfway off. His leg was caught at an unusual angle and it all served to agitate the wound at his side.

Tasha was back in a flash.

"Watch the bandage," Castillo hissed as she supported his weight.

"Easy. Hold still," Tasha said.

She helped Richard free his leg.

"Wait. Just… just wait a minute," Richard requested.

Tasha was about to mark a smart remark when she noticed that Richard was distressed. He was perspiring. The slightest bit of movement was enough to cause excruciating pain.

As Tasha listened to his laboured breathing, she realised his wounds were far worse than they thought.

"You're burning up," she said, feeling his forehead.

"I just need to get in the water," Castillo urged.

He wanted to wash off. He felt grimy from the fever. But the exertion of getting down to the water had taken its toll.

"I'm fine," Richard managed to choke out.

"No, you're not alright. You need to cool down," Tasha said.

She moved away, then immediately stopped.

"Stay," she ordered before slipping away in the darkness.

She knew it would be easier to bring the supplies down to him than to try and take Richard back up. He was in no condition to move.

Richard sat alone in the dark. There was no sound save for the drip from the natural rock formations and an occasional flap from the colony of bats that lived deeper back down an unexplored portion of the cave.

Tasha returned a moment later. Richard heard her curse as she hit her foot on a rock (likely the same one he'd tripped over on the way down).

Castillo's mouth went dry as Tasha reached for the clasp at his right shoulder. Next she started on the buttons on the front of his uniform. He said nothing as she worked.

"Why didn't you say anything sooner?" Tasha asked.

Her tone was not accusatory. In contrast to their usual banter, this time she spoke with gentleness.

"It's not as if you can run down to the nearest Sickbay and get me something," Richard replied.

Tasha carefully slipped his standard red uniform jacket down over his shoulders. She watched Richard's face for the slight sign of pain.

"You're too hot," Tasha remarked as she felt his chest.

For a moment, Richard forgot about everything – the pain, the disorientation, his elevated body temperature.

Richard wasn't entirely sure where things were going.

But he wasn't complaining.

"Ah!" he cried out, breaking the moment.

Tasha hadn't returned empty-handed. She'd brought down several frozen rocks from just outside the cave.

The one she'd placed on the back of his neck brought welcome relief.

Richard flinched and made a small noise of protest when she pressed a second frozen rock to his chest.

"Oooo!" he hissed.

Richard shivered as Tasha applied a third frozen rock.

"We need to bring your temperature down," Tasha said.

Richard closed his eyes and tried to relax. It was a difficult task given the icy rock pressed against the inside of his thigh.

"Is that really necessary?" he asked.

"Relax," Tasha said in a soothing voice.

She guided his free hand to the rock, wordlessly instructing Richard to hold it in place.

He keened as a warm, wet flannel made contact with his skin. He felt so grimy and gross from all the perspiration.

"Sorry," he apologised quickly, realising that he had just made the situation more awkward.

Tasha smirked.

"It's alright. Feels good to wash off," she said as she cleaned his face.

Within a matter of minutes, Richard was feeling better. His temperature had come down. The dizziness had subsided. And he finally felt like he could breathe.

"This wasn't exactly how I pictured bathing together," Richard teased.

Tasha quirked her eyebrow as she rang out the rag.

"You pictured bathing together?" she asked.

Castillo froze.

"Um… well, I just meant that… seeing as how we've…"

He struggled to put it to words.

"Twice," he squeaked.

Tasha was grateful it was dark so Richard couldn't see her bite back a grin. She set down the flannel and cupped his chin.

"Next time you want a bath – please just ask," Tasha said.

Within a few days, Richard was healing well. He was still a bit unsteady on his ankle and couldn't be on too long. But Tasha had tasked him with plenty of light duty around the cave and she had promised to focus only on collecting resources – no dangerous scouting trips.

The days were continuing to grow shorter, and Tasha was having to go further and further out to collect fuel. They had scraped every bit of brush, dung, and peat they could find.

Richard had just finished cleaning out their cook pot and setting up everything for dinner when Tasha appeared at the edge of the cave.

It was well after dark.

Tasha grunted as she dropped another load of brush.

She pulled down the hood on the coat. There was only one coat from the escape pod shared between the two of them. Some of the stolen gear from the farmhouse helped supplement that need. But Tasha and Richard knew things would be tight when winter came.

Tasha was beaming. Exhausted – but happy.

It was a relief to see her smile.

"Good haul?" Richard asked.

Tasha reached into her knapsack and produced a rare find. She held up two bulb-like vegetables. Richard blinked in confusion.

"K'unnean," Tasha announced.

She was beaming with pride.

"They're like onions," she explained.

"Great," Richard replied.

Tasha tossed them over to Richard and he set to work cleaning them. In no time at all, they were cooking away in what would be a pot of delicious stew.

Tasha had loaded her knapsack with the find. She had left some in the ground. They would eat a few in the coming days. But Tasha was really hoping to try and cultivate the remaining ones for a long-term source of food.

While Castillo stirred dinner, Tasha hauled in another load of fuel.

"Nice work," Richard said.

"Let's just say I'm not going to turn down supper tonight," Tasha replied.

She hung the coat over one of the rocks and then kicked off her boots.

"I'm just going to wash up before dinner," Tasha said.

She knew it would take time for the K'unnean bulbs to cook down.

Tasha's muscles were screaming. It had been a long day. The weather was good for a change – hovering just above freezing and Tasha had sought to take advantage of the heat wave.

She was looking forward to a nice soak in the warm water. The steam would do wonders for her aching biceps.

The sun had gone down earlier in the late afternoon. The temperature had followed.

Fuel use was limited. Cooking was one of the rare times when a warm, ambient glow filled the cave. The firelight danced on the walls and gave an almost Aurora-Borealis like effect.

Overhead, there was a small opening to the world above. It was no bigger than two metres. The cavern was high, and it sat at least fifteen metres above.

It was just enough to provide a sliver of moonlight.

There were two moons on Narendra, and they were both out that night.

Tasha lost track of time as she savoured the feel of the hot water.

Richard had been keen to let her stay there as long as she liked. But it was growing quite late. With their limited fuel, they didn't have many options to keep food hot for long.

Richard safely limped down the path to the water – stopping just before he rounded one of the larger rocks.

He cleared his throat.

Tasha had her eyes closed. She was completely caught up in her own blissful break and unaware of the outside world.

"Tasha?" Richard asked.

She didn't respond.

The back of her ears were underwater.

Richard inched out from behind the rock and kept his back to the water.

"Tasha? Um, the food's ready," he announced.

When she emerged from the water, Tasha spied him standing at the edge of the water talking to himself.

She smiled.

His back was turned out of respect for her privacy. He was good like that.

Tasha observed as Richard ran a trembling hand back through his curls.

"Uh… so if you want to join me? Or I could try and keep in the pot on the coals if you wanted more time-"

"I'm sorry," Tasha said.

Castillo felt a rush of relief at the sound of her voice. On instinct, he spun around.

"Oh, thank god. I thought you were upset and-"

Richard froze and whipped around, turning his back to Tasha once more.

"I am so sorry," he apologised.

Tasha chuckled.

"It's alright," she said.

Her shoulders were well below the water.

"It was uh, well, pretty special you found those onion things. They smell great. Better than most of the stuff we've had," Richard said.

He was nervous and wanted to fill the silence.

"Like fate, eh?" he rambled.

"Yeah," Tasha replied.

Silence fell upon them. Richard made no move to leave.

"I'll be out shortly," Tasha said.

"Right," Castillo replied. "I'll just uh-"

He pointed at the path and made a hasty exit.

Tasha turned back and resumed washing off. She truly didn't want to get out – but a warm meal was an appealing offer.

Richard had only gone a few steps when an unfamiliar sound caught his ear.

She was singing.

She was singing in a strange, beautiful language that Richard had never heard. He didn't recognise the tune. It had a haunting quality, almost like a lullaby.

Richard threw off his jacket.

Startled, Tasha froze.

Tasha watched with concern as Richard slipped out of his boots. He nearly fell as he shimmied out of his trousers.

She opened her mouth, but Richard put his finger up.

"Ah! Stay there," he ordered.

He tossed them aside before grabbing his socks. Richard lost his balance and stumbled into the rocks.

"Dammit," he said under his breath.

It was hardly the cool, composed demeanour he'd hoped to display.

Only Tasha wasn't laughing – she stood motionless as Richard waded into the water.

He stopped just inches away and cupped her face. To his relief, she didn't pull away.

"You say that you believe in fate. In some grander universal power. Well, I can't ignore that it seems to be fate we would find each other," Richard began. "I can't ignore what I feel for you."

He flashed one of his signature goofy smiles. The kind that made Tasha want to melt.

"And if Romulans, Klingons, a battle, the destruction of the Enterprise-"

He was giving her that look.

"Hell, time itself can't keep us apart then I think-"

Richard stopped as Tasha captured his lips. She reached for his shoulders, grateful for the opportunity to finally run her hands over them.

This kiss had the same sort of passion they'd shared on the Enterprise-D before Richard beamed back to his own vessel.

It was just as desperate as the one in the escape pod.

And it carried the same emotional weight as the tender kiss after Tasha's confession.

Tasha twisted her fingers into the back of his hair. With her free hand, she reached for his hip.

Richard hissed.

"Ooo. Watch the side," he said as they broke apart.

"I'm sorry," Tasha apologised.

Castillo responded with a slow, reassuring kiss.

"It's alright," he whispered, nuzzling against her face.

He kissed the tip of her nose and Tasha grinned.

"I think I'm falling in love," Richard confessed. "I'm feeling things for you that I don't know if I've ever felt before."

"You've only known me for a few weeks," Tasha countered.

"Fate, angel face. Fate," Richard replied.

"Tuula," Tasha said, correcting him.

Richard blinked in confusion.

"Call me Tuula," Tasha explained.

"Tuula," Richard repeated, savouring the way it rolled off his tongue.

It had been a long time since Tasha had heard that word. It felt wonderful to hear it from him. It felt right.

Castillo reached up to brush Tasha's bangs back from her face. She bit her lip and blushed.

"It means firefly," Tasha shared.

Richard grinned.

"My little spark in the dark," Richard said as he pulled her close.

Castillo glanced up. Tasha followed his line of sight to the opening overhead.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Moonlight," Richard answered.

He dropped his head back down. For several long seconds, they held each other's gaze before Tasha closed the distance between them.

Dinner was forgotten as they found a comfortable rhythm.

The K'unnean had boiled down and was more mush than boiled vegetable by the time they climbed out of the water.

They'd eaten it regardless.

"This is terrible," Richard said before adding, "I mean the food."

They were snuggled together wearing nothing but one of the fur blankets as they shared a bowl of their ruined meal.

Tasha giggled.

"Would you like me to phone out for a Chinese?" Richard offered.

Tasha stopped eating.

"What?" she asked through a mouthful of mush.

"Takeaway," Richard explained.

"Like from a canteen?" Tasha asked.

Castillo chuckled and kissed her cheek.

"When we get back to Earth, I'm going to take you out for the world's greasiest cheeseburger," Richard promised.

"You know I can't leave this place," Tasha pointed out.

She didn't want to bring down the mood. But equally as strong was the desire to avoid breaking his heart. Sooner or later, Tasha would find a way to get Richard off Narendra. And she recognised it would only make parting harder if she got her hopes up.

No matter how much she wished she could.

"In any case, I don't eat meat," Tasha added.

She had fallen back on humour to avoid the serious nature of their conversation.

"We'll find a way," Richard assured her.

"You know that's impossible," Tasha countered.

Richard cupped her face, turning Tasha's face so she was forced to meet his eyes.

"Please don't be my Kobayashi Maru," Richard pleaded.

Tasha just shook her head, amused.

"I can't. Starfleet would probably hold me prisoner in any case for violating the Temporal Prime Directive," Tasha said.

She shuddered.

"I'd rather die here than be in a cage," she declared.

"You're not going to die in a cage," Richard said.

He caressed Tasha's hand with his thumb. Richard glanced around the cave and sighed.

"In any case, I think I've grown far too accustomed to this place. I could never leave," Richard commented.

Tasha scoffed.

"You have your mother. Your home. Your whole life ahead of you," she argued.

"Ah, but there are some things I can't do back home," Richard said.

Tasha felt like it was just a cheap line and Richard sensed he needed more evidence.

"Like this," Richard said.

His lips brushed against the side of her neck. Richard reached for her hand.

"Or this," he said, hovering just above it.

Richard pressed a tender kiss against the inside of her wrist. Then he dropped down and nuzzled against her hip.

"Or this," he added with a cheeky grin.

He trailed a series of kisses down over the curve of her hip, stopping just above Tasha's knee.

She chuckled.

"I'll admit it's a good line. And a tempting offer. I want to amend my earlier request," Tasha said.

When they had first landed she'd said 'no kissing' as a requirement for her participation.

"I like when we kiss. I like when you kiss me," she admitted.

Richard glanced up as if to ask for permission and Tasha's breath hitched.

"I want to kiss you everywhere," he confessed.

Tasha reached for Richard. He grinned as her fingers worked their way into his curly hair. She needed something to hang onto, to ground herself.

She whimpered and twisted. Richard reached for her hand as he wordlessly encouraged Tasha to relax. Tasha was quite certain her brain had broken.

There was gentleness.

And joy.

Love.

Everything Richard was doing was about her. For her. Richard didn't want anything from Tasha. There were no expectations, no demands.

He simply wanted to be together, to be the reason she was happy.

No one had ever treated Tasha with such affection. Her legs trembled. Tasha rolled her hips as a rare feeling overcame every fibre of her being.

Moisture pricked at the corner of her eyes. She hovered just at the precipice of bliss.

As she stared at the ceiling above, Tasha contemplated how lucky she was to find such tenderness.

A dark thought crept into the back of Tasha's mind. She couldn't help but wonder what she had done to deserve this.

And the cost.

Present

"You were captured by the Romulans?" Picard asked.

In the hour since Castillo had begun his tale, the two men had come to an understanding. There was no need to be delicate – the situation was grave, and Richard could appreciate Picard's blunt attitude.

"Yes," Castillo answered.

It was the worst possible outcome. They would have rather died on the ship or succumb to the elements on Narendra.

Anything but Romulans.

"That was when we first learned we weren't alone. No, we were far from the only survivors," Castillo said.

There were Klingons - both civilians and members of the Klingon Defence Force. There were survivors from the Enterprise-C too.

Nearly three dozen crew members had managed to make it out alive. Most of them were picked up in the first few hours after the evacuation order.

"She had a target on her back from the moment we were captured. They knew so much about the Enterprise. Our crew manifest. Our ship specs. Shield frequencies," Castillo went on.

It had been a shock to learn just how different their understanding of intelligence and surveillance compared to the Romulans.

"At first they thought we had cloaking technology. That was the only reason they could think of that we would all be so reluctant to talk, so resistant to their methods of interrogation," Castillo said.

Jean-Luc's lips thinned. He gripped his glass of whisky tighter than intended.

"You were tortured," Picard said.

It wasn't a question.

Beverly's initial exam had revealed their bodies bore the scars from years of cruelty.

They very idea of torture stood in stark opposition to everything Captain Picard believed in. He found torture to be an abhorrent practise – neither acceptable nor effective.

"Aye. Temperature control. Sleep deprivation. Physical torment. Psychological manipulation," Castillo spat. "They tried everything including mind-altering substances, fake executions, rape."

In twenty years' time, Richard had never had the chance to even begin properly processing that trauma. Tasha had helped in her own way – but it was far cry from the level of support Richard and the others truly needed.

Richard had always carried a sense of guilt about it. Because he knew that regardless of his own experience, Vil Arandev (the Betazoid Geologist) had experienced it amplified by every member of the crew.

It was a wonder Vil remained sane – let alone their voice of reason.

"I don't know for sure how long we were there. It was difficult to tell time in our cell. Sometimes we were moved to solitary isolation. Other times they took some of the crew for medical experimentation," Castillo said.

His tone of voice indicated the 'experimentation' was far from medical in nature.

"We estimate four months," Castillo said.

Picard baulked.

"Four months?" Jean-Luc asked, incredulous.

Richard nodded in response, yet there was a distant look in his eyes that left Picard with the impression he was holding back the worst of it.

"There was no sunlight in those cells. No stars. No breeze. Just the stench of stale water, inedible food, human waste – and an undertone of death," Castillo described.

The smell of that cell clung to Richard's mind.

"Because they thought we were holding back on illegal cloaking technology, Lieutenant Yar's different uniform and absence from the crew manifest were suspicious," Castillo shared.

Castillo slammed his drink and then immediately refilled his glass.

"She didn't give them anything. Refused to cooperate. Not even her name. Tried to take her own life just to ensure she didn't violate the damned Temporal Prime Directive," Richard said.

Castillo's eyes narrowed as he studied Picard's response.

Or rather, lack thereof.

"You're not surprised," Castillo observed.

Jean-Luc was hesitant to answer. The details of their covert mission to G'kantal Cardassian labour camp were something Tasha once confessed drinking to forget.

It had been years before the Enterprise and was the mission that reunited Tasha and Captain Picard.

"Let's just say I find your account to be consistent with her character," Picard answered.

Richard sat back in his seat sighed.

"Yeah, I suppose it is," Richard agreed.

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes. It gave Richard a chance to compose his thoughts while Picard processed this revelation.

"Eventually, General Morak treated her interrogations like a game. He could have cared less about the rest of us – we were just fodder at that point. He was fixated on Tasha," Castillo explained.

Richard's expression darkened.

"He was amused by her. Took her to brink of death and then healed her up just to do it all over again," Castillo hissed.

He frowned.

"I knew her name. I was the only one. But it didn't matter. Morak could have cared less about the rest of us at that point," Castillo went on. "He'd take her for hours, days on end. Morak called her his songbird because she refused to speak."

Richard turned his attention out the window where the exterior ship lights created an eerie glow.

"Until he discovered her weakness," Richard said.

2344 | Brea III | Romulan Space

The interrogation room door opened. A tall shadow appeared on the floor. It was made taller by the bright overhead lights that shone down on the hard concrete floor.

Tasha Yar didn't move, nor did she lift her head.

She was kneeling on the floor, her arms restrained behind her at an uncomfortable angle.

It was her first day back in this hellhole of room after several days' reprieve. Tasha's last session with General Morak had nearly killed her.

It had required the intervention of a trained Romulan physician and a trip to their medical facility on base to heal her properly.

Under Morak's orders, the healer had stitched up her wounds and treated Tasha's burns. Broken bones were set, and dislocated joints put back into place.

Tasha had prayed for death.

Instead, she'd been healed anew – made fresh and ready for another session with Morak as soon as he returned.

"Did you miss me?" Morak asked as he swept into the room.

Tasha didn't answer.

She kept her head low.

"I said, did you miss me?" Morak repeated.

When Tasha refused to acknowledge him, Morak snapped his fingers. One of his guards rushed out from a dark corner.

He gripped the back of Tasha's hair, forcing her to look up as Morak unzipped his trousers.

Tasha maintained her cool demeanour and kept her eyes trained on the dark wall ahead. Tasha denied Morak any reaction as a warm stream of urine hit her face while Morak relieved himself.

He wasn't above humiliating his prisoners.

Tasha remained still. Morak chuckled.

He knelt down next to her and held out his hand in expectation of a cleaning cloth from one of his guards.

"It doesn't have to be like this. You could just as easily tell me your name," Morak said while cleaning her face.

Tasha fought the urge to shudder as Morak nipped at her shoulder. His breath was unwelcome against her ear.

"But I think you like this. I think you enjoy what I do to you just as much as I like watching you squirm," Morak whispered.

Tasha grimaced.

Morak smirked with satisfaction at having earned a small response.

"That's why I picked up a present for you while I was on Khitomer," Morak said. "You see, we recently conquered that territory."

Morak and his fleet of ships had steamrolled over the unsuspecting colony. Technically, the Romulan Star Empire had a treaty of nonaggression with the Klingon Empire – but that had never stopped them before.

Morak's forces had taken out the defensive forces on Khitomer before turning their attention to the colony. They slaughtered everyone they found – civilians, children – it mattered not.

"And since you like to play games with me, we're going to play a new one," Morak growled.

The door opened again and one of Morak's men stepped through with something in his arms. Tasha felt sick as soon as she heard a child.

Morak scooped the child out of the guard's arms.

"Hello, little one," Morak said.

It was a small Klingon child.

Tasha knew Klingon children grew at a faster rate than humans. Even still, the child appeared no more than one or two years of age.

A little girl.

"Do you like your present?" Morak asked.

Tasha blanched as she watched this terrified child shake in Morak's arms.

"We found her in the rubble, and I couldn't very well leave her there to die alone," Morak said with mock sympathy.

Tasha swallowed back bile as Morak handed the child a small Romulan device to chew on.

"You will pick the manner of her death," Morak announced.

They had played this game before. At least, Morak had put Tasha in a similar position before. In an effort to extract information, he'd forced her to choose which prisoner would be executed from a small group selected at random.

If Tasha refused, Morak would execute them one by one.

Tasha knew Morak would kill them all regardless, so she had refused to comply. After all, death was a relief. They all prayed for it, dreamed of slipping into that sweet escape.

But this was different.

"She's a child," Tasha said. "She's probably worth more to you as a hostage or-"

Tasha froze as the little girl stopped chewing on her toy and looked up at Tasha. The girl blinked, her big brown eyes were so full of blamelessness.

This child was an innocent. She had no place in a geopolitical and ideological conflict that had spanned generations.

"Tell me your name," Morak demanded.

"You're just going to kill her anyways, aren't you?" Tasha spat in response.

But nothing with Morak was ever that simple.

"If you tell me your name, she'll die by a simple disruptor blast. Done and over with. Quick and relatively painless," Morak said as he stroked the child's hair. "Remain silent and I'll throw her in the incinerator."

Tasha's mouth went dry.

"And if you give me that stupid gibberish you mutter, I'll let my dogs play with her. It's been ages since they've had a chance to tear a Klingon apart. They do so love the taste of Klingon flesh," Morak mused.

Tasha shook her head.

"I don't care what you do to me. Don't do this to her. She's a child," Tasha sobbed.

"Your name," Morak said as he smiled down at the girl.

Tasha's throat was tight. Her body physically ached from the agonising decision between the life of this innocent child and the very timeline.

It was an impossible choice.

Tasha couldn't stomach the thought of this child being tormented. But the reality of altering the timeline, the risk of the Romulans learning the nature of Tasha's existence – it was a door that couldn't be closed again once the floodgates opened.

Federation technology.

Starfleet procedures.

Future events.

It would place billions of lives at risk.

And yet – Tasha wondered what could possibly be gained from the knowledge of her name alone. There would be no Starfleet record. Turkana had no paper trail.

The Romulans could search every available database and they would come up empty handed.

"Don't do this," Tasha pleaded.

"The choice is yours, songbird," Morak replied.

Tasha squeezed her eyes shut to try and block out the image of the child gnawing away at the toy in her tiny fists.

"What is it to be?" Morak pressed.

"Please don't do this," Tasha wept.

When Tasha was returned to an isolation cell, she felt empty.

At first, Tasha had thought she'd made the right choice in revealing her name. Morak seemed to buy it. At the very least, the child had died at the hands of Morak's disruptor, spared a more gruesome fate thanks to Tasha's compassion.

Compassion?

Tasha scoffed to herself.

More like inability to hold fast.

Tasha had long thought she had the stomach for impossible choices. She had been trained to harden her heart. A decision like that on Turkana would have been easy.

Starfleet had weakened her resolve.

Tasha could practically hear Captain Picard's voice waxing poetic that empathy was a strength.

What frightened Tasha most of all was that she had given Morak an opportunity.

Tasha Yar would always sacrifice herself for others. She was the one that refused to leave anyone behind, that wouldn't think twice about putting herself in the line of fire.

Now that he had discovered where Tasha's limit stood, he would be free to exploit it.

Present

"How did you survive? All these years?" Picard asked.

He couldn't begin to fathom four months in a Romulan prison. But what seemed more remarkable was that Richard and the others had somehow escaped.

"Have you been on the run all these years?" Picard pressed.

Richard shook his head.

"No. Not the entire time. There was a lot that happened between that prison and your rescue. We've only been on the run well, a little more than a decade," Richard said.

Jean-Luc raised one eyebrow.

"A little more than a decade?" Picard asked.

He was struck by Richard's casual attitude. It was the same kind of sarcasm Picard had come to appreciate from his Security Chief.

"A lot of us didn't survive. There were many that died in that prison. Some were taken as shock troops. Others were carted off for experimentation," Castillo explained.

"And you?" Picard prompted.

A dark look crossed Castillo's face.

"A deal was struck," Castillo answered. "General Morak offered terms – Tasha Yar would agree to become his consort and provide him with an heir. In return, General Morak would spare our lives and arrange for a prisoner exchange."

Jean-Luc blinked in surprise.

"That doesn't like Tasha Yar," Picard said.

Sure, Tasha would willingly throw herself on a blade to protect another. But he couldn't see her agreeing to such a terrible arrangement when these men were already praying for death.

"You'd be right. She'd rather die than spend another moment trapped in a cage," Castillo acknowledged. "But the alternative offer was Morak would kill all of us and take her – willing or not."

Richard took a slow, heavy breath.

"It wasn't much of a deal," Castillo said. "And she thought we would be going home."

Morak had promised a prisoner exchange. Tasha genuinely believed he would follow through. Pretending to have 'rescued' these survivors would go a long way in weaselling into a strong bargaining position with the Federation.

"Romulans are xenophobes. I've heard rumours of what they will do to prisoners… but an heir?" Picard pondered aloud.

He just couldn't wrap his head around it.

"What do you know of traditional Romulan ideology?" Castillo asked.

Picard shrugged.

"Not much. The Imperial state is keen to claim ancestry to the ancient Iconians – claims that are dubious at best. Most scholars agree it's nothing more than propaganda for the masses," Picard answered.

"It's not just a legend to them or a political stunt. It's a lie that's been told so often for so long that they truly believe they are the descendants of the Iconians," Castillo said.

Jean-Luc was flabbergasted.

He had always presumed this was merely a front by the Romulans. Richard could see the wheels spinning in Picard's mind and put his hand up to stop them before his thoughts were too far gone.

"I should preface – some of them. As with any planet or people, they cannot and should not be generalised," Richard acknowledged.

Picard could agree with that reasoning.

"The Romulan aristocracy, the elites, the powerful – they've convinced the masses. Even those that don't fully embrace the Romulan Imperial religion still believe that the Romulans are descended from the ancient Iconians," Castillo explained.

That belief had formed the foundational basis for the split between the Romulan and Vulcan people a thousand years before.

Iconian heritage was at the heart of Romulan philosophy. It shaped their architecture, religion, education, and daily life.

"They revere the Imperial family, the Emperor or Empress most of all. They believe they are divinely sanctioned to rule. And some of the greatest conquerors among them are worshipped like deities," Castillo went on.

The Romulans practically worshipped some of their most honoured fallen heroes.

"Forgive me, but I don't understand what any of this-"

"What do we know about Iconia? What are they famous for?" Castillo interjected.

Picard sat back in his seat and folded his hands in his lap.

"Now there's a subject I know a thing or two about," Picard said.

He was nothing short of an Iconian expert. It was his favourite subject of archaeology and Jean-Luc had long dreamed of finding the Iconian homeworld.

If it still exists. Picard thought.

"They were warriors. Perhaps the greatest civilisation to ever explore the galaxy," Picard said.

Castillo leaned forward, nodding eagerly along as Picard spoke.

"Explorers indeed. And no one knows how. These doorways that have long been rumoured to exist – they supposedly allowed the Iconians to travel from one place to the next in the blink of an eye," Castillo said.

Jean-Luc grinned.

"Well, there have long been many theories on that. Time travel. Wormholes. Alternate dimensions," Picard said. "Legend says that they fell from the heavens onto unsuspecting worlds."

He paused, momentarily hesitant about disclosing too much information. But Richard Castillo struck Picard as an honest man. He trusted Jean-Luc enough to be open about the Enterprise-C.

It seemed only fair to share something in return.

"I didn't know what to believe until I stepped foot through one," Picard said.

Castillo gasped.

"You've actually-"

"Yes," Picard replied with a broad smile. "Never in all my days did I expect to actually see one."

It was a bittersweet moment for the explorer's heart that beat inside Jean-Luc. Data and Geordi's discovery of the Iconian doorway, a passage to a whole new world, had been cut short by Starfleet politics.

And Romulans.

"We didn't get much time to study it. The structure was near an ancient Romulan protective shield. The shield was failing. Near critical," Picard recounted.

"Pity. There's many a Romulan that would give their lives for such an opportunity," Castillo said.

The two men paused so Jean-Luc could refill their glasses.

"Thanks," Castillo said.

He took a small sip and then sighed.

"I can feel this already. It's been so long since I've drank," Castillo said.

From time to time his band of rebels intercepted alcohol. But it was far too useful as an antiseptic or for bribes and trade to be wasted on drink.

"General Morak is a religious fanatic. He uses and abuses the Imperial religion to position himself and his family, selling themselves as the heirs to a grand line of Imperial and Iconian ancestors," Castillo said.

"Then how does Tasha Yar fit into all of this? Wouldn't a human throw that into chaos? Go against the notion of Romulan superiority?" Picard questioned.

Richard nodded.

"Aye. And to a lot of Romulans she did. Especially the other elites. Morak's peers," Castillo informed him. "But to the masses – and most importantly to General Morak – she was…"

Richard trailed off.

It was difficult to put words to the way Morak viewed Tasha. He never saw her as a person. Rather, she was a jewel - something to be possessed.

Tasha had never wanted that role.

Nonetheless, Morak sold her to the public as a miraculous sign of what was to come.

Romulan supremacy.

Assimilation through progeny.

A new golden era.

"General Morak believed that Tasha Yar was special. That her travelling back through time was some spiritual act that couldn't be ignored," Castillo went on. "That she was some sign his plan to seize power was divinely sanctioned, that he was the heir to the Iconian legacy."

A role Morak had crafted for himself, fuelled by a maniacal ego, an aristocratic sense of entitlement, and religious zealotry.

"Morak believed she was delivered to him. That the very fabric of time had ripped open, and that Tasha Yar fell through straight from the stars," Castillo said.

Richard paused. He could see the tumblers clicking into place in Captain Picard's mind.

"Then he eventually found out the Enterprise-C travelled through time. He knew about the temporal rift," Picard said.

Picard's brow furrowed.

"Tasha Yar would never tell him that. Meaning someone did," Picard said.

Richard paused.

"The Romulans have ways of extracting information. Have you ever heard of a Centaurian Slug? Do you know what they do to the body?" Richard asked.

Richard took a shaky breath.

"She didn't have a choice. They're rare creatures. Morak was only able to get his hands on one of them – and he chose to use it on her," Castillo explained.

Jean-Luc had heard of the creature.

"I thought they were a myth perpetrated by the Romulans themselves to instil fear," Picard confessed.

"They're no myth," Castillo said.

Tasha's claim that her name was, in fact, 'Natasha Yar' had only raised more questions from the ever-curious Morak.

There was no record of a Tasha Yar to be found in any of the Federation sources that the Romulans had their tentacles in.

She was a ghost.

"They used that slug on her. She said it felt like a drug. She couldn't control herself. She had no ability, no capacity to resist their questions," Castillo said.

The Centaurian Slug was a powerful parasite. Once latched to the brainstem, it injected the host with a toxin – rendering the victim incapacitated.

The toxin acted like a drug. It lowered inhibitions and blocked the production of catecholamines. Even for someone like Tasha with extensive training to resist enhanced interrogation techniques and mind-altering substances, it was impossible to dodge questions.

The parasite acted like a truth serum.

It was a miracle they were so rare or the Romulans may very well rule both Quadrants.

"Morak found out everything. The truth about the Enterprise-C, where Tasha was from, and how she had wound up in that prison," Castillo said.

A chill ran down Jean-Luc's spine.

Was this how General Morak had been able to plant a spy on the Enterprise months earlier?

Was this event what led them to this conspiracy?

"It's a good thing they only last for a few hours or would have gotten more from her," Castillo said.

Picard visibly relaxed.

Castillo knew that feeling well. He'd been there once before.

2344 | Brea III | Romulan Space

Tasha Yar had a difficult time keeping her eyes open. The light overhead was so bright that it was hard to look up.

But she had no choice.

The angle at which she was restrained to an exam table forced her to look straight up – Morak liked to watch her cry.

And as Tasha was overcome with a mix of guilt, remorse, and frustration as she spilled her soul to every one of Morak's humiliating questions.

Tasha wasn't sure whether to be resentful or full of gratitude.

Once he learned that Tasha had travelled from the future through a temporal rift, Morak seemed only interested in her.

Tasha had been forced to relieve the details of her time on Narendra III – including things she had never intended to share with anyone.

What made matters worse was that Morak was not alone. He was flanked by two guards. Morak's second in command, a man called Jarok, was standing in the corner.

In spite of her condition, Tasha noticed this Jarok appeared uncomfortable with the circumstances of her interrogation.

And it wasn't the first time.

"So, while your ship was burning and your people were dying, clinging to life on Narendra, or rotting in the hold of my ship," Morak sneered.

He circled Tasha, looming above her.

"You were what? Satisfying your needy cunt?" Morak asked.

Tasha whimpered as Morak gripped between her legs. Jarok grimaced and turned away, unable to watch.

"You humans fascinate me the way you breed like rabbits. Populating the galaxy with more of your weak, snivelling kind," Morak taunted.

Tasha was furious.

She was disgusted that Morak would attempt to cheapen what she shared on Narendra - the one good memory Tasha clung to.

"I just-"

Tasha paused to compose herself.

"I just wanted to… just once before I died I wanted to make a memory. Something beautiful. Something shared," Tasha said.

Her voice shook. But with each word, she found the courage to continue.

In Richard Castillo, Tasha had found someone that had no desire to possess her. He didn't see her as an object to be used.

He saw her.

When they'd made love on Narendra III, it was an act of mutual pleasure. They went at her pace. He asked questions.

He asked for consent.

And every turn, Richard had assured her that there were no expectations, no need to perform. They could stop whenever Tasha wanted – for any reason – and he would be only too happy to give her time or space.

Is this alright?

May I kiss you?

Morak had already taken her name – Tasha wasn't about to let him take that too.

"I wanted to feel desirable and loved," Tasha said, growing bolder.

She turned her head to Morak's gaze.

"I will not apologise or be made to feel ashamed for sharing my body with someone I cared about. Someone I respected. And I did it because just once I wanted to because I wanted it," Tasha roared.

Tasha smiled. She threw her head back and laughed.

"For once in my life I wanted to know what it felt like to experience gentleness," Tasha said.

Morak's smirk dropped.

"And joy," Tasha went on.

She could feel the drug wearing off.

"And love," Tasha concluded with a smug sense of satisfaction.

The vein on the side of Morak's neck was throbbing. His posture was stiff. It was evident to everyone Tasha had managed to flip that tables and get under his skin for a change.

"Which one was it?" Morak demanded.

He was seething with fury.

"Which one of them did you allow to defile you?" Morak spat.

"I'll never tell you," Tasha said as she flashed him a beaming smile.

The back of Morak's hand graced her cheek. Her face stung.

Tasha could have cared less.

The Centaurian Slug was now dead. Its body had already begun to breakdown and the toxin was no longer strong enough to influence Tasha's brain chemistry.

"I don't care what you do to me. And I don't care if you line every last person up in this prison and execute them – I'll never let you take that memory from me," Tasha declared.

The toxin had worn off just before Morak could extract a name.

A small gift from the universe.

Richard didn't look up when the cell door slid open. He kept his eyes trained on the wall. It was all part of the promise he'd made Tasha.

They couldn't reveal their true feelings to anyone.

Two guards hauled Tasha in and unceremoniously tossed her on the ground.

As soon as the door was shut, Tasha crawled over to the wall and sat with her back to Richard.

"He knows," Tasha whispered.

She didn't need to say anything more.

Richard looked Tasha up and down, noting the bruise on her eye and the purple and blacks that marred her neck.

But what struck him most was the look of terror – real terror – in her eyes.

"What happened?" Richard asked.

He flinched when Tasha smacked him. Without a word Richard turned back toward the wall so they could pretend not to speak with each other.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

Tasha was silent.

"Tuula?" Richard prompted.

"He knows," Tasha repeated.

Richard opened his mouth to speak but Tasha cut him off.

"He knows about us," Tasha said.

Her voice was so low it was difficult for Richard to hear her.

"He knows what happened on Narendra. That there's someone here that I… that we've-"

Tasha stopped as Richard's fingers brushed against her hand. It was as much as either of them dare do under the circumstances.

But Morak didn't know the identity of Tasha's lover.

Yet.

"From this moment on, there can be no sense of familiarity between us," Tasha explained. "In fact, the more he thinks we despise one another – the better."

It was already hard enough to avoid talking to one another openly. These whispered exchanges were already too great a risk.

For safety, they even denied themselves a glance across the room.

"We need a plan," Tasha said.

She wanted to break down.

"I can't speak to anyone," she whispered. "If I'm seen he'll think that…"

She paused as the guard outside their cell shifted.

"It's too great a risk," Tasha said.

Without another word, she turned toward the wall for fear that even looking in the wrong direction might doom another innocent person.

Commander Alidar Jarok straightened his collar and stepped through into General Morak's temporary quarters.

The spartan office was a far cry from the grand architecture of the General's personal estate.

It stood in stark contrast to the austere life shared by most Romulans. But Jarok had been in the game long enough to know that wasn't a subject worth pointing out.

The sound of the Romulan State Symphony filled the air as Morak sliced into a meal of braised Targ. The General always had a strong appetite after a good torture session.

Jarok had been present for the shocking revelation. And he recognised the importance of this discovery. Jarok also knew that he had to play his cards right.

He had a duty to the Empire. But he was in service to General Morak.

And Jarok had seen what happened to those who gave Morak reason to doubt them.

Jarok cleared his throat.

"Permission to speak, General?" Jarok requested.

Morak waved his hand as he took a sip of wine.

"I've prepared a summary report of the interrogation. Would you like to review it before I enter it into the log?" Jarok inquired.

Morak set his wine glass down and began picking at his teeth.

"This won't be entered in the log," Morak answered.

Jarok weighed the cost-benefit of speaking out against this action. The Romulan state was owed an explanation. The information obtained from these prisoners was in the national interest.

Before he could make a decision, Morak spoke.

"At least not yet," Morak said. "When the time is right, we'll inform the state in a way that allows us to keep a handle on the situation. After all, this information could be dangerous."

He feigned concern for the greater good.

"This is a matter of security. It requires the utmost caution," Morak went on.

"Of course, sir," Jarok said with a low bow.

Morak leaned back in his seat and took a long drink.

"Have her bathed and brought to me," Morak ordered.

"Of course, sir," Jarok repeated.

"I'm telling you, she's working with them," Brown said. "Has got to be. Why else would they keep taking her? She's probably spilling all our secrets right now."

Richard fought the urge to react.

Tasha was right – they couldn't show any sense of familiarity.

Tasha didn't react when they came for her.

She said nothing as two armed guards escorted her down to the bottom level of the prison. She braced herself for some fresh horror.

But when the door opened, Tasha was surprised to find herself in the midst of an ornate room. There were intricate decorated tiles, potted flowers, and a large marble bath.

It was cold on Brea III.

There was steam rising into the air above the water.

Tasha wondered if they were planning on drowning her – it was certainly a more favourable option than the incinerator or Morak's dogs.

Only instead of an execution, this was a bath.

Tasha would have rather taken the execution.

She was thoroughly confused. The bath was a traditional Romulan thermae – large, heated, and with plenty of seating around the edge.

Panic had set in when the guards restrained her in a seated position at the back of the bath. But they kept their uniforms on (even in the water) which Tasha found oddly reassuring.

At the very least, this seemed to genuinely be about cleaning away the filth from the cell.

Tasha remained silent. While one guard kept watch, the other washed her hair. And as they were focused on that task, Tasha studied her surroundings. She looked over every inch of the room for anything that might offer a clue to what came next.

Or a weapon.

If she could just get her hands on something sharp, Tasha could easily end her life and the risk of disrupting the timeline would be gone.

Unfortunately, her restraints prevented Tasha from drowning herself. With that option taken off the table, Tasha was desperate to find another solution.

All of a sudden, there was a shadow looming overhead.

Tasha couldn't have turned even if she had wanted to. But it mattered not – she knew it was General Morak.

He snapped his fingers and the guards stopped.

"Leave us," Morak ordered.

He untied his dressing gown and let it drop to the floor.

Morak inhaled deeply as he waded down the steps into the bath.

"Romulan bathing is an art form," he began.

Tasha simply turned her attention to studying the pillar in the corner.

"It's a ritual. My people have been doing this for a thousand years. We were constructing great marble baths when your people were still chucking their shit out windows into the street," Morak said with an air of superiority.

Tasha turned back to Morak.

"Is that why half your people don't have clean water?" she asked innocently.

Morak let the comment slide. She was simply trying to get under his skin.

But Morak was better.

Tasha tensed as he moved next to her in the water.

"Doesn't this feel nice?" Morak asked.

Tasha fell silent.

Morak reached for a warm, wet flannel. He clucked his tongue as he cleaned Tasha's face and shoulders.

"I know that cell is awfully dirty. And you deserve so much better," Morak went on. "Indeed. You are perhaps the most prestigious guest we've ever hosted."

Morak had been captivated before. He found Tasha's refusal amusing.

Now he was completely enamoured.

A woman from the future? One that fell from the stars, no less?

She was like an Iconian legend come to life.

"I apologise for such basic surroundings," Morak said as if Tasha hadn't just come from a prison cell that reeked of death and human excrement.

Morak paused to trace the scars on her bicep.

"You could enjoy all of this and more. Luxury you cannot begin to comprehend," Morak said.

"No thanks," Tasha answered.

She tried to avoid eye contact, but Morak gripped her chin. His eyes narrowed as he studied her face.

"I don't want it," Tasha said through gritted teeth.

Morak traced his thumb over the bow of Tasha's bottom lip.

Instinctively, she shivered.

"I imagine it must be hard for someone like you, someone from a place like Turkana IV to understand a genuine offer when presented with one," Morak said.

Only Tasha recognised that look. She had seen it long ago on the planet of her birth in the face of more men than she cared to remember.

"My people have a saying that nothing good comes without a heavy price. Believe me, this price is far too high," Tasha replied.

With his free hand, Morak gripped her wrist in warning.

"All this," Tasha said as she looked above. "All this while your people starve. Your soul must be-"

She gasped for air as Morak shoved her against the tile. His fingers closed around her throat.

"I'm a diplomatic man, Natasha," he said.

His tone was jovial. It was like he was completely unaware that she was starting to lose consciousness from the lack of air.

"I never resort to force when I can simply ask. Offer. Negotiate," Morak went on.

He leaned in close. His breath was unwelcome against her ear.

"But I find that when that fails – I simply take what I want," Morak warned.

Tasha spluttered as he released her neck. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath.

Where he had been cruel and rough a moment earlier, now Morak was all tender. He tucked an errant strand of hair back behind Tasha's ear and traced the line of her jaw and collarbone.

"The choice is yours, Natasha," Morak said.

A no-win scenario.

Tasha kept her attention focused on the surface of the water as she let her mind slip away.

Suspicion ran high when Tasha was returned to the cell.

Healed.

Clean.

Perfumed.

Brown and some of the other sceptics were huddled in the corner. As they whispered about plans to try and barter with the Romulans, Tasha relaxed against the cold cell wall.

For these men, Tasha's condition was confirmation that she had sold them out to the Romulans.

Tasha refused to speak to any of them.

Castillo saw things differently. Tasha didn't need to say it aloud. It was obvious what had occurred – Morak had raped her.

They had all been subjected to that torment at the hands of different interrogators. Though only Richard understood how retraumatising the experience was for Tasha.

It was no good asking if she was alright. None of them alright.

"I'm here," Richard whispered.

"Don't," Tasha warned.

They sat in silence for a time. Tasha just wanted a moment alone. It was difficult to relax with Brown and the others murmuring about Tasha, strategizing how they could use that information to secure their own release.

Fools. Tasha thought.

These men knew nothing.

Suddenly, Tasha's hand inched closer. She risked a small glance in Richard's direction.

"Goodbye," she said softly.

Goodbye.

"Then it's over," Castillo replied after a few seconds.

Richard couldn't shake the feeling that somehow things were only getting started.

"It's over for you," Tasha said before quickly adding, "the ordeal, that is."

Richard closed his eyes and braced himself for the worst. Surely Morak had no further use for the lot of them now that the truth about the Enterprise-C had come out.

"There's going to be terms. An arrangement," Tasha said.

Richard was so stunned by this news that he turned to look at Tasha directly.

"Don't," she hissed under her breath.

"There's going to be a prisoner exchange. Your lives will be spared. You're going home. But if he finds out-"

Tasha paused.

"You need to stay alive until that exchange," Tasha said.

She offered him a hint of a smile.

"For your mum," she added in a hushed voice.

Richard breathed deep, inhaling the once familiar scent of fresh air.

For the first time in months, the prisoners found themselves outside in the cold night air of Brea III.

They were still confined within the walls of the compound. But they were in a large outdoor space used for secure landings and take-offs.

It was the place where the prisoners had first been processed after their journey in the cargo hold of a Romulan warbird.

The prisoners were marched out and forced to kneel.

At least, what was left of them.

Richard glanced around. There was a mix of the remaining Starfleet personnel and Klingons. They were decimated.

Broken.

General Morak was standing at the front flanked by a contingent of his own personal guard.

Morak's deal was on the table.

All of the prisoners' lives would be spared. An exchange would be coordinated through the proper diplomatic channels.

Richard Castillo would be going home.

In return, Tasha would agree to remain behind as General Morak's consort.

"Along with an heir," Morak said.

Tasha nodded, keeping her eyes low.

"Do you understand?" Morak asked.

"Yes," Tasha answered.

She bit her tongue as Morak gripped her hair.

"Yes, my lord," Tasha said, correcting herself.

He released Tasha and then smoothed her hair back into place.

"Good girl," he said.

Bile rose in the back of Tasha's throat. She swallowed it down. This was for the greater good. It made Richard's stomach turn to watch Morak manhandle her.

"Say please," Morak ordered.

Tasha took a breath to steady her nerves.

"Please," she repeated back.

"Again," Morak ordered.

"Please," Tasha said.

She was on autopilot.

"Again," Morak said slowly. "And this time, I want you to say it like you mean it."

Tasha closed her eyes. She summoned her strength and reminded herself this was for Richard.

"Please?"

A satisfied smirk spread across Morak's face.

"Beg me," he said.

Tasha blanched.

"What?" she asked.

The question slipped out before she could stop herself.

"Beg me," Morak replied in a lazy drawl. "You want to save them, beg me."

Tasha's throat went tight.

"I am offering you everything. A life far greater than you can imagine. A purpose. A destiny. I will be Emperor and you will bear an heir to follow me," Morak said.

Tasha was just waiting for the chance to end her own life once the prisoner exchange was complete, and the rest of the survivors were safely away.

It truly was a no-win scenario.

Tasha had failed the Kobayashi Maru test for making a similar choice to sacrifice herself in exchange for the safe release of the fictional crew.

"I am giving you everything and I want to be certain of your commitment," Morak said.

He held his hand out. Commander Jarok produced a disruptor for the General.

"The clock is ticking. I will kill one person for every ten seconds that it takes you to decide," Morak warned.

Tasha's head was swimming. She blinked slowly, paralysed by fear. She was worried that saying the wrong thing would end the deal.

Yet inaction and silence would also lead to disaster.

"I-I uh…" she stammered.

Morak fired his disruptor, hitting a young Ensign from the Enterprise-C square in the chest.

Outwardly, Richard displayed no emotional response. Inside, he wept for the loss of Ensign Troyer.

Troyer had been the wonderkid. He was all of twenty. Enthusiastic. Full of boundless energy and brilliant ideas. More nights than not, Troyer could be found in his lab working on ways to increase engine cooling efficiency or recycle dilithium shards.

He should have a long career ahead of him.

Instead, he would die on an unimportant planet in Romulan space.

And disappear from history.

Richard vowed in that moment to remember the name of every crewmember. He was going to do whatever it took to get back, to ensure history did not forget the Enterprise-C.

All of that was dependent on one person history would need to forget.

"Tick tock, Natasha," Morak said, reminding her of his deadline.

She dropped to the ground at Morak's feet. Tasha pleaded for the release of the others. She asked that Morak send them back home unharmed.

"And?" he prompted.

"And I will remain," Tasha said.

"Ah, ah!" Morak warned, wagging his finger.

Tasha wanted to scream. Summoning all her strength and relying on years' of condition at the hands of Turgon, Tasha slipped into an act of compliance.

"Please allow me to remain behind with you, my lord. I will-"

She paused and corrected herself.

"I want to be your consort," Tasha lied. "I will give you an heir."

"And?"

"And serve at your pleasure, my lord," Tasha said.

The words couldn't have been further from the truth. They tasted sour. And Tasha couldn't help but think she deserved this.

It was penance.

Morak chuckled with delight.

Then he pointed his disruptor at the crewman next to Troyer's body and fired.

"You gave me your word!" Tasha roared, outraged by Morak's betrayal.

She glared at Morak.

Mostly, Tasha was furious with herself.

That's what you get for trusting a Romulan. She thought.

"Delayed obedience is disobedience," Morak sneered.

He popped a third prisoner – a Klingon this time – just to remind everyone that he was in charge.

"You promised they would be safe," Tasha whispered in disbelief.

Morak snapped.

"Did I give you permission to look at me? To speak?" Morak asked.

Romulan xenophobia extended so far as to consider it unseemly for lower social classes and non-Romulans to even lay eyes upon the Romulan aristocracy without permission.

Tasha immediately dropped her gaze.

She flinched when Morak cupped her face.

"In time you will learn. And if you don't, I believe I will enjoy reminding you," Morak said.

Tasha braced herself for the worst.

"Look at me," Morak commanded.

Tasha recognised she was being yanked around. His mental games were exhausting. She kept her composure cool as she lifted her gaze.

"Blue eyes are such a rare thing on Romulus," Morak remarked.

Tasha didn't react.

"The prisoners will be released from this holding camp and transferred to Romulus. I will personally see to their housing until a transfer can be arranged," Morak said.

Tasha's heart skipped a beat.

She would be able to see them go, to know for certain that they were going home.

Weeks turned into months.

Autumn came and went. Changing leaves gave way to crisp, cold air and raging thunderstorms that blew in off the Apnex Sea.

Promises of a prisoner exchange went unfulfilled.

Spring came with cold mornings.

In a way, it reminded Richard of home.

Only instead of sharing a cosy home with his mother filled with music and laughter, Richard was living in a crowded shantytown.

There was never enough food or fuel.

After one of the prisoners froze to death in the night, two more died fighting over his boots.

General Morak had more than a hundred prisoners on his estate. They were his own personal slave labour force.

The spoils of war.

They were from all parts of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. Some had been captured in battle or taken when their homes were annexed. Others had been gifts to Morak from Romulans hoping to gain favour.

A man by the name of Markle was born on Morak's estate. He'd never known any other life. His family had served Morak for three generations.

Some of the prisoners had domestic duties in the big house. Others worked the orchards and the fields.

There was tension everywhere – between the Romulan overlords and the prisoners, the divide between domestic and manual labour, and especially between the Klingons and the Federation prisoners.

Most of all the animosity was directed at the lonely blonde.

Richard was assigned to field duty. He worked between ten and fourteen hours a day toiling in the orchard.

Once in a great while Tasha was permitted to walk the grounds with an escort.

Richard caught a glimpse of her from time to time. The prisoners were forbidden from looking at her * a direct order from Morak. He had whipped Lieutenant Gore nearly to the point of death once just for speaking to Tasha.

In moment of weakness, Richard took the risk.

He looked up from his spade and they shared a fleeting glance.

And in those few seconds, an understanding passed between them.

Tasha wanted Richard to know how sorry she was for all of it. For the prison camp, for trapping him on Romulus.

And Richard longed to tell Tasha that it wasn't her fault.

"I ever get the chance to cut that whore's throat, let's just say I won't hesitate," one of the prisoners grumbled.

"Must be nice up in that big house. A warm bath. Proper meals. She sure got the better end of this deal," another one added.

"She's probably lapping it up," Brown sneered.

"Not her. Trust me," Richard commented in a faraway voice.

He turned his attention back to a row of rukesh.

"She'd rather die than be trapped in a cage," Richard added.

Tasha stood at the window overlooking the grounds. She clutched her arms close around her body, pulling the linen towel tight.

In another minute or two her escorts would return – two Romulan women of lower social rank that were assigned to oversee Tasha.

Both women had given Tasha the cold shoulder since day one.

Riulla was an elderly Romulan that had served Morak's family for a century. She thought Tasha was affront to Romulan superiority.

She would bark orders, yank her around, and smack the back of her hands whenever Tasha failed to address them in Romulan.

Brek simply ignored Tasha altogether.

Someone swept into the room. Any second, Riulla would snap her fingers and start repeating the same words over and over at Tasha like she was a child incapable of moving without direction.

General Morak gripped Tasha's wrist and brought it to his lips.

Then he traced his finger over the long scar there. It was a reminder of Tasha's latest attempt to end her life.

Thirty-eight times Tasha had tried to end her life.

And thirty-eight times she had failed in that endeavour.

It only reinforced her belief that this was penance. Divine justice for the sins of her past. The cost of giving in to temptation on Narendra.

After all, everything had a price.

And Tasha known a love sweeter than she ever thought possible.

Morak had been forced to remove any and all sharp objects from Tasha's quarters. Utensils were accounted for after every meal. He took her books and her fitness equipment as punishment.

Tasha slept, ate, and bathed under strict supervision.

"It's been months," Tasha said as she watched the prisoners below in the field.

"Diplomatic channels take time," Morak said.

Tasha didn't react as Morak's lips moved to her shoulder.

"You promised to release them. To send them home," Tasha said.

"And you promised to be my consort," Morak retorted.

His fingers closed around her throat and growled a warning against her ear.

Tasha may have accepted Morak's offer. Tasha was compliant, but cold. Obedient, yet aloof in her affections.

And she had leaped at every possible opportunity to end her own life.

It stung.

Morak felt spurned. He felt wronged by this perceived injustice. Tasha could sense he was frustrated by her lack of enthusiasm.

As quickly as Morak's anger appeared, it vanished. Tasha remained perfectly still as he snaked his arms around her waist.

"I am taking you to the city tomorrow for an appointment at the Imperial Medical Academy," Morak announced. "It has been months and I had so hoped you would be with child by now."

His hand came to rest on Tasha's abdomen.

"I am sure it is nothing. You are young. And healthy. But I would like Doctor Scorides to examine you. He believes he has adapted one of our fertility treatments to your physiology," Morak explained.

He paused.

"Though he believes this persistent melancholy is the true cause," Morak confessed.

Morak had brought in physician after physician with dietary requirements, bath salts, and daily regimes designed to condition Tasha into blissful acceptance of her circumstances.

And when that didn't work, Morak had resorted to narcotics.

But pumping her full of drugs had only resulted in Tasha slipping further away. Mentally, she was in another world altogether.

Morak felt the fun had gone out. He was a true sadist. He found no pleasure in tormenting someone that was barely cognizant.

"I will be hosting several dignitaries during our stay. I would like to be able to display my latest acquisition," Morak said.

That's all Tasha was to him – a possession.

She looked sick.

"Come now. You agreed. You begged to be my consort," Morak reminded her. "You like these little games."

There were days Tasha did find a shred of glee in withholding her emotions. Morak wanted a reaction, he wanted to terrorise her.

And when she had it in her, Tasha resisted. It was all she had to cling to.

Tasha turned and looked Morak dead in the eye.

"You don't want a consort," Tasha said with ridicule. "You never wanted a consort. You wanted a sleeve for your cock."

Morak's face soured.

"Let them go," Tasha requested in a soft voice.

"Why do you care so much for these men, hmm?" Morak asked.

He reached for Tasha's hand, the one that was clutching her linen towel close.

"Because I'm responsible for this. For all of this," Tasha confessed.

She did not react as Morak confiscated the linen, the only bit of dignity she was permitted after her bath. He stopped for a moment to look Tasha up and down before his hand came to rest on her hip.

"Responsible, hmm?" Morak pressed.

He was taunting her, baiting Tasha to see if she would snap.

Tasha lifted her chin.

"Yes. I am responsible for them. My role as a Starfleet Officer didn't stop just because you-"

She cried out in pain as Morak gripped her arm. He dragged Tasha along into her quarters and roughly threw her onto the ground.

"This," he hissed, pointing at the bed. "This is your only responsibility."

Tasha gritted her teeth as his fist came down on her.

"You-"

Thwack.

"Will bear me-"

Thwack.

"A child."

The final blow was the hardest as Morak worked out his anger – enough to split her lip.

Morak knelt down and thumbed away the blood.

"Oh, my brave little Lieutenant," he cooed, mocking her.

Tasha willed herself not to cry. She had learned that Morak found her tears exciting. And she didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

"I know you enjoy these games we play. You will be with child soon," Morak said.

He buried his face in her hair.

"It is only a matter of time," Morak concluded.

It would only be a matter of time.

And Tasha knew that time was running out.

Richard Castillo squared his shoulders. He tightened his grip around a length of jute rope. His hands were so calloused from months of manual labour that rope burn no longer cause pain.

"Come on," he grumbled as he tugged on the rope.

With a great heave, Richard managed to drag a long, heavy piece of driftwood onto the beach.

Their fuel rations were so low that the prisoners resorted to scavenging for anything they could find. They were forbidden from touching the wood in the forest. But Morak permitted them to take anything that had fallen and to comb the beach for driftwood.

He fell back onto the sand. His chest was heaving from the exertion. Richard grinned. This piece was a good find – one that he could use for both fuel and crafting.

Richard had his sights set on building a raised platform for a proper bed for some time.

He was just starting to admire the piece when a sound caught his ear.

Someone else was on the beach.

And they were running.

It was her.

Richard was so stunned by Tasha's presence that it took him several seconds to process that she was really there.

Alone.

There was no escort. No entourage of Romulan guards.

It was well after midnight. Richard couldn't fathom what Tasha was doing out there on the beach, nor did he understand why she was alone.

Tasha ran forward toward the water and did not stop. She waded out into the icy waters of the Apnex Sea.

With horror, Richard realised exactly what she was up to.

"Tuula!" he cried out.

Tasha thought she was imagining things. She had to be.

"Tuula!" Richard shouted as he rushed after her.

It was difficult to run on the soft, sandy soil.

Tasha was in waist deep water now. She was shivering. Nonetheless, she marched on in spite of the heavy waves that threatened to push her back.

Richard hissed as he rushed into the cold water after her.

The Apnex Sea was one of the northernmost bodies of water on Romulus. Even in summer, the water remained cold.

Richard called out again, but his voice hardly carried above the roar of the waves.

Tasha winced as Richard caught her arm.

She pushed him off and they struggled in the water for a moment before a large wave separated them.

"Tuula, wait!" Richard shouted.

Tasha tried to swim away but Castillo snagged her arm – pulling Tasha back toward him.

"Tuula," he murmured against her ear.

Neither of them spoke as they stood in the motion of the waves rocking over them. It was the first time they had been together in months.

"Are you really here?" Tasha asked.

She was worried it was a dream.

"I'm here," Richard answered.

He closed his eyes and thanked his lucky stars for the chance to hold her again.

"Come with me," Tasha said in a soft voice.

"You escaped?" Richard asked.

Morak had left Tasha's quarters hours earlier. Riulla and Brek had assumed Tasha was in no condition to walk – let alone escape – so they had retired to their beds for the evening.

And it was partially true.

She was exhausted. She was mentally and physically drained. Richard at least had the other prisoners to talk to.

They sang in the fields. There were games in the evening with homemade dice, charades, and bare knuckle boxing.

Tasha had no one.

Richard turned Tasha in his arms and cupped her face. He smiled as he ran his thumb over her cheek, noting the bruise there.

"Your hair's different," he remarked, toying with one of her long, wet locks. "I like it."

Tasha grimaced.

"Don't," she said.

Morak controlled every aspect of her life including Tasha's wardrobe and even her meals. He preferred Tasha keep her hair shoulder-length.

It was a humiliating reminder that she was in control of nothing.

Richard scooped Tasha up.

She wanted to melt into his arms. But inside her mind a voice was screaming that she couldn't delay. Any hesitation and she risked failure.

"Please let me go," Tasha protested as Richard carried her up the beach.

"You think you can escape that way? You're the strongest person I know, Tuula. But no one could survive long in that water," Richard pointed out.

"I know," Tasha replied.

They both fell silent, and Tasha's comment hung in the air.

"Tuula," Richard said in a pleading voice.

A worried expression crossed his face as he tucked an errant strand of hair back behind Tasha's ear. An unspoken understanding passed between them.

It was not unlike an argument they'd had on the Bridge of the Enterprise-C.

"He's never going to let you go," Tasha said.

She was resigned that there was nothing more to be done.

"I have to do this," Tasha said.

She squeezed Richard's hand.

"Please come with me?" Tasha asked.

She turned her gaze to the moon overhead and smiled.

"I would so very much like to leave this world in your arms," Tasha confessed.

Richard's heart went out to her. He knew that the torment they suffered as prison labourers was only a fraction of what she had endured.

"I know it must be awful but-" Richard began to say.

Tasha's face darkened.

"You don't know anything. You can't begin to imagine what he does," Tasha said.

She pushed away and started back toward the water.

Richard leapt up and threw his arms around Tasha.

"Don't do this," he pleaded.

He wasn't ready to let her go.

"Why is it that we are always saying goodbye? I can't lose you, Tuula," Richard urged. "I'm not ready. Please don't do this."

"I have to," Tasha said in a faraway voice.

There was a small struggle.

"Let go!" Tasha snapped.

She was so desperate to die.

"No," Richard said. "I won't let you do this."

They collapsed together in the sand. Richard held Tasha as she sobbed.

"If he finds you, he will lash you," Castillo warned.

It was one of Morak's favourite activities. At first, Tasha welcomed the lashings. She secretly hoped that they would scar terribly and Morak would lose interest.

The more he lashed her, the less he would want to lay eyes on her.

But Tasha wasn't that lucky.

"Please, I have to do this," Tasha insisted.

"We'll find another way," Richard argued. "We'll find a way to escape together. I promise that I will get you out of here."

He smiled.

"We just need to hang on a little longer. It's going to take time, but I swear to you-"

Tasha shook her head.

"You don't understand. I don't have time to wait," she said.

Tasha bit her lip to stop it from quivering.

"I'm pregnant," she confessed in a voice so soft Richard was sure he had imagined it.

A long, pathetic whine escaped from Tasha's throat.

"I'm pregnant," she repeated.

A fresh batch of tears spilled over. Her entire body trembled with fear.

"So, you see – I can't wait. I'm out of time," Tasha choked out behind thick tears. "I have to do this."

She turned to watch the waves.

Richard pulled her into a warm embrace as she wept on his shoulder.

"Shhhh," he said, rocking them back and forth as he rubbed soothing circles on Tasha's back.

"I've trapped all of us here. I can't bring a child into this place. I won't," Tasha declared.

Childbirth was a terrifying prospect. Pregnancy in and of itself was also alarming. It wouldn't be long before Riulla and Brek recognised the signs.

Tasha knew there were any number of ways a pregnancy could come with complications. Her mind had been an endless spiral of such thoughts for weeks.

She feared what Morak might do if she were to miscarry or if there would be any medical complications.

She could just see Morak beating her senseless or turning his anger on a half-human child. Equally disconcerting was the reality that this child would grow up a pariah, an outcast.

There would be no life for a half-human, half-Romulan child.

Not in this world.

The Romulans were far too prejudiced to ever accept someone with a mixed racial heritage.

"I won't trap a child in this awful place too," Tasha said.

She rested her forehead against Richard's.

"I want to die," she assured him.

"You're certain?" Richard asked.

Tasha sniffled.

She wasn't. What she wanted was to escape. To run away somewhere where Morak would never find them, where she could fall asleep next to Richard and wake up together every morning.

She wanted to escape to the fantasy in her mind where the world was simpler, where her nights were spent huddled with Richard under a blanket as they stargazed and sipped cider.

She wanted live free of a cage in a world where there were no expectations, no mind games. Where she could dress and live and breathe in a way that made her feel comfortable.

"I would rather die than feel his hands on me again," Tasha said.

She paused.

"I love you, Richard Castillo," she said.

Tasha pressed her lips against his mouth. They shared a slow, sweet kiss. Tasha didn't want it to end.

"Promise me something?" Tasha asked.

"Anything," Richard replied in a low voice.

"If you ever get back to Earth, promise me that you won't look back? Find someone who can love you the way you deserve and don't ever look back at this place," Tasha asked.

Her smile was sad.

"And maybe from time to time when you look at the moon, remember that cave," she said. "I wouldn't change any of it, you know?"

She twisted her fingers through his.

"And I'm glad I can leave this world knowing what it means to be loved," Tasha said.

Richard was simultaneously relieved and horrified. Tasha loved him with all her heart. That hadn't changed.

But it broke Richard to know she had known such little love in all her life.

"Thank you."

It was the last thing Tasha said before they shared a final kiss.

She slipped away from his arms and backed toward the ocean, holding his gaze as she waded out to her death.

Richard sat there on his knees, utterly helpless as Tasha drifted further and further from him.

Suddenly, Richard rushed forward and threw his arms around Tasha. For a moment, she considered he was trying to stop her again.

"I love you, Tuula," Richard said. "Let's do this together."

Tasha melted into his embrace. It was a relief to know that at least in death they would go out on their terms.

Together.

"Up ahead!" a Romulan guard called out.

Above the roar of sea, Richard could hear dogs barking as Morak and his men closed in on their position. Any moment now Morak would come for Castillo.

If he was lucky, he'd kill him straightaway.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Richard said against Tasha's ear.

He tightened his embrace, savouring one last moment together.

Tasha was furious. It felt terribly unfair.

She did the only thing she could think of to save Richard.

"Let go of me!" she hissed, pushing him off.

She beat his chest with her fists, pouring all of her frustration into selling Morak on the notion Castillo was, in fact, her saviour rather than her lover.

"Let me go! Argh!" Tasha argued, flailing about.

Morak was in a panic. Tasha had very nearly succeeded in ending her life.

He studied Tasha for a moment. Her chest was heaving. She was frozen, shivering, and drenched. Her wet clothes hung to body, her frame ungodly thin.

She rarely ate.

Morak then turned his attention to Richard. Castillo kept his eyes low. Morak looked from Richard to Tasha and back again.

"You," Morak said, pointing at him.

Richard closed his eyes, ready to accept his fate.

"You have saved my jewel," Morak said, praising him.

Morak approached Tasha, circling her like a hawk.

"What will it take to rid you of this melancholy, hmm?" Morak prompted.

Tasha did not respond.

She was so very tired. She simply wanted to fall asleep and never wake again.

"Permission to speak, my lord?" Castillo requested.

Morak nodded once, granting the request.

"I believe my lady is feeling ill. She simply needs rest," Castillo said, hoping to spare Tasha the worst of it.

Morak chuckled.

Then he snapped.

"How dare you?" he roared as the back of his hand graced Tasha's cheek. "How dare you?"

He gripped Tasha's face.

"How dare you think to humiliate me like this?" Morak hissed.

It was a huge personal blow to Morak's ego that Tasha would rather end her life than spend another minute in his presence.

"You came out here to end your life, didn't you?" Morak demanded.

Tasha remained silent.

"Didn't you?" Morak shouted in her face.

Tasha smirked.

"I did. Because I can't stand the sight of you. I can't stand being near you," she spat. "I can't stand the feel of your hands on my body. You disgust me. Your breath makes me want to vomit."

She had no more reason to hold back.

"The way you touch me. Use me. I feel like I will never be clean again," Tasha went on. "When you fuck me, all I think about is how I wish I were dead."

Morak's lip curled. His face soured as Tasha poured out her true feelings.

"I would rather be ripped apart by your dogs than have to feel you on top of me again," Tasha declared with satisfaction.

"You wish you were dead, huh?" Morak asked as if to clarify that he'd heard correctly.

"Every minute of the day," Tasha answered.

Morak nodded slowly.

Then his hand shot out and closed around her throat. Like their Vulcan cousins, Romulans had far superior physical strength.

Richard stood frozen in place, mortified, as Morak held Tasha under the water.

He thought Morak was going to drown her, to choke the very life from her body. But she emerged a minute later, gasping and spluttering.

"I will command your respect," Morak barked.

On instinct, Tasha flailed as Morak pushed her back under the water. Her lungs were on fire.

"I will break you," Morak went on.

Richard grimaced as he listened to Tasha struggle for air.

"You will obey me," Morak said.

Only this time, Tasha didn't emerge from the water. Morak held her there, his eyes wide with excitement at the thrill of her life hanging in his hands.

Richard thought Morak really was going to kill her this time. He made no move to stop it. After all, it was what Tasha wanted.

The splashing stopped.

Morak pulled Tasha out of the water and held her by the front of her clothes.

She was a ghastly shade. She looked frailer than Richard could remember.

Without warning, she coughed and expelled the salty water from her lungs. When she gasped for air, it was the most unholy noise Richard could recall ever hearing.

Tasha's head lolled about. Her eyes were bloodshot. Morak gently slapped her face to bring her round.

"Prepare the sensory deprivation chamber," Morak ordered.

"Right away, my lord," one of the guards said.

He bowed low before rushing off.

Morak turned his attention to Richard.

"You," he said as his eyes narrowed. "It would seem you have succeeded where my own people have failed."

Morak dropped Tasha unceremoniously.

"Pick her up. Come," he said, wiggling his finger at Richard.

A small, barely imperceptible whimper escaped from Tasha's lips as Morak increased the tension.

Tasha's arms were pulled back behind her body at an angle that was designed to maximise the pain. Morak got a special thrill from dislocating her joints. The sound of each noise was sweeter than any symphony.

Tasha's skin was clammy. Her brow was covered in perspiration as she fought not to react to the pain.

"So brave," Morak said, taunting her.

He kissed Tasha's forehead and then flopped down behind his desk.

Richard had never been permitted in the house before. He found the atmosphere suffocating. Morak had ordered him to wait in the corner.

Riulla and Brek were summoned.

"I nearly lost my jewel tonight," Morak drawled.

Riulla scowled in Tasha's direction. Brek remained stoic.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourselves?" Morak demanded.

Riulla spat.

"You degrade your house and your family with this human whore," Riulla said, her voice dripping with disapproval.

Riulla was no fool. Morak would kill her one way or another. And she had waited months to say those words.

"Oh, very well you old hag," Morak said in a dismissive tone.

He snapped his fingers and ordered them taken to a holding cell in the lower level.

"We'll see how well that tongue serves you when my hounds rip it out," Morak said.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in exasperation. It was as if he had just completed a rather frustrating business transaction like this was an ordinary day at the office.

Morak took a sip of ale and then gestured for one of his guards to man the device.

"Tighten it," Morak ordered.

Tasha gritted her teeth and tensed as the guard turned the wheel, increasing the tension on her shoulders.

"Again," Morak said.

There was a sickening crack as the wheel clicked into the next peg.

"Again," Morak commanded.

An anguished sound escaped Tasha's throat before she could stop herself.

Morak shivered with anticipation.

Richard felt sick.

He knew Morak was a cruel man. But Richard had never before realised the depths of Morak's sadistic tendencies.

Tasha wasn't just a prisoner – she was a plaything.

Morak was like a child that got a thrill from hurting animals and Tasha was his poor, abused puppy kicked around for entertainment.

"Again," Morak said.

He closed his eyes and relished the sound of her torment.

Morak got up from his desk and sauntered over to Tasha. He practically pushed his guard out of the way.

He leaned in close. Morak whispered something as his fingers ghosted along the length of Tasha's bicep. Richard was on the far end of Morak's private office – too far away to hear what was said.

She shivered and Richard couldn't tell if it was because of her frozen, wet clothing or Morak's words.

Or both.

Morak made no secret of his intentions.

"You and I are going to play a game. And when that's done, your own special room will be ready," Morak said.

Tasha hated the sensory deprivation chamber.

There was no colour. Everything was white. There was no furniture, no sound. During her first week in the chamber, Tasha had beat her fists against the wall until they were bloody just so she could feel something.

"And when you come out, I will assign this human as your guardian," Morak said. "Would you like that, pet? Hmm?"

Tasha blinked slowly. The pain made it difficult to concentrate.

Morak thought Tasha might be more receptive to him if she was permitted to interact with another human. Clearly this human could be trusted – he had, after all, saved Tasha from drowning.

"You'll have plenty of time to think over my generous offer in your special room," Morak said as he stroked her hair.

Richard could tell the thought was distressing to Tasha.

He had to act. He couldn't stand there and watch her tormented so.

"M-my lord? Permission to speak?" Richard requested.

Morak grumbled, frustrated by the interruption.

"What?" he hissed.

"She needs medical attention, my lord," Richard said.

He took his new charge to see to Tasha's safety very seriously.

"All in good time," Morak said.

He gripped Tasha's shoulder, jostling it enough to make her cry out. Were it not for the fact her arms were restrained, Tasha would have collapsed.

"You don't understand, my lord," Richard said.

It was a risk to challenge Morak, but Richard had to intervene.

Morak was outraged. He opened his mouth, but Richard was faster.

"She's with child," Richard said, cutting Morak off.

Morak was stunned. He turned back to Tasha and eyed her carefully.

"You clever little bitch," Morak said.

Tasha screamed as Morak squeezed her dislocated shoulder.

"You were going to end your life and take my heir with you?" Morak roared.

He twisted his fingers in the back of Tasha's hair and pulled her head up, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"The divines have seen fit to stop you. This is a sign," Morak said.

He dropped to his knees and nuzzled against Tasha's stomach.

"The divines have smiled upon me," Morak said.

"What we know of their physiology indicates they're prone to emotional extremes. It's likely this melancholy is a hormone imbalance caused by the pregnancy," a physician said.

Tasha could hear them just in the other room talking about her.

Morak had summoned a physician to set her right. They saw to Tasha's dislocated joints and patched her up before turning their attention to her pregnancy.

Morak was elated by the news.

On the advice of the physician, Tasha had been granted a reprieve from the sensory deprivation chamber. In fact, Morak's physician advised that many of his 'games' would need to wait or be scaled back.

If the physician was put off by Morak's unusually detailed questions about various methods of torment, he didn't let it show.

Richard surmised the physician had seen more than enough horrors in service of Morak.

After a rigorous examination, Tasha had been dismissed for the evening.

As Richard entered her quarters for the first time, he realised how terribly isolated Tasha had been for the last few months.

Her quarters were certainly luxurious in space – but spartan. Every possible sharp or blunt object had been removed.

Her bedding was brought in the evening and each and every piece accounted for the next morning before being removed lest she attempt to asphyxiate herself.

There was nothing.

No books for reading. No activities to stimulate the mind.

She truly was living in a cage.

When Richard asked what she did during the day, Tasha coolly explained that she served at the pleasure of Morak.

"And when he's busy?" Richard pressed.

"I receive Romulan instruction," Tasha answered, her voice bitter.

Richard wrung out a soft flannel. Tasha was practically catatonic as he cleaned each of her fingers one by one.

Morak had dismissed all of Tasha's Romulan attendants. He would bring new ones out in the morning to attend to her.

But for tonight, she was alone with her new protector.

"I'm sorry," he apologised.

Tasha didn't respond.

"We'll find a way out of here," Richard whispered.

They had to be careful. Even the walls had ears.

He longed to pull Tasha into his arms, to kiss the nape of her neck, to tell her that everything would be alright.

Instead, he settled for silent reassurance.

Tasha stared out at the moon and wondered how much easier her life would have been had she died on the Enterprise-C.

She felt completely betrayed. She had entrusted Richard with her greatest secret – and he had told the one person Tasha wanted to avoid.

"I'm sorry," Richard apologised in a low voice.

For the first time since the beach, Tasha turned to face Richard.

"I can't… I can't watch him do that to you," Richard admitted.

"You have to," Tasha answered with striking composure.

Richard turned away, but Tasha caught his wrist.

"He needs to believe we loathe one another. Do you understand?" Tasha urged.

Richard's face fell. He struggled to formulate a response.

"Do you understand?" Tasha demanded in a hushed voice.

There was movement out in the main part of Tasha's quarters as two of the domestics arrived with Tasha's bedding and sleeping attire.

She had only seconds.

"I need you to get something for me," Tasha said.

She waited until the Romulan domestics had passed by the door to the thermae.

"It's white. I've seen it growing past the orchard. Deep in the woods. Five petals," Tasha instructed.

Hellebore.

Richard was familiar with the flowering plant.

One of the domestics poked her head into the thermae to advise that General Morak had ordered a change in Tasha's sleep routine. She was to be in bed an hour sooner at night and permitted to sleep as long as necessary in the mornings.

Tasha's trip to the capital city had taken a radical turn. Morak was still bringing her along with the goal of showing off his pregnant consort and forthcoming heir.

Morak's plan to entertain a few dignitaries had been elevated.

Now they would stay at the Imperial palace. Tasha would be formally introduced to the Emperor. And Morak was to be presented with an award for his valiant capture of the Enterprise-C.

"Everything will be ready when you return, my lady," the domestic advised. "The workers will be in tomorrow to seal up your quarters."

Tasha blanched.

"I-I-I don't… I don't understand," she said, panic rising in her chest.

"For your confinement. For the baby," the domestic explained.

It was standard for all aristocratic Romulan pregnancies. It was the greatest time of threat for an heir while in the womb.

Morak had already begun implementing his rigid new security protocols for the safety of his heir.

"And the General asked that I pass along that you will be permitted to resume your walks of the grounds once you've delivered," the domestic said.

Tasha fought not to hyperventilate. The notion of being trapped for months – no sunshine, no fresh air. It was enough to shatter the very last shred of resolve she'd clung to.

"Don't fret, my lady. The General is so pleased with you," the domestic said.

Great. Just fucking great. Tasha thought.

As soon as they were alone, Tasha's mind was back to business.

"There's more," she said.

She glanced out toward the door to ensure they weren't overheard.

"There's a flower. It's purple. Sort of spikey. Smells minty," Tasha went on.

Richard nodded.

Pennyroyal.

"Aye. I've seen it. The Klingons warned its toxic," Richard said.

Tasha didn't respond. Her look clearly communicated that she knew.

"And ginger and parsley from the kitchens," Tasha said.

Richard was torn. He frowned and instinctively glanced down at her abdomen.

"I don't want this child," Tasha whispered.

They both silent until Richard found his voice.

"Right," he said quietly with a small nod. "Right. You're right."

In any case, Richard realised that it wasn't his decision to make.

"Kelley's a medic," Richard offered. "Maybe he knows something that could help? I just don't want anything to go wrong. This is dangerous."

To Richard's surprise, Tasha smirked.

It was entirely inappropriate. And so radically different than the woman Richard had known on Narendra.

But Tasha was broken, completely shattered by her captivity.

"You mean like what happens if it all goes wrong and I die?" she asked.

For the first time in ages, Tasha laughed.

"I'm not that lucky."