The Deep Breath Before the Plunge [Helen, Nero]

[first_noel]

The Enterprise would be at New Vulcan soon. The announcement of their destination had been made a few weeks ago, and as they'd drawn nearer, the crew had become more and more excited, discussing where they would go, what they would do with their time offship

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[mirror_brightly]

His head was different, clearer, tighter, and it rang as his eyes opened to dull grey. Everything was white, grey. He rolled his skull on his neck and stopped. The familiar terror of Naele's hair, of Naele's shoulders had faded. His hand reached up and was his own, it scrubbed through short hair that was not hers.

"Daevire t'li'hir, Naele?"

He closed his eyes again and slumped back against the bed. His hair was too long, had grown in secretly, hidden in winding black. He hadn't noticed it in Naele's curls, against her shoulders and her back, but even a nail-span was too much for his head. He pulled at it listlessly. They had taken his knife, couldn't clear it away.

There was something disgusting in it, that he would meet a room filled with Vulcan bureaucrats looking like he had.

Nero let his hand fall away, slide skin that was his own against the grey sheets that curled around him, caged him in. Metal on metal, the humming pulse of light, they were in his head and he was alone.

[first_noel]

He woke before she had a chance to decide, shifting on the cot and murmuring to himself in Romulan.

She waited for a moment, just long enough for him to regain full consciousness, before she made her presence known. She didn't want to startle him, but if she stood here too long and waited, he might be upset, suspicious of being watched without realizing it.

"Nero," she said. "How are you today?"

[mirror_brightly]

He knew that voice, coiled and strangely lacking shade. He sat up and cracked his eyes, tilted his head to view her through the grey nothingness that bound him in.

"Lloann jokes are poor," he answered flatly, his voice was familiar, low and even and his own again. It didn't carry the serrated edge he'd expected to hear. She'd sworn her name, understood it, it kept his throat polite.

His arm itched. he pulled the bandage off of it and scratched at the still greened skin. It was blank, of course she'd forgiven him.

[first_noel]

"Joke?" Helen repeated. It was an insult, she supposed - more contempt for the Federation. But it was also the most inviting greeting he'd given her so far.

"I'm sorry, I must have missed it," she said as she made herself comfortable, cross-legged before the cell. "Do you want to explain?"