Chapter 10: Sung. 'What do you do with a drunk Vulcan fangirl? What do you do with a drunk Vulcan fangirl? What do you do with a drunk Vulcan fangirl? Early in the morning!'

Warning: Lemons
Warning: Dark


What are little Vulcan girls made of?

Wouldn't you like to know.

This particular Vulcan, T'Sil, had copper blood.

Let that sink in for a moment.

Whatever gene therapy she took, it was thorough. This made sense: if it were a half-measure, she probably would have died a horrible death. A circulatory system that was half-copper and half-iron would be deadly to either race, Vulcan or Human.

Case in point: Spock, a half-human, had almost complete Vulcan physiology, the Vulcan genome being the dominant trait.

This, no doubt, pleased the Vulcan scientists no end.

Not that I'm saying Vulcans are race-centric.

Because they say that, themselves: Vuhlkansu na' Vuhlkansu.

"T'Sil," as she insisted on being called, was very drunk. Not only had she drunk too much Romulan Ale, ... even for a Romulan, ... and that's saying something! But her whole body got a gut-punch transitioning to a Vulcan one in a heartbeat, at that! One moment she raced to the bathroom to puke her guts up as a human, the next moment, she's on the bathroom floor by the commode, guts puked up, but fully Vulcan, or so it seemed.

Michael Burnham and I had to hoist her up from the floor and drag herout of the bathroom to our common table.

"Mmmm," she hummed, head on the table, "the surface is so smooth and so cool! Did you ever notice that, S'Vrall?"

Yuep, she was drunk, all right.

Welp, time to catch up? Drunks made so much more sense when you were drunk, too.

Or you just didn't care.

Same thing.

30 year old Romulan Ale, though. I wasn't going to pass this opportunity up.

For medicinal reasons, of course!

I poured myself a finger. The glasses included with the bottle were cut crystal. I wouldn't be surprised if they were cut from dilithium.

"Her, too!" T'Sil waved vaguely in Michael Burnham's direction.

T'Sil's eyes were closed.

She was going to be the life of the party, no doubt.

I looked to Michael Burnham. She raised an eyebrow, so I poured her a splash and slid the glass across the table to her.

"Cheers?" I offered.

"Hey! Wha' 'bout meh?"

We both looked at T'Sil.

I said: "I think you've had enough there, kiddo."

Michael Burnham asked: "Aren't you underage?"

"No!" T'Sil shouted. "I'mma Vulcan. We don't have a 'drinking age.'"

"True," I said.

"But she's wearing the Starfleet Uniform," Michael Burnham countered.

"Nnn!" was T'Sil's angry retort, and she started tugging at her collar, trying, but failing to loosen her top.

"Okay," I said, putting my drink down. "Time for beddie-by for the 'Vulcan.'"

I snickered, quietly, to myself. Of the three 'Vulcans' in the room, not one of us were actually, well, you know: Vulcan.

And I was the only one self-aware enough to know that I was lying about it. The other two...?

They were just too fucked up. A Vulcan-wannabe and a Vulcan-wannabe and me.

And the two (real) fakers didn't even realize that I was the real faker here.

I wonder how long I could hold up this façade? On the D'Kyr, it was easy. Everyone was Vulcan, and I looked like a Vulcan, ... on the outside. And when my inside didn't match, they never questioned that I was Vulcan, because, to them, I was: I looked like them, I smelled like them, I spoke like them, I acted like them. I was simply incompatible with their crew, from day one, and they transferred me off their ship 'for my benefit,' so they said.

I would 'fit better among the humans,' they said.

They had both Spock and Michael Burnham as an example. No shame in that.

They said.

But on this ship, everybody looked at me as a Vulcan, and everything I did was watched, commented on, and critiqued. I was being held up to a 'Vulcan standard' by outsiders who had no first-hand experience with Vulcans. Except Michael Burnham, who, too, had been rejected by Vulcans then by humans.

Michael Burnham, in a sense, was her own species: accepted by none, rejected by all.

Just as I was.

"I don' wanna go to bed! Party's just getting started!" My rumination was interrupted by the one who was both the most Vulcan, genetically, and the least Vulcan, among us.

"Mm, hm," I said. "The party's over there, kid. Let's go."

I moved to her slumped form and went to lift her.

My fractured ribs reminded me that move was a bad idea.

"Not a kid!" whined the kid.

"Understood," I said, "You're a strong, independent woman."

"Yeah!" she breathed on me, and the Romulan Ale just wafted over me in a wave of her breath.

Michael Burnham came to my assistance, and together we hoisted T'Sil toward my rack.

"You sure?" Michael Burnham whispered over T'Sil's head.

"We gonna to drag her back to her quarters looking like this?" I countered. "How many people are going to pretend not to notice before we have to answer some awkward questions?"

Michael Burnham nodded.

T'Sil sighed. "You two are soooo cool!"

"That's nice," I replied dryly.

I dropped T'Sil onto my rack; Michael Burnham hoisted her feet from the deck, then removed her boots. I thought mentioning Michael Burnham's new duty as 'boot remover' would not be well-received, so I kept silent on this point. But it took almost more effort than I could muster.

T'Sil looked at me with eyes aglow. "I love you," she said.

"Uh, ... huh," was the best reply I could muster. I wasn't drunk enough for this.

"Ya know, Romulan Ale is an aphrodisiac?" T'Sil asked me.

I knew this, but when I didn't reply, she added: "Ya wanna ...?"

And the smiled she gave me was so radiant as to blot one of the stars from the sky.

"T'Sil," I said, "how old are you? 19?"

"I'm not a virgin, if you were wondering," she replied. "It's fine."

I leaned over and whispered, "Nor am I. Thank you for your offer, but you're drunk, and you're also my subordinate, and I don't think ..."

"I'm not your subordinate as T'Sil, S'Vrall. I'm a Vulcan, and you're a Vulcan, and I hear that if we, you know, do it, you'll heal better."

"So you're doing this for me?" I clarified.

"Mm, hm!" she looked at me with big, dewy, eager eyes.

I smiled down at her. "That's very sweet of you, T'Sil. It is. Tell you what, I'll sit here, by the rack, and hold your hand. Is that okay?"

T'Sil blinked twice. "Yeah, o-okay." A tear beaded up and ran down her cheek, staining my pillow.

Damn it. If any other Vulcan ever entered these quarters, the scent alone would tell some amazing stories of the escapades that did (and did not) happen on my bed.

She offered her hand, and I eased down, gingerly leaning my back against the frame.

More tears. I could smell them as they fell.

"It's because I'm u-ugly, isn't it." T'Sil whispered, her voice tight.

"T'Sil," I sighed, "Both as a human and as a Vulcan, you are radiant."

She sniffled. "You're just sayin'."

"No," I said. "Vulcans don't lie, remember?"

"Oh," she said, "that's right."

She was quiet for a moment. "Then why d-don't you want me?"

"Sleep, T'Sil," I said. "Sleep."

She sniffled again. "I want to die."

Right there with you, kid, I said in my heart, but I did not say aloud. Self-harm or desiring self-harm was an automatic psych-eval, I have come to learn, and navigating those tests were both easy but tiresome.

T'Sil cried herself to sleep.

Where was Michael Burnham in all this? you may wonder.

She was sitting on her rack, watching the whole thing.

She patted her rack. You sleep here, she mouthed.

I shook my head. "I'm fine here."

The cross look Michael Burnham gave me reminded me of Captain Lorca's jab at her being my mother.

I rolled my eyes. "The deck here is way more comfort than what I've had for years," I told her.

"Three cracked ribs!" she hissed.

I shrugged. "So?"

I started to take myself down to level.

But no mat, no lamp, and the ribs made deep breathing extremely painful.

A Vulcan who can't meditate is in deep trouble: I could not reduce to a healing trance because I was in too much pain.

I looked up to Michael Burnham. She saw my predicament.

"Ale?" I whispered.

She nodded and got up to get my glass from the table.

Ding-ding.

The door chime.

"Who is it?" Michael Burnham asked.

From the other side of the door came a voice: "It's Nurse Duke from Sickbay. I'm here to check on Lt. S'Vrall."

"Shit!" I cursed. I recognized that voice.

It was the fangirl.

I got up from the rack, checked to make sure T'Sil was completely covered, then staggered to the bathroom.

"But ..." Michael Burnham said, looking caught in the middle.

"It'll be fine!" I whispered, and closed the bathroom door just as the Nurse entered our quarters.

And what an entrance she made.

"Wow!" Michael Burnham said. "That's quite the dress!"

"What? This old thing?" Nurse Duke said dismissively.

"Isn't that a bit out of uniform?" Michael Burnham asked.

"Oh, I'm off duty," Nurse Duke replied. "I just wanted to check the lieutenant's vitals, and make sure she's resting and not, I don't know, repelling a Klingon invasion."

She laughed heartily at her own joke.

"And the flowers?" Michael Burnham inquired.

"Well, you know," Nurse Duke said easily. "Welcome aboard, and all that, for the new crew member."

"Hm. Yes. So, ..." Michael Burnham said slowly. "Doctor Culber didn't send you?"

"Wait a minute!" Nurse Duke interrupted. "Is that Romulan Ale?"

"Um, ... it's not mine."

"Wow! I've never seen that before, ... heard of it, of course, ... isn't that illegal?"

"Uh, ..." Michael Burnham said.

Damn it! I thought. This day kept getting worse.

"It's Lt. S'Vrall's, right?" Nurse Duke said. "Did she drink some before turning it? The poor thing! Is she hurting that badly? I think you better stow that contraband in a safe place, don't you think, before somebody else sees it, right?"

"That's a good idea." I heard Michael Burnham collecting the service.

Nurse Duke placed the flowers on the table as Michael Burnham was stowing the Romulan Ale in the recessed cabinet beside her rack.

Then I heard Nurse Duke's tricorder scanning, well: 'me.' Or so she thought.

"Um, ... I don't think, ..." Michael Burnham began.

"Huh," Nurse Duke said.

"What is it?" Michael Burnham asked.

"These readings are way off," Nurse Duke noted. "And isn't she supposed to be injured? Does she heal this quickly? I mean ..."

"Perhaps I can help." Michael Burnham offered. "May I see?"

"Sure," Nurse Duke said, "Look. I mean, even for a Vulcan these readi-..."

Clunk.

I came out of the bathroom to an even more absurd tableau in my quarters than when I exited it moments ago.

A vase full of daisies adorned our table.

Nurse Duke lie in a heap on the floor. The dress she was wearing wasn't a 'this old thing.' It was a ballroom gown, golden, like her hair, thousands of sequins reflecting the light right into my eyes, nearly blinding me. Her arm, extended, pillowing her head, held the tricorder.

I looked at Michael Burnham. "Nerve pinch?" I asked.

She nodded.

"Good technique," I said.

"Yup," Michael Burnham acknowledged.

She picked up the tricorder.

"We need to get those readings off that tricorder, stat," I said.

"On it," Michael Burnham said and headed toward her desk.

"Wait," I said. "Scan me."

"Right," she said. "Good idea."

Michael Burnham did a complete scan of me. It came up: Vulcan, injured, seek medical attention.

Michael Burnham sucked her teeth at that.

"Well," I said, "at least we have the readings she came for on the tricorder now."

"What are we going to do with her?" Michael Burnham indicated the pile of golden sequins on the floor.

I surveyed the situation. 'Vulcan' in my bed, pining for me. Vulcan fangirl on the floor beside her, obviously also making her play for me.

I looked up at Michael Burnham. "I have an idea."

Michael Burnham looked very concerned. "I don't like that sound in your voice."

"What sound?" I asked innocently, then added quickly. "Go take care of the tricorder. I'll take care of this! hihihi."

Maybe I shouldn't've added the evil cackle at the end.

I just do so love being evil, however.

Michael Burnham went from very concerned to alarmed, but I shooed her away, ignoring the reservations clouding her eyes.

I hoisted Nurse Duke up onto my rack. Humans weigh absolutely nothing. Their bone and muscle densities are nothing compared to that of Vulcans. Nurse Duke weighed no more than a piece of paper to me.

I unzipped and removed her sparkly dress.

"Huh, interesting," I stated. "Michael Burnham, come look! Nurse Daisy is wearing matching bra and panties!"

"Not looking," Michael Burnham informed me, then: "... Nurse 'Daisy'?"

"Guess what pattern her bra and panties are?"

"Not gonna guess," came the reply.

"Okay," I said.

Nurse Daisy. That's how I'd call her from now out. Daisy panties and bra, daisies on the table in a very solid-looking vase.

I put her under the covers next to T'Sil.

Still in full uniform. That looked confining, so I began to remove her top.

"Huh," I said.

"Not listening!" Michael Burnham stated forcefully before I could elaborate.

I pulled off T'Sil's pants.

"Guess who has matching black lace bra and panties?" I shot to Michael Burnham. "...very sexy, I might add."

"Not guessing!" Michael Burnham said. "Look, do you want me to ... what're you doing?" she asked as I ambled over to her cabinet, opened it, and pulled out the Romulan Ale.

"You know," I mentioned in passing, "Romulan Ale is an aphro-..."

"Don't tell me!" Michael Burnham blushed, turning back to her desk quickly. "Don't wanna know."

"M'kay," I said easily.

I ambled back to the two Vulcan fangirls. I looked over them, smirking, and removed the stopper.

"What are you doing?" Michael Burnham asked alarmed.

"Vulcan," I pointed my chin at T'Sil, "Vulcan-lover," I said, indicating Nurse 'Daisy.' "Put these two together and let nature run its course, ... with a little help, of course," I added as I swirled the bottle. "The problem solves itself."

"You can't force them to ..." Michael Burnham said, aghast.

"I'm not forcing anything," I interrupted. "I'm just going to let them do what they naturally want to do already, ... just a bit less inhibited."

"So you're helping them along? How altruistic of you!" Michael Burnham stated frostily.

"I never said I was altruistic, because I'm not," I stated. "But it gets these two fangirls off my back, and, hey, maybe they'll like each other, you know?"

Michael Burnham gave me a severely skeptical look before returning her attention to the tricorder.

"I never heard a Vulcan say they weren't altruistic. Altruism is intrinsically Vulcan."

"Sure it is, pi' veh," I retorted sarcastically. "Sure it is."

Michael Burnham glanced my way, but refrained from replying, which was fine by me.

I poured a wee bit of the Romulan Ale into my hand and, setting the bottle down, 'washed' my hand with the liquid. Then, I, with the lightest touch, applied a breath of it to Nurse Daisy's lips, rubbed my hands over her bra, then reached inside her panties and rubbed the gusset.

The amount of liquid I applied to her? It wasn't even an ounce; it was merely a rub.

But for a human?

Her lips, tits, and pussy would be on fire. She'd be consumed in an inferno of a very insistent need, in the worse possible, agonizing way, when the perfuming of her clothes by the ale was absorbed by her very porous skin.

Human breathe through their skin, absorbing air, moisture, and ... in this case: Romulan Ale into their very selves.

The Vulcan I was much more generous with. I splashed Romulan Ale directly onto her panties and bra, spilling some onto her tummy and into her belly button, and rubbing Romulan Ale on her lips. Not that she needed the encouragement. If anything, she was already raring to go, but I figured this little reminder might help motivate her to transfer her affections to blondie here.

I stoppered the bottle. I looked up to see Michael Burnham glaring at me.

"You done?" I asked.

"Yes," she said tightly.

"Good," I said. "Let's get out of here."

"Why?"

"You want to hang around and listen to this all-night fuck-fest?"

I returned the bottle to Michael Burnham's cabinet.

No. On second thought, I pulled the stopper, took a swig, and nearly fell over.

"Wow!" I said. I blinked rapidly several times.

"Wow!" I repeated.

I barely fit the stopper back onto the bottle, and I very, very carefully replaced the bottle to its new home.

Standing up from bending over nearly made me faint.

I smiled over at Michael Burnham. She did not return my smile. I found this to be hilarious.

"Holy shit!" I exclaimed.

"It has a kick to it, then?" Michael Burnham asked in the most condescending tone.

I shook my head, but the whole room kept shaking after I stopped for some reason. "It's like, ... everything's ... BLUE! and FUN! and ... JUST WOW!"

"Okay, Ms. 'FUN!'" Michael Burnham said, annoyed, standing now and slinging my arm over her shoulder. "Any idea where you wanted to go before everything went 'WOW!' for you?"

I guided us, as best I could, toward the door.

The stuff was working. I felt no pain. None. I couldn't feel my cheeks, either, which was both weird and pleasant at the same time.

"No idea," I said. "But I'll know when we get there."

"Uh, ... huh," was Michael Burnham's encouraging reply.

She added: "You throw up on me, I will kill you."

"Pfft!" I snorted. "Pi' veh! You're too gorgeous to throw up on."

"You're really drunk," she observed sourly.

I chortled as we made our staggering way through the ship's passageway.

...

"Sir, you okay? Sickbay is that way."

The petty officer pointed the way we had just come. He was in security.

"You're really tall," I observed.

"Sir?" he said.

"You on duty, right, Petty Officer First Class, um, ... Mike, right?" I said.

"O'Brien, Sir," he supplied. "Mike is my first name, Sir."

"Is all security Irish? You and Ensign Dolan? no: Doran. That's it: Silvia Doran."

He blushed hard at that. He had brown curly hair. The blush made freckles appear all over his face, or maybe highlighted the freckles there, either way, I found it hilarious.

I then just realized something. "Hey! Silvia! T'Sil! Right?"

"Um, ... sir?"

"Never mind that," Michael Burnham jumped in. "O'Brien, right? Lt. S'Vrall is out of sorts. Is there somewhere we can put her where ..."

"The computer simulation deck!" I said.

"No," Michael Burnham said, "You're not going into a simulation in this state."

"No! You idiot!" I said angrily, "the observation deck! It has couches and cooshy-cooshy cushions!"

Michael Burnham looked between me and O'Brien. "Is the sim deck occupied at present?"

"No, ma'am," O'Brien replied, "but as people rotate off duty, it's suddenly become a lot more popular for people to run through some simulations."

"Wonder why," Michael Burnham asked rhetorically.

I ignored her. "Nobody's going to use the computer simulation deck tonight," I said with certainty.

"Huh?" both asked.

"You'll see," I said.

"I really hate that tone in your voice," Michael Burnham stated.

"Do you now?" I asked, not a care in the world.

...

We got to the observation deck, somehow. I don't remember the details. I do remember that the deck was locked and O'Brien had to key us in.

Fine.

I went to the console and fell heavily, beside it.

"What the hell?" Michael Burnham shouted, shocked.

"No," I said. "I'm fine. The deck broke my fall."

"And more ribs?" Michael Burnham retorted.

I ignored her. I reached up to the underbelly of the console and pulled out the main connector and three supplementary systems.

"Computer's down," I remarked. "It needs service." I said. "Tomorrow morn-... no: afternoon, right, O'Brien?"

"Sir! Yes, sir!" He replied, smirking.

"Well, note it in your logs and carry on, then."

"Aye, sir," he said. He turned to go.

He turned back. "Sir, I'm gonna come back and check on you at 0700 hours, sir."

"Fine," I grumbled. "Whatever. Go. Shoo."

"Shooing, sir."

He left.

"Is security allowed to have a sense of humor?" Michael Burnham asked.

"Whatever helps you get through the day, Burnham."

...

Burnham arranged some cushions on the floor for me, then, finally, got to take off her own boots.

I must have looked like a total idiot, walking through the ship's corridors, bootless. No wonder why O'Brien stopped me. He really should have written me up for being out of uniform.

I was off duty, however, so there was that.

She sat herself on a chair the furthest she could from me.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey, yourself," she shot back.

"Thanks for looking after me today," I said.

She nodded.

"Why?" I asked.

"Why what?" she countered.

"Why you looking after me when you hate my guts?"

"I never said that," she said.

"'I never want to see your face again,'" I quoted to her.

She moved her head in a noncommittal way. "Okay, I did say that."

"You did," I said.

Awkward silence.

"You want to check up on our two lovebirds?" I offered.

"Most definitely not!" she huffed.

"Cool!" I said, and called up the cameras in our quarters.

"I thought I said..." Michael Burnham began.

"Computer, dim lights."

Before us was a spectacle. Nurse Daisy was under the covers, completely, but you didn't need to see her to know she was going down and going to town on T'Sil. She was moaning loudly and making slurping sounds as her body writhed against T'Sil's under the covers.

After a moment of this, she appeared, she bolted upright, then maneuvered herself to sit atop T'Sil's hips. Nurse Daisy's bra was still on, but it seems like both girls had lost their lower garments somewhere between the sheets.

"Please!" she whimpered. "Pleeeeease!"

She cupped her own breast with one hand while grasping T'Sil's with the other, steadying herself above her partner as she ground her pussy against T'Sil's.

T'Sil was silent and passive throughout. Either the sudden transition, or the excessive amount of Romulan Ale she drank as still-human, or the exhaustion of the day, ... whichever, but she was in a very deep slumber.

Nurse Daisy's motions became more insistent, more demanding, until, finally, she threw her head back and straight-up howled.

Nurse Daisy came on T'Sil like it was the end of the world.

She collapsed, breathing heavily, sweating. Nurse Daisy found T'Sil's lips, and she kissed her with a ferocity that was wild and animalistic. The kiss became kisses which then became whimpered pecks.

"Please!" Nurse Daisy whimpered as she kissed T'Sil on her mouth, on her cheek, on her neck, then, ...

Then she snarled. "Get this off! Get this OFF!" And she was a flurry of angry motion, tugging at T'Sil's bra that did not just pop off her, like Nurse Daisy wanted it to. She struggled a while with it until she recollected herself, sought out the bra-strap, then pulled the bra off T'Sil, one arm at a time. Her own bra she found suddenly odious, and she simply pulled the whole thing over her head after twisting her long hair into a tail to avoid entanglement. Once free of all bindings, she threw her bra away from her, viciously, then fell on T'Sil's breast, kissing, then sucking at it for all her worth.

Ooh, ... that might be sore in the morning.

Nurse Daisy was oblivious, however, and, as she sucked at T'Sil's breast, she humped her pussy against T'Sil's leg.

Harder, and harder, and harder.

"Uh," she grunted, then: "Uhhh!" Her whole body tightened up, and a fierce grimace, ... it looked like one of pain, plastered itself across her face.

Nurse Daisy collapsed onto the hollow of T'Sil's neck, panting heavily.

After a moment, her breath slowed, and she tilted her head back and kissed T'Sil's chin. Her head fell back against T'Sil's collarbone. Her eyes closed.

And she slept, her whole body cocooning T'Sil's.

I turned off the video feed.

"Wow!" I said.

Michael Burnham looked away. She was blushing.

"That was ..."

"Why did you show me that?" Michael Burnham demanded. She shifted in her seat.

Yes. I smelled her scent in the air. Human sexuality smells awful to Vulcans, but this musk was something entirely different for me.

Maybe it was the Romulan Ale speaking, but I didn't think so.

I smirked.

"I didn't," I said. "I was just checking up on our girls."

"They're not our girls!" Michael Burnham retorted.

"They're in our quarters," I countered.

Michael Burnham literally growled at me.

I closed my eyes.

"Come here," I whispered.

"What?" she said. "No! I not one of those fangirls."

"No," I said, "you're not."

"Come here," I repeated.

"Absolutely not," she stated.

"Okay," I said.

"Michael Burnham," I said. "Do you want to tell me anything?"

"Like what?"

"Like about last night?" I offered.

"Nothing comes to mind, besides you pointing two phasers at me."

I opened my eyes and looked at her.

"Okay," I said.

She looked away.

"You know," I said, "It's easier to let go of a secret, than to have it eat you up inside. I know this, Michael Burnham, from personal experience."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she replied stiffly.

"Okay," I said.

I took a deep calming breath.

"T'Sil was out," I observed.

Michael Burnham observed nothing in return.

"I'm not stupid, Michael Burnham."

"I never said you were."

"You didn't have to," I replied. "It must be great, and terrible, at the same time, to be more Vulcan than any other Vulcan. Better than all of them but still rejected by them, regardless."

"My brother knows this as well as anyone," she said.

"As well as you?" I probed.

She shrugged.

I cleared my throat. "I'm going to go into a deep healing trance. There, I will be nothing. While I'm there, you can do anything you want to me, and I'll never know, right, Michael Burnham? Just like how Nurse Daisy had her way with T'Sil."

"Is that why you showed me that?"

"Nah," I said easily. "Just checkin' on m'gurls, and I have to say: bravi!" I smirked.

Michael Burnham just shook her head at me. "I will never understand you."

"...and that's okay," I replied.

"No, It's not! What even are you? Every fiber of your being rejects Vulcan. You spit in the face of everything we stand for!"

"And you, Michael Burnham, are the perfect Vulcan, standing for everything they stand for, ... and they spit in your face for it."

"'They,'" Michael Burnham echoed. "You said 'they.' Earlier you said 'them.' See? Don't you mean 'we'? Or do you actually mean 'they'? Like: 'I'm not a Vulcan.'"

I sighed. "Good night, Michael Burnham. I have no fight left in me, okay? You win. Are you happy?"

She just glared at me.

"Fuck me if you want to. Don't if you don't. Just ... if you do ... can I wake up in your arms with you holding me like that? ... like what we saw? Please?"

Michael Burnham looked away. "You're really, really broken," she said softly.

"I'm really, really broken," I said.

I stilled myself.

Now.

I descended deeper, deeper into the darkness, until I was gone, and only the darkness remained.

There was always the terror for a Vulcan, going so deeply into this state, this Null state: would they ever come up out of this pool of nothingness?

Or would only nothingness remain, forever?

Well.

One could hope.