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Re: Shifting colors. mirror_brightly September 26 2009, 09:18:40 UTC
"No, James," Nero called kindly, his voice swinging like a pendulum as he stepped across the human's torso. "You can't sleep yet."

He waited as the Narada gradually swallowed the echoes of Kirk's struggle, the vehemence of George's cries, and his eyes drifted over the pale, bruised line of the human's back. When all was silence again, calm and deathly under the colored lights, Nero leaned in.

"Ayel," he started low, "ketaen." The room was still and he craned his head to meet his First Officer's eyes. The Romulan was staring at him as though he'd become confused in the last few seconds. Had he? He didn't think so. No...no he could see it in the shifting light, feel it in his ribs.

"Just enough to keep him here," Nero added and his eyes drifted back along Kirk's legs and the span of his side before his head turned to match. Behind him, Ayel shuffled, and Nero rocked back onto his heels, crouched over Kirk. His hand slipped out and ran across the hevam's back, over the mottled pattern of white, heaving pink, and slow darkened reds ( ... )

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Re: Shifting colors. kirktastic September 29 2009, 00:00:27 UTC
Kirk can see every moment of it. Nero's words paint a picture in his mind, describing a place he has never seen. He could have started to speak in Romulan and Kirk probably would have seen the same imagery. The pain of it is now distant, even when the combs bite into bone. The pain is insignificant compared to what it had been when his hand had been broken, his fingers, or the tattoos into it.

"Who?" Whispered very quietly, voice slurring. Who did Oren tell?

The further the drug gets into his system, poisoning his blood green, getting behind his eyes. The world was turning green.

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Re: Shifting colors. mirror_brightly September 29 2009, 00:48:21 UTC
“Everyone.” The word bled out, an answer trickled alongside the marks on Kirk's skin. “No one believes...no one but Spock.

“Spock believes Oren.” The comb lifts and no marks follow. No marks for the living alongside the dead. “Tells him that he can stop Hobus. Oren's shikaen do not believe Spock, do not trust him. Spock has sworn on the life of Oren's star, on the life of his unborn son, and Oren swears on the lives of their families, on his own.

“Decalithium is rare, and they waste precious time to gather it. They betray their homes, their honor, and give it to thaessu hands on Vulcan.” The light is shining in his eyes. It glinted off the dampness of the grates, and Nero squinted against it, blinking and turning to face the unmarred floor beside Kirk's head. The human's hair is matted with blood and the denaturing dust from the crates. It smells like the compactor on the Narada and Nero backs away just slightly, unconsciously wary of the combining fumes.

“They do not give Oren the red matter, the Vulcan's do not trust that he ( ... )

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Re: Shifting colors. kirktastic September 29 2009, 01:22:03 UTC
All at once, even through the drugs, he knew. Memories that are not his but are. He has experienced them, many times over, flickering past his consciousness. But these in particular he had experienced first hand, so to speak, in the mind meld.

Oren is Nero.

It clicked into place with a heavy thud, making Kirk's body jerk like Nero had placed a tazer against his skin. He sucked in a breath, trying to breath out words, "He meant it, meant it, tried to convince them, why would he give his help and take it away, he meant his promise!"

His voice cracked on the last word, caught completely in the moment trying to scramble out the words running lose in his brain before he lost them again. Images conflict - Nero's story and Spock's memories.

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Re: Shifting colors. mirror_brightly September 29 2009, 01:59:28 UTC
“Tried?” Nero asked low and even, his face twisted as his eyes came open. He repeated himself, low and hard as they focused on the human before him. Nero's voice dropped alongside the comb as the marks completed themselves, his hands fisting in Kirk's wiry, matted hair to twist the human's head parallel with his shoulder. “He did not promise to try.”

“That wave he tried to convince them to allow him to attempt to stop,” Nero seethed, every other word flooded with his hate. “It overloaded every living organism on my homeworld, let them dangle lifeless and still.

“I watched it while Spock tried, while he talked.” Nero's hand shifted in Kirk's hair and he dropped the human's head, suddenly disgusted by the feel of it. “The wave shattered the stability of Eisn, broke it apart in tongues of fire and radiation. I watched while it burned our world apart, as it ripped the oceans from the land and melted everything I ever knew into ash.”

Nero rose as he spoke, his eyes narrowed on Kirk. “Watched as my star....my....Mandana....” The breath ( ... )

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Re: Shifting colors. loyalty_ever September 30 2009, 03:40:55 UTC
This was not good. It was another of his captain's--elsewhere moments. He had seen it gathering, the tension coiling tight under Nero's skin.

Ayel bit his own tongue. He should have taken over the tale, should have started out Ael is born in Ramnau, to the son of a son of miners, and this hard, hot life is all he knows, until... But he is not yet dead, if never again Ael, and this halted his tongue, stayed his hand.

The Standard clattered out of Nero's mouth as if bitten free, hard and brittle. "Cut him loose. How doesn't matter. Get him out of my sight."

"Hrrau joaie." Ayel felt ice creeping under his skin as he stood, bending close against Kirk. It was better to have his feet under him for this ( ... )

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Re: Shifting colors. kirk_george September 30 2009, 04:03:28 UTC
George finally was able to focus long enough to wriggle his arm free, pushing up against the restraints. Something snapped, and he was able to breathe freely, move freely. Without thinking he scooped the gun Nero was wearing up, and turned to fire at Ayel, who was the biggest threat right now. Had to protect Jim. Jim had the actual information, was his son. Needed to protect him ( ... )

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Re: Shifting colors. loyalty_ever September 30 2009, 15:00:03 UTC
There was a hard whine and a sharp, loud sizzling crackle. He snapped around to follow it and his shoulder exploded in light and pain. The bolt struck with such force that he spun, twisted off-kilter and slammed back against the crates.

Ayel screamed. Rage, outrage, and agony burned everything green. Overcharged! Hope it fries him. He stepped forward, clutching the wound with his good arm, but his knees refused to hold. He let go, spread his hand to keep from landing on his face, and hot liquid slithered out between his fingers, stained the grates.

It was dark, and seeping slow. Missed the arteries. He would live.

He tried to move the arm. Hot nails marched down the bone, driven in by steel jackboots as his fingers twitched, clenched, spasmed, and fell uselessly still. Nerve damage.

"After him." It was a hard, hateful cough--his? Yes. Ayel was talking to himself outside his head, again. That wasn't good, he knew it wasn't. He pushed with his right arm, scrabbling to get vertical, and landed hard on his backside instead. Not going ( ... )

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Re: Shifting colors. kirktastic September 30 2009, 15:15:06 UTC
There was a bright sound, high pitched and sharp to his ears. There was a dull sound, like the knife slamming into meat. There was a loud sound, something that echoed between his ears and sounded almost familiar. Another dull sound, like a sac of clothing hitting the laundry room floor.

It happened before Kirk could force himself up on a single arm, almost hitting the ground as blood ran down his limb. He stared at the grating, stared at nothing, stared at blood and ink mixing into black and following the pattern of tattoos until they were obscured.

Everything seemed distant and far away, even the pain. His own thoughts felt just as far away, as if he was in a giant black space all by himself. A single clear thought came to him.

Look.So he did ( ... )

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Re: Shifting colors. loyalty_ever September 30 2009, 16:18:25 UTC
James moved in heavy, drunken lurches, slow and broken. Ayel watched with a certain--not detachment, no, he couldn't claim that anymore--but a haziness, a faraway feeling, like a dream. The pain proved this was real, a sharp sticking nuisance he couldn't banish, wedged knifelike in his arm. He could get to his feet in a moment, when the room stopped tilting.

He was cold. Something cold against him, against his leg--he knew, could feel what was happening, and made himself look anyway. Everything leaned a little, everything but the hand, James' hand, resting there on his thigh.

Without thinking, he moved to swat it away.

It was like wires crossing, sparking apart and fusing together, a shudder of connection from the top of his head to the floor of his spine. It couldn't be refused, so strong, so certain.

Who or what was a Bones? Bones like that, special, bright and intense. He'd wanted so badly and it was here, right here, it was in him, it was him, found him, finally. Fear and relief bloomed against the inside of his skull, drove ( ... )

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Re: Shifting colors. kirktastic September 30 2009, 16:27:50 UTC
The world in his head and the world around him had become one, all pasted over with a bright green filter that was whatever Ayel had pumped into him. The pain was forgotten, the tattoos were forgotten, even the simple idea that he was captured was forgotten.

All that mattered was the man under his hand.

Those words came into his mind. The mind needed no translation of a word, or did it, or did Kirk's mind do translation subconscious, who knew. He heard it in Standard, accented, thick, and scared.

I'm here. Told you I'd come back. I'm here. Never let you go.

Kirk sat back, clumsy and swaying and nearly falling. He barely thought, maybe not at all, as he drew Bones close, opposite to that damaged shoulder, still feeling hot blood running down his skin. Kirk himself was icy cold, even if it had been a human touching him. The man he needed the most was here. He had dreamed of Bones, and Bones had come.

Bones was hurt. Bleeding. So much blood... dying.

I'm here. As if he wasn't knocking to the gates of Death's mansion himself. You' ( ... )

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Re: Shifting colors. loyalty_ever September 30 2009, 17:07:37 UTC
You're safe. The thought broke over him with total certainty, radiant, captivating. It drew him in, like music, like velvet against the chill.

No one ever spoke to him like that, only family, and the only family he had left had hidden his name away, silenced himself completely in the wake of his grief...But silence was no barrier to the heart.

We. We're safe.

(No they weren't, it was cold, it was dark and the guards were always there, waiting, they would arrive any moment and take him away again, didn't matter how tightly Ayel held on, it wasn't ever enough--)

Ayel reached out anyway, smoothed a hand down his back. Shielded him with the arm that would still move (so cold under his hands, he must be sick, must be dying, what had they done to him), used the arm that still did what he wanted. Wrapped close and pulled them together. Always together. Nothing would part them. Safe! Always, I promise--

Forever. For however long they had.

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Re: Shifting colors. kirktastic September 30 2009, 17:24:37 UTC
They were achingly similar, for a moment. One pain-blind, the other drug-blind. Time slowed, stopped entirely. What was occurring outside was distant and unknown. So far away.

He was warm, something to cling to in the darkness behind his eyelids. Just as his friend always had, Kirk felt himself being pulled against the other's warm body, shielded against the green. He thought about the dream, all over again.

"Promise me you won't stop fighting 'til you see me holding you.

"...Until you're holding me. I can stop fighting then?"

"When you see me, when you feel me, you can let go and let me take care of you."

Bones was here. He had seen him. He could feel him in his arms. Bones had come.

To his drugged mind, it made perfect sense. So, he gave up. Kirk collapsed against that warmth, letting his eyes stay closed, as the last of the fight went out of him.

I love you.

Words he had never been able to speak aloud.

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Re: Shifting colors. loyalty_ever September 30 2009, 18:55:42 UTC
There was nothing but their breathing, just faintly out of time, slightly out of step with the world and with each other, slick and difficult with pain--that was true, that made sense...He was drifting somewhere, not outside his body but through it somehow, to where they touched.

Had to keep him warm, take care of him. That was so true it hurt--never looked after himself. Someone had to.

Bones had to. He understood. He did. It was right there and so clear. I love you.

He just held on, waiting in case there were tears or screaming or a lashing out of hands and feet. Couldn't let him hurt himself. Any more than he already had.

But that was all, just I love you, plain and bright as he settled close, relaxed and uncoiled, calm at last.

Had to keep him warm. He was stubborn about that kind of thing--that was true enough, too, that was the same--mulish? Yes, mulish about...Little stuff. Physicals and paperwork (you could not get him to do something he did not want to do) and whatall. Plain stubborn. And loving and his ( ... )

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Re: Shifting colors. kirktastic September 30 2009, 19:08:57 UTC
There were tendrils in his mind, picking through memories, tossing aside what wasn't needed, incorporating what was. The very flavor of Bones' words, that liquor-thick peach-sweet accent that Bones got only when he was truly worried (or sex sedated). The kiss to his forehead, testing as doctors might have hundreds of years ago. That was Bones. All Bones.

Not a seriously injured Romulan with no control over his mind-gift.

I'll be okay. You're here. You can fix anything. After all, you fixed me.

His fingers, the ones that weren't swollen and ugly colors, came up and pressed against the wound. Bones was hurt. Couldn't let Bones die in his arms. Bones, you're hurt, need to get you somewhere safe... Why wasn't here safe? Something just nudged at his mind, telling him it wasn't.

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Re: Shifting colors. loyalty_ever September 30 2009, 19:42:48 UTC
Anything, yeah. He could fix anything. Had fixed the--no, no one fixed the ship, she fixed herself, but she did better with him there.

Sure. He could fix it. Just needed time.

Bones was hurt. He was hurt, they were hurting, so much.

He had to get...Something had happened, one more bad thing in a long line of bad things. And too soon, too soon the guards would be here. That image didn't make it. There weren't faces for that feeling in here (where was here? outside of where it usually was, a place that wasn't all his) because...Jim...had never seen it. Just a kind of seasick dread that made Ayel truly horrified of green, made green strange to him for the first time in his life.

The feeling was red, too, and black and empty.

He was being prodded, gently, stroked with love and fear and cold careful fingers that tried to knit hope against the hole in his skin.

Somewhere safe? He knew it would hurt if he laughed. He tried to anyway. Oh, yes au'e, hurry.Yes. If he could just find his feet. Where had they gone ( ... )

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