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Walking Wounded - Chapter Eighty-Six

When Kirk got home that morning, he saw Anne sitting on the couch, a holo in front of her as she tapped away at a padd. It looked like a schematic for something; she kept glancing up at it, turning it this way and that, but it wasn’t until she mimed taking it into her hand that he realized what it was. An old-style projectile weapon. A revolver. It was just a holo, but it followed along perfectly as she did something to the side of it, then spun the cylinder.

As he approached, he saw her hands moving and realized she was miming loading the weapon, the holo following her actions. After a moment, she spun the cylinder again, pulled back the hammer, and then let go, the holo staying in midair where she’d left it. She began to tap away at the padd again.

“Anne?” he asked quietly. She heard him, because she lifted a hand, but she didn’t otherwise acknowledge him.

A bit of a cold welcome, but… he couldn’t help but think he deserved it a bit with the way he’d sprung his skeleton crew shifts on her. He decided he’d get ready for bed and then try again.

The kitchen was in chaos. He had to hunt around for something that didn’t look like it was halfway through assembly-- he wasn’t sure what all had gotten to what point, but he hoped she had time to finish up whatever she needed to do before the evening. On the kitchen table, there was a neat little group of bottles that he knew he hadn’t touched. Wine bottles and bottles of rye, all empty. What the hell had she been doing? In the refrigeration unit, tucked behind a pile of bagged and seasoned raw meat, there was a plate with what looked like slices of salmon and some other things all prettily arranged, but he wasn’t sure whether he should be touching that. In the end, he grabbed an apple from the fruit basket and went to the bedroom to shower.

The door had barely opened before he stopped. Someone was in the bed. Okay, this was getting too weird. He stepped back, letting the bedroom door close. “Anne,” he said, turning toward the couch. She just lifted her hand, flapping it irritably like she was shooing him away.

No. There was a lot he’d put up with, but being dismissed was not on that list. Walking over, he said firmly, “Anne,” and put a hand on her shoulder.

She reacted as if he’d slapped her, jerking away, glaring up at him and snapping, “What?” Almost immediately, her eyes widened in what looked like recognition and she looked shocked. “Oh, shit. Jim. Shit. What time is it?” 

Her shock and confusion were so genuine that they almost banished the sting of her reaction. Almost. “It’s getting close to 0745,” Kirk said, maybe a little less warmly than he would have responded fifteen minutes ago when he’d first come in. Okay, definitely colder.

“Shit. I didn’t mean to stay up.” Anne slashed a hand at the holo, wiping the cocked gun out, her other hand locking the padd she’d been working on. “I’m so sorry, I was just… distracted. How long have you been home?”

“A while,” he said, and her mouth twisted unhappily. He felt himself soften a bit. “Not too long. But… what’s going on, Anne? The kitchen’s a wreck, someone’s in our bed, someone’s been drinking a lot, although it doesn’t look like it was you… and when I said anything to you, you just brushed me off, then bit my head off.”

It was that last that bothered him most, and they both knew it. Anne stood up, stepping tentatively up to him, and he let her fold her arms around him, even if he couldn’t quite respond the way he normally would have. “I’m sorry, Jim. That won’t happen again. It was a mistake.”

It wasn’t a mistake. It was her writing. She’d told him enough times that she preferred to be alone when she was writing, and he’d just had a small taste of the reason why. It stung all over again, this time because he wasn’t sure what had changed, or why. Had Mason been right? If so… No. Not going to think about it. Not now. “Well, whatever. What’s going on with the rest of it?”

Anne let her arms loosen, looking up at him with worried eyes. “Claudia stayed the night. She’s having trouble with something, so I got her drunk, and then I figured she could just stay because she needed to talk to you anyway. And I didn’t want to bother her or wake her up, so I finished my prep for the party. I just… I meant to nap but I got sidetracked after I finished. I’m sorry.”

Kirk felt himself loosening up a little. She’d meant well. As for what the writing meant or would mean, he was going to just let that slide completely out of his mind and try his best to forget about it. “It’s okay, gorgeous. It was just really weird to come home to. Do you want me to go wake Claudia up?”

“No, I’ll do it. I made you dinner, did you find it?” When he shook his head, Anne hugged him, then led him to the kitchen. That plate with the smoked salmon was joined by a toasted bagel and various other things, and Anne paused after setting out a couple other plates. “Did you want me to wake her up now, or would you rather be alone while you eat?”

“Go ahead and wake her up,” Kirk said, wondering what all this was about.

Ten minutes later, he was feeling a little more sympathetic to both Anne and Claudia. What a shitty situation-- and he wouldn’t have blamed Anne if she’d run screaming from Claudia’s problem, with what had recently happened to her. “I’m glad you didn’t wait to tell me.”

“Anne advised against it,” Claudia said. Although she wouldn’t admit to anything more than a mild headache, she looked exhausted. Well, from the looks of it, she’d earned the hangover fair and square.

“I can’t say with a hundred percent certainty that you can stay on board once you’ve had the baby. I’ll do my best to help you out, and that’s a lot, but I don’t know whether it’ll be enough.” Kirk shook his head. “It really comes down to how generous Command is feeling whenever they do find out.”

Neither of the women asked whether telling Command was an option. It really wasn’t. They would be sympathetic, and there might even be some support, but it wouldn’t make a difference. Claudia would get moved off the Enterprise the moment they knew. Anne sighed, shaking her head. “So I guess you just have to tell Doctor McCoy now.”

“Do you, uhh… do you need some backup?” Kirk asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be involved in that conversation, but he was probably a better choice than Anne.

“I’m not worried about him,” Claudia said, pushing her half-eaten bagel away. “Besides, I can’t think of anything either he or I would like less than someone sitting and watching while we argue about why getting married is a bad idea.” She grinned, looking over at Kirk. “But thank you. I appreciate your support. Both of you.”

Shrugging, Kirk said, “If you can do your job, I don’t see why I should get rid of you. You’ve been an asset.” He felt himself smile a little. “And I gotta say I’m going to enjoy Bones’s reaction to all this. He’s going to flip. And Spock’s never going to let him forget it.” Frowning at Claudia, he added, “But whatever happens, you still have to work together. If you end up having a big enough fight that I have to get rid of one of you--”

“I promise that won’t happen. Leonard can actually be quite reasonable and sweet-- you just have to hammer your point home the same way you would with a mule.”

“A chair makes a great bludgeon,” Anne said. Kirk couldn’t decide if she was joking or not. Although it had been justified, she had hit someone with a chair at least once...

“I promise I won’t resort to that unless I really have to,” Claudia said. She took a deep breath, and then pushed herself away from the table. “Thanks for letting me stay here and talk this out. I should really get going. Don’t stand up; I’ll let myself out.”

Of course, Anne insisted on packing up the rest of her bagel and a few other odds and ends. By the time Claudia left, Kirk was heading to the shower, and when he got out, Anne was fussing with the sheets. It looked like she’d changed them. Dismissing it, Kirk finished towelling himself off, then flipped back the covers. “Coming?” he asked Anne.

She hesitated before answering. That wasn’t normal. “Yes.”

Was he just looking for reasons to be worried? Better not. Better just have it out. Once she’d slid into bed, curling up against him, he asked, “So what are we going to do?”

She didn’t need any explanation. Her aggressive reaction had surprised her as much as him. “I don’t know,” she said, huddling closer to him. He stroked a hand down her back and she stretched against him, the ridges of her scars pressing against his skin.

Well, hell. Make the most of what they had. “With everything else going on, I didn’t even get the chance to say hello properly,” he murmured. In a few moments, all his questions were receding, chased away by the hunger of her mouth on his. It was good to know that not everything had changed.

#James T. Kirk/OC #Jim Kirk/OC #Star Trek #fanfic #dark romance #star trek fanfiction #ST:WW #Star Trek: Walking Wounded

[winterverses]

[winterverses]

Blooky show us about Fashions and Hats!

[winterverses]

Seealpsee, Switzerland

[winterverses]

Walking Wounded - Chapter Eighty-Five

Claudia’s eyes had widened when she’d first seen the flowers; she’d glanced at them all through Anne’s checkup, frowning slightly, her beautiful lips pursed unhappily, until Anne finally called her on it. By that time they also had finished with her therapy session, and as a result, Anne was feeling a bit short with Claudia, her emotions raw. Well, that and other things. “Are you going to ask, or are you just going to gawk?” Anne snapped, punching down her bread dough harder than she might otherwise have done.

“Why would I ask?” Claudia’s voice was as dry as the wine she held in her hand. “It’s none of my business.”

Hands working the dough as restlessly as they’d performed all the various tasks through the evening, Anne scowled. She wasn’t sure anymore why she’d invited Claudia to dinner. No doubt McCoy was waiting for her, and Anne would much rather have been alone. She knew enough to recognize, however, that she was being touchy for no good reason. That didn’t make her feel better. It just made her sullen. “I’m getting rid of them tomorrow. If I kept them, no one would have anywhere to put their drinks down.”

“That won't bother Jim?” Claudia asked evenly.

“Does it matter?” Anne asked. “They’ll be in the way. They have to go.” Although she really should at least ask him first. They were his. Finishing with the dough, she covered it and put it in the refrigeration unit, then rinsed her hands and grabbed her padd. Another item checked off the list. Her fingers itched, and she glanced over at Claudia.

“Why are you so restless?” Claudia asked, looking more curious than offended.

Anne froze, then set the padd down to pick up some scissors. She needed herbs for the marinade. Maxim had picked up the ribs for the party through his sources, and they were already bagged and ready. This would nearly annihilate her savory, but it wasn’t like she’d need it much longer anyway. She tried to formulate a response to Claudia’s question before she lost the thread of it entirely. “I’m just busy, that’s all. I have a lot to do.”

 “Bullshit,” Claudia said. “You might get away with a bald-faced lie like that with Uhura or Ben, but not with me. Now, either you tell me why you’re acting like such an unpleasant ass, or all of your preparation is going in the garbage disposal.” Anne whirled on her, but Claudia wasn’t fazed. “I mean it. I will ruin your party if you keep acting like this.”

Narrowing her eyes, Anne tried to evaluate how serious Claudia was and kept coming up with ‘entirely.’ “I don’t want to talk about it,” Anne said, turning away.

“Well, that’s honest, at least. But if you’re going to be this prickly tomorrow, your guests will run screaming. You might as well tell me now and get it out.” Claudia took another measured sip of her wine.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than sit there and psychoanalyze me?” Anne asked, snipping savagely at the little windowbox of herbs and lopping off a few unnecessary stalks of tarragon. Oh well.

“No. Besides, I was going to ask your advice on something, but I’m not going to bother if you’re just going to snap and snarl like an angry badger.”

When Anne looked over her shoulder, Claudia’s face was as composed as ever, but something about her seemed off. Curiosity finally tipped Anne back away from her moodiness… probably exactly as Claudia had meant. “I really don’t want to talk about my bad mood, although I’ll try to rein it in,” Anne said, mustering her calm. “You know I have a lot going on in my head right now, and Jim’s not here to distract me from it. That’s not all this is, but it’s making everything worse. I apologize.”

“Thank you,” Claudia said. “Apology accepted. I’m pregnant with Leonard’s child.”

Anne set her scissors down on the counter and placed the little bundle of herbs beside it, then turned and stepped past Claudia. At the last moment, Anne lashed out, snagging the wine glass from Claudia’s hand.

Frowning down at her, Claudia just held her hand out. “Even apart from the fact that we already know exactly how much alcohol it takes to interfere with a developing fetus and I am well below that point, there are pills for that. Which I have taken.”

“How would I know that? All I know about medicine is from the nineteenth century,” Anne said, regretting her outdated knowledge. She wondered if she would know if Claudia was lying to her. She’d never had a reason to question Claudia before. After a moment, she decided it was unlikely. Holding out the glass, she asked, “What did he say?”

“He doesn’t know,” Claudia said, taking the glass back from Anne and sipping, watching Anne with eyes that were too calm.

“Then why--” Anne felt her eyes widen before she consciously registered the cause. “Shit. They got you too.” Claudia had blocked it that first time someone had tried to grab her. Suddenly, irrationally, she felt guilty.

Downing the rest of her glass, Claudia reached for the bottle and poured herself another. “And I’m guessing he hasn’t had his shot since he and Pamela were trying for a kid. I mean, that’s conjecture of course, but he always was an idiot about that sort of thing. No perspective on himself.”

Anne picked up her own glass, holding it out for Claudia to fill. “So… how good are those pills?”

“I could get myself killed before anything ever made it through to the baby,” Claudia said, tipping the last of the bottle into Anne’s wine glass.

“Want to try?” Anne asked, not entirely joking.

It did tease a smile from Claudia. “Thought you’d never ask. Leonard’s on the ship tonight anyway. I have to say I’m sort of glad Jim is too.” For a moment, Anne saw how thin Claudia’s facade was, the tight strain around her eyes and mouth. “I don’t really have anyone else to talk to that isn’t Starfleet.”

“Well. Before we get into all of that, what’s your poison? Whatever it is, I probably have some.” Anne went to the bar, opening up the cooled section. A regiment of bottles in neat rows filled the thing from back to front.

“You don’t happen to know how to make a decent sazerac, do you? I haven’t had one worth spit since I left Louisiana.”

Anne glanced over her shoulder. “New Orleans?” Claudia nodded. “You people butchered the language,” Anne sniffed, reaching for the herbsaint and the rye.

“Esspluhnayde,” Claudia drawled.

Anne swore softly and plucked a bottle of bitters from the rack, ignoring the snicker behind her. She didn’t really care… much... but she was willing to act the fool a bit in this case. “There should be a lemon in the basket over there,” she said, airily going about the business of making the cocktail, as well as an extra for herself. As Claudia set the lemon down beside her, she asked, “So, are you going to keep it?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I’ve been too busy to think about children, and… don’t get me wrong, I care about Leonard a lot, but I’d never marry him. He’s a terrible husband, and I’ve always known I’d be a terrible wife. It would be a disaster.”

“What kind of terrible are we talking about here?” Anne asked.

“Oh… he’s always been very old-fashioned when it comes to marriage and family. Little wifey stays at home with the children while he goes off gallivanting around with his buddies. He’d never admit it, but that was part of why he and Pam split up. She never felt she could measure up as long as she kept her job, but she couldn’t give it up without giving up part of herself.”

“I know the feeling,” Anne muttered, swirling the herbsaint around in the tumbler.

“Same here,” Claudia said.

“Well, setting him aside for a moment, if you were on your own, what would you do?” Anne asked. “Assume he’s out of the picture.”

“I don’t know,” Claudia said softly. “I’m just back on board a ship for the first time in ages, and my work finally has a real chance to get somewhere…”

After zesting the lemon with one of her knives, Anne rubbed the pieces of peel around the rims of the glasses, then dropped them into the drinks. “There. It’s not pretty, but it’ll taste fine,” she said, handing Claudia hers. “Let’s step a bit further back, then. If neither McCoy nor your work were an issue, would you want this child?”

“Yes,” Claudia said promptly. “I’ve always wanted children. I just haven’t had the time or the freedom, or… I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to do it alone.”

You learned something new every day. Anne had never thought of Claudia as maternal, but then again, with the way she’d treated Lilla… “All right. Now what’s the bigger problem-- being on board a ship, or having to deal with McCoy’s bullshit?”

Claudia sipped contemplatively at her drink. Damn, she’d downed the rest of her wine already. Anne turned to make another sazerac. The way things were going, Claudia would need it sooner rather than later. “Leonard is… only about half as leathery as his behavior suggests. I’ve backed him off before, and I can do it again, as many times as I need to. But the ship…”

“Then that’s really what you need to decide,” Anne said. “Let’s face it, telling McCoy that you were pregnant with his child and got rid of it to continue your career-- when he doesn’t even know and isn’t thinking about a permanent arrangement with you and had no idea it could happen… that would be unnecessarily cruel. Some things shouldn’t be said.”

“I don’t know if I agree with that,” Claudia said softly. “Honesty is important to me.”

“What would it do to him to hear that?” Anne asked.

“He’d be devastated,” Claudia murmured, staring off through the windows. “You have no idea how broken up he is that Pam is fighting him over Joanna.”

“You could do what I did,” Anne said, softening. “Find a host mother and give the kid up. Let him have it.”

“I don’t want to do that,” Claudia said, glancing quickly down at Anne and then taking another long gulp from her drink. “I know how you feel about the whole thing, and I agree that it was best for you, but I do want children. I just… thought I’d have time, and warning. The ability to plan for it.”

“Well, if you’re going to have it--”

“Her.”

“Oh god. All right, her. If you’re going to have her, you have a little under nine months to plan. That’ll give you over half a year aboard the Enterprise.” Anne had to wrench her mind away from her own situation. This wasn’t the time for it. Although… “I don’t really want to get into it, but I happen to know Jim very much disagrees with splitting families up because of postings. So you wouldn’t be alone.”

Claudia’s eyes darted to her. “What are you trying to say?”

Anne sighed. “That if you cleared it with him, he might just… fail to mention this to Starfleet.”

“Are you crazy?” Claudia said, staring at her. “Not tell Starfleet? Why would he risk getting busted down on my account? And with how much trouble the Enterprise gets in--”

“Well, if it bothers you that much, then you obviously don’t want to stay on the ship that badly,” Anne said primly, finishing the second round of sazeracs and putting them on ice for the moment. “I guarantee you if you tried to sneak it by him, he’d report it and put you off on the nearest Starbase once you started to show. But if you told him right now and asked him for his help, I’ll bet he’d just… conveniently never find it to be an issue worth bothering Starfleet about. So long as it didn’t affect your work.”

Claudia looked away as she mulled that over, staring off into the distance again.

“You could be a test case,” Anne said. “I’ll bet Hikaru would love that. If you could prove that a baby wasn’t a hindrance aboard ship--”

“Exploratory vessels almost never take people with families. It’s too much of a tragedy when they go missing,” Claudia said.

“Is it? Is it more of a tragedy to lose one member of a family, or a whole family?” Anne shook her head, then brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes. “It’s a stupid piece of a criteria to decide your whole future on. Tragedy my ass. That’s calling all the people aboard that ship expendable. They’re all sons, daughters, siblings-- they all have loved ones that will miss them. None of them are expendable. Losing any one of them is a tragedy. More doesn’t make it worse.”

“Ethically speaking, it’s one thing to volunteer, and completely another to shove a child with no ability to make that decision--”

“That’s what parents are for. Are you telling me Starfleet officers and crewmen aren’t well-versed enough in ethics to decide that for themselves?” Anne snorted. “If it was the general populace, I might agree with you, but this is Starfleet we’re talking about. Are you telling me there aren’t any required ethics classes at the Academy?”

“There are,” Claudia murmured.

“And yet Starfleet thinks that parents aren’t capable of deciding on their own, or that one life is somehow worth less than another?”

“Just out of curiosity, do you know anything about Philippa Foot?” Claudia asked, her mouth twisted with wry humor.

“No,” Anne said. “Should I know her?”

“Not unless you’re three hundred years old. Anyway, the trolley problem, where there’s a group of adults on one track--”

Now she remembered. “Yes, yes. You pull the switch and the train goes down one of the tracks. Hit the child, definitely. Innocence and potential are lovely concepts, but they don’t compare to the concrete benefits of a group of capable adults. Potential is also potential to fail, and innocence is just dolled-up ignorance. I know, I was innocent once. It was terrible.”

“Well, in Ms. Foot’s version, it’s an adult, but I take your point,” Claudia said. After a moment of contemplation, she started to laugh. “All right. Well, you’ve given me something to think about, and no mistake.”

“You’re so pedantic,” Anne said. “Don’t let it get the better of you.” Seeing that Claudia was finished her second sazerac, she took the glass and brought out one of the others to give to her. “Why would you have stayed for me, but you’re having such a hard time staying for the kid?”

“Because you’ll be all right,” Claudia said. “I wouldn’t be putting off a ship career for more than a few months. Might even get back on the Enterprise. Besides, the kid’s potential isn’t the only potential I have to think about. It’s a big decision. Who knows? I could be an awful mother. Probably fuck the whole thing up.”

Anne felt her throat tighten a little, but she shook it off. “You can get pointers from Hikaru. He’s a great dad. Just… talk to Jim before you talk to McCoy. It really wouldn’t be fair for you to tell him and then decide against having it. Her.”

“All right,” Claudia said. “I’ll talk to him the next chance I get. Now, drink up. Doctor’s orders. I don’t want to be drunk alone.”

“You’re a bad influence,” Anne grumbled, but she was feeling a hundred times better.

#Jim Kirk/OC #James T. Kirk/OC #ST:WW #fanfic #star trek #star trek fanfiction #dark romance #Star Trek: Walking Wounded

[winterverses]

Walking Wounded - Chapter Eighty-Four

They still hadn’t talked. Anne had tried not to think about it, but it had been bothering her ever since Jim had mentioned it after her surgery. There was a distance there, something that she hadn’t noticed before, as if part of him was standing back and watching them with a critical eye. She didn’t really want to talk about it. She just wanted it to go away.

On the outside, things had gone back to normal. Jim was still participating in the trials, leaving every morning, coming back in the late afternoon, going to the gym, spending his evenings entertaining himself, whether that was with friends or with her alone. She was using her days to help Ben and Hikaru. The process of adopting Lilla was starting to move ahead; Ben and Hikaru had finally argued Ethics to a standstill, saying that Lilla’s history would have to be disclosed to any potential adoptive parents and that they wouldn’t be able to guarantee that it didn’t impact her treatment, or her personal safety if any of her father’s associates hadn’t been caught. Ben and Hikaru could guarantee no prejudice against Lilla, and an understanding of the tactics Loche’s men had used.

Anne was particularly proud of Ben for that argument; he had seen that angle before either Hikaru or Anne had, and hammered on it mercilessly. By this point, there were even visits. Anne made herself scarce for these. She didn’t want to intrude. Also, she didn’t think she’d ever really be comfortable with kids… although Demora had started to grow on her a bit after Anne had caught her trying to copy a ballet holo. She’d taught Demora some basic steps. Ben and Hikaru had found it immensely funny, but encouraged it all the same.

Jim had taken to picking her up from their place as he came home, and it was drawing near to that time when Ben started to seem uneasy. They were doing the prep for Ben and Hikaru’s dinner-- a habit Anne had gotten into, even though she wasn’t staying. She liked to be busy. Today, he had decided he was going to make a lasagna so they could have leftovers for a while, and Anne was mixing ricotta and egg when Ben finally said what was on his mind.

“Hikaru and I decided a son wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Ben said, glancing nervously at Anne. “It’s a bit of an embarrassment of riches-- I wasn’t even sure we’d be able to have Demora, let alone one or maybe even two more. Adoption really isn’t that common anymore. But either way, whether we get Lilla or not, Demora would like a brother and we’d love to have a son. We always wanted a big family.”

Anne had frozen, listening to him. Even if she’d offered, it was still a bit of a shock to think she might know this kid, maybe for years. She had the feeling that Ben wasn’t one of the friends that would slip away; he was too gentle and had too much empathy. That was too rare to lose. When he had finished talking, she’d looked up from the ricotta and given him a half smile. “You’re good parents. Kid deserves that after the shit start he got in life.” She started to stir again, her smile spreading a little. “Congratulations, you’re gonna be a dad. Again.”

Hikaru walked into the room just in time to hear that. “You told her, huh?” he asked, and Ben nodded. “It’s a bit late in the game, but still, are you sure you’re okay with it?”

“Yeah,” Anne said, shrugging. “It’s not like I was going to raise him. And anyway, I suppose I should keep an eye on him. It’ll be easier this way.” A sudden thought made her laugh, the first time she could recall laughing about the final round with Loche. It wasn’t unadulterated humor… but it wasn’t bitter, and that was enough. “I can’t think of anything more suitable, really. A marshmallow dad like you.”

Hikaru pretended disgust. “I am not a marshmallow.”

“When’s the last time you made Demora do anything she didn’t want?” Anne teased.

“She’s right,” Ben said. “You let her get away with everything.”

Scoffing, Hikaru sat down at the kitchen table, watching them work. “Okay, fine, but it’s not because I’m a marshmallow. I’m the fun dad. It’s my job to let her get away with things.”

Ben rolled his eyes and continued to paint a layer of sauce onto the noodles he’d laid down. “When you get back for a vacation, it’s my turn to be the fun dad,” he said. “Better practice up.”

“It’s all right. I’ve got the authoritative voice down. If I can-- well, that was classified, but it backed off someone who could have killed us. Demora can’t be that bad.”

“Oh yes she can,” Ben started.

The door chimed. “Come in,” Sulu called. They didn’t even bother to meet Jim at the door anymore.

“Hey, whoa,” Jim said over Demora’s squeals. “I was just here yesterday, why the big fuss?” It was the same every day-- Demora flipped her lid the moment he walked in the door. Anne couldn’t help but be amused by it. She’d teased him over it, saying that it proved he was too charming for any woman to resist.

Demora was babbling something, and Jim said, “No, not today. I can’t stick around too long. I’ll give you ten minutes, and after that I have to go.”

“Fine,” Demora said. Immediately afterward there were shrieks of delight. Anne looked over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of Jim throwing Demora up into the air and then crashlanding her onto the couch.

Hikaru and Ben just looked at each other, and then Hikaru stood. “I’ll go keep an eye on things,” he said, grinning.

Anne just tried to stifle her amusement.

By the time the ten minutes were up, the lasagna was assembled and in the oven, and Anne was washing her hands at the sink. Jim came into the kitchen, holding Demora at his side, then set her down. “Your dad’s done there. Looks like it’s time to wash up for dinner.”

“You’d better say goodbye,” Ben said before Demora got too far.

The kid turned back and looked at Jim, putting her hands on her hips. “Next time we’re playing football,” she said.

“Demora, manners,” cautioned Ben.

“We’ll see,” Jim said, amused. “Be good, okay?”

“We’ll see,” Demora mimicked. “Goodbye.” She turned to Anne, without being prompted this time, and frowned at her. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Demora,” Anne said, trying not to laugh. She walked over to Jim, ready to leave. She hadn’t brought anything there besides a loaf of bread they’d used for sandwiches at lunch.

“Okay, go wash up. I’m going to check, so you better do it right,” Ben said, shooing Demora from the room. Hikaru watched him fondly, pretending to smirk when Ben looked back at him. Ben just rolled his eyes again.

“We’ll see you guys later, okay? We’ve got to get going.” Jim rested an arm on her shoulders.

“Yeah, no problem. Sounds like you’re staying longer tomorrow anyway,” Hikaru said.

“Actually, I can’t come tomorrow,” Jim said, glancing down at Anne and then back to Hikaru. “I had to change the skeleton crew shifts, and it’s my turn for the next couple days.” Anne felt herself stiffen and tried to hide it.

“That’s life,” Hikaru said, shrugging.

“So we’ll see you at the party, then?” Ben asked.

“Yeah. Dinner at 1900 hours. Don’t forget,” Jim joked. They couldn’t possibly forget it; it had been mentioned nearly every day.

“Already got the babysitter,” Hikaru said. “See you later, Anne.”

Ben smiled. “You let me know if you need kitchen help, okay?”

Anne smiled briefly. “I will. Have a good night, guys.”

They left the apartment with little fuss, and Anne climbed up behind Jim on the motorcycle, riding sidesaddle the way she preferred, her shoulder leaning against his back and her arm braced on the back of the seat. She loved riding them-- it was sort of like riding a horse, with the wind all around, but the feel of mechanical power instead of animal muscle. It made her a little glad of the feeling of Jim’s back against her shoulder. Something this powerful felt like it should be warm and alive.

They usually took a bit of a detour before they got home if he had taken the bike-- they both liked to just ride around. This time, there was no detour. Jim headed straight home. Anne wondered if it had anything to do with the talk they hadn’t had yet. It was making her nervous.

Once the bike was safely in its stall and they were in the apartment, Jim said, “I can’t stay here tonight or tomorrow. Because of the change to the skeleton crews, I’m spending the night on the ship.”

“Oh,” Anne said, crestfallen and trying to hide it. Pulling herself into neutrality, she said, “I can’t come. I have the party to get ready for.” Nyota was coming early in the morning to help her with the shopping and whatever preparation could be done that far ahead. She had said she knew nothing about cooking, but an extra pair of hands was always useful. Especially if Jim wasn’t going to be there to help.

“Yeah, I… I figured you’d have to stay,” Jim said. “Running back and forth like that would be too much, especially now. You’re still not quite healed.” He took a step toward her, reaching out to touch her arm. “If you’re worried about being alone--”

Anne laughed, and tried to let herself melt into his touch the way she usually did. It wasn’t quite working. “I’ll be fine. This place is very well-protected, and I’ll be with someone whenever I leave.”

Whether it was visible or not, she knew Jim could feel her tension. “Look, I know this isn’t what you wanted. I’m not too happy about it myself, but it was either this or skip my turn entirely to finish up with the women’s trials.”

So that was why. Those trials had been scheduled for a couple of days before the Enterprise was supposed to go back out. It would have been silly to ask him why he hadn’t just skipped. He would never leave the ship hanging like that. Not even if it meant leaving her hanging instead.

She’d known that. Why hadn’t she believed it, or believed it would matter? He’d willingly give up his life for her, but when it came to the ship… Anne made herself relax. “When should I expect you back?” she asked evenly.

“The day after tomorrow. First thing. I should be back here by 0730.” He could see that she wasn’t happy, but he didn’t seem to know how to address it, or if it should be addressed at all. Truthfully, Anne had no idea either. “I could call--”

“Better not,” Anne said swiftly, then smiled, trying to take the sting out of it. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll be busy. Nyota will be here during the day, and Claudia’s coming in the evening.” She paused, looking skeptically at him. “And you’re not going to skip the trials tomorrow, are you?”

“Well, we did choose Saturday to have the party because there wouldn’t be any,” he said awkwardly.

“But you’re going to take a twelve hour shift on board, then immediately into eight hours of trials, then another twelve hour shift?” Anne asked, aghast. “No wonder you rushed us home. Go to bed, get some sleep, what’s wrong with you?” She caught his arm, tugging in the direction of the bedroom.

“It’s not that big a deal. At least let me grab something to eat first,” he protested.

“I’ll bring you something,” Anne said. “Go. I’ll be there in a few moments.” Gently propelling him toward the bedroom, she then turned and left for the kitchen. Only once she was there did she allow herself a sigh, her hands curling and uncurling restlessly. She had known eventually she’d take a back seat to the Enterprise. Why was it a problem now that it had happened? It wasn’t even like it was a big thing. Why was it so upsetting?

“Because you’re an idiot,” Anne whispered to herself. “It’s just a couple of nights.” She was, probably not unpredictably, feeling some intense wanderlust right then. Could probably be characterized as a desire to flee. Probably wasn’t a great sign as to how things were going if the thought of a night or two alone because of the ship made her want to run.

Probably better to shelve it for now. Anne rummaged around in the refrigeration unit and brought out some odds and ends that went together, a little mushroom tartlet and salad and such, bringing them to the right temperatures, and then shortcut through the garden for some fresh tomatoes before she brought everything to Jim. He was just stepping out of the washroom, his towel slung low around his hips in a way that would have been inviting if her head hadn’t been so unsettled. 

He looked over, still drying his hair, when he heard the door slide shut. “You didn’t have to do that, you know,” he said, his smile crooked, his eyes both tender and apologetic.

“Don’t be ridiculous, cher. You’ll barely get any sleep as it is.” Anne brought the tray over to his side of the bed, setting it down on the nightstand. Immediately, she went to the closet and the chest of drawers, starting to lay out his uniform for when he got up, gathering his formal uniform together so he could bring it easily.

“It’s all right, you don’t need to fuss over me,” he said, and this time he sounded embarrassed. “I can do all that on my own.”

“Eat your dinner, cher. The sooner this is done, the sooner you can sleep,” Anne said smoothly, grabbing one of the smaller cases and placing the formal uniform in it, hat carefully packed so that it wouldn’t get crushed. That done, she closed the case and set it beside his toothbrush. She thought about reminding him to take it, but that would be too… motherly. 

“Anne, come sit down,” he said, patting the bed beside him.

She didn’t really want to. She would rather have left until he was gone. That way when she came back, she wouldn’t have come in with him, and maybe there would be a way to pretend that he’d never been there.

She went and sat down beside him, looking down at his half-empty plate.

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it to happen like this, but… I have to be there, at the women’s trials. We both have to be there. I had the choice of crewing during the party to avoid the trials, or crewing during the women’s trials and not being there with you. I counteroffered. This is the best arrangement I could make.”

“I get it,” Anne said, giving him a smile that felt a little unnatural. “It’s just nerves, that’s all. I understand.”

She saw him grimace a little. “Maybe Mason could stay here. I may not like him, but he’s definitely got your best interests in mind.”

“No. I don’t want someone hovering over me like I’m about to break in half and they’re waiting to catch the pieces.” She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. It’s just… I’m just a bit unsettled, that’s all.” She looked up at him, smiling briefly. “I guess it’s good that you’ll be away. I have some things to sort out.”

He didn’t question it, knowing there was a lot more going on than just nerves. “Yeah. I think we both do.”

At that, she relaxed. At least she wasn’t the only one feeling awkward and uneasy. “Let’s get some rest, cher. You’ll need it.”

Maybe it was a response to her tension dissipating somewhat; he relaxed too, picking at the remnants of his food and then setting the tray aside. Once they were settled in bed, he threw an arm over her, pulling her close. Aside from when they’d had no choice, she hadn’t spent a night apart from him since they’d first slept together, not even when she hadn’t remembered him. It would be strange to be in bed alone again. She didn’t like her reaction to the thought of it, but she set it aside for now. She’d have time to think on her own. That was something.

When he left, it was very carefully treated like any other time he’d left. She kissed him goodbye at the door, and then she was alone, surrounded by flowers, in an apartment that suddenly felt strange and empty.

He didn’t belong here, not really. They’d been playing at it, but truthfully, the Enterprise was his home. And she didn’t belong here either, surrounded by all this luxury. She’d never have bothered with it before. That huge lump of royalties that had accrued while she was gone was starting to dwindle noticeably, and that was something she’d never have done on her own. She didn’t care much about the credits, but it was uncharacteristic of her.

Mason hadn’t liked the way she was acting. If she was being honest with herself, she didn’t like some of how she’d been acting. She’d never thought of herself as the type who needed rescuing, and suddenly that was all she’d done and been, to the point where the thought of not being Jim’s first priority made her nervous.

It wasn’t right to need him that much. McCoy and Hayes had been right. Of course. Anne paced restlessly around the apartment, looking at it as if she’d never seen it before. The walls, the flowers, the furniture, all of it suddenly felt like it belonged to someone else.

Her head was a jumble of self-accusation and uneasy doubts. It wasn’t even as if this was a big thing. It was just a couple of nights.

But it was a couple of nights where she’d expected him to be there, and he wasn’t, and it was because of the Enterprise. It wasn’t the fact that it had happened, it was that she knew it would be a pattern, that the ship came first in his mind and always would.

And if it didn’t, he wouldn’t be himself. And if he wasn’t himself, she wouldn’t have fallen so hard for him.

“What an impossible situation,” Anne murmured to herself. It was like her mind was caught in a mobius strip, endlessly covering the same territory, never getting anywhere in particular.

Well, there was only one cure for that.

#Jim Kirk/OC #James T. Kirk/OC #fanfic #star trek fanfiction #dark romance #Star Trek: Walking Wounded #ST:WW #star trek

[winterverses]

Three Bullets, Three Days

Warning: Violence

He’d thought it a little bit silly when Anne had said she wanted to have a picnic on the balcony, but Kirk soon came around when she’d pretended a pout and said, “But if we leave the apartment, we have to put on clothes.” At that, he had to admit she had a very good point. And if, against all odds, someone heard them indulging themselves on the blanket Anne had spread out on the light-baked brick of their balcony… who cared? She didn’t, and neither did he.

On impulse, he reached above his head, gently tweaking one of those pretty rose-colored nipples just above his face. As if waking, she roused from her stillness and whatever deep thoughts she’d been thinking to smile at him, catching his hand and bringing it up to press a kiss against his knuckles. He was sort of surprised she hadn’t told him to move yet, but she seemed quite content to stay where she was, his head pillowed on her thighs. It was… nice. It wasn’t the kind of thing he’d done with anyone else-- not like this, not with the sun (well, the light, whatever) and the blanket and the remnants of their meal nearby to pick at, the breeze playing though the garden leaves and the two of them naked in that comfortable, rustling silence. Lowering his hand to rest on his chest, Anne then began to run her fingers through his hair, slow and repetitive and soothing. He could fall asleep this way. Hell, it might be the best sleep he’d ever get. Certainly it would be the most decadent.

He’d almost started to drift off when he heard her say softly, “Once upon a time…”

At first he wasn’t sure if she realized she’d spoken aloud. Her fingers kept moving, not speeding up, not slowing, and her eyes remained faraway. But after a few moments, she took a deep breath-- one that had some very intriguing effects on the high, small breasts near his face-- and spoke again. “Once upon a time, there was a young woman who lived alone in the mountains. Winter had come, and she was isolated, cut off from the real world, just her and her two horses.” Anne smiled. “Sartre, a black and white stallion, and Simone, a blue roan. The three of them had supplies to last them; they had enough to eat, and the deep snow outside at least meant that they would never lack for water. There was enough firewood stacked at the side of the woman’s little cabin that they wouldn’t have to worry about cutting more until spring. The woman thought she was prepared well… but as with all stories, if she was prepared as well as she thought, there would be nothing left to tell.”

It wasn’t until then that she looked down, curious to see his reaction. Kirk thought about speaking, but didn’t want to risk stopping her. Instead he watched her, waiting, giving her an encouraging little smile when she didn’t continue right away. Her eyes warmed, though she didn’t smile back. “The wind howls in the mountains. We say that it does in cities, but until you’ve been caught in a mountain snowstorm, you can’t imagine it. Snow piled up deeper and deeper, until the path between the little cottage and the stable was more like a tunnel. The horses were safe in the stable, and when the last satellite link was severed and the three of them were completely alone, the woman took comfort that she knew their heat would stay on and they had enough food, and prepared herself for a long nap. Perhaps when she woke, the storm would be over.

“But the howling of the wind became… something different. At first, it was easy to dismiss, but soon enough it grew louder. It sounded of screams… but higher and wilder, a sound that the woman had never thought to hear and would have been happy never to know the difference between recordings and reality.”

Mountain lion. Kirk knew the piercing calls she described, and in a snowstorm, the creature would be desperate. He couldn’t help seeing the scene in his mind’s eye-- a younger Anne, her hair not yet silver, dousing all the lamps and candles in the rough wooden cottage, trying to keep her calm while the creature circled outside. Against all sense, he suddenly felt worried for her, as if somehow the story might turn out differently this time and Anne would evaporate away, leaving him lying on the blanket on an empty balcony.

“Everything was fine until she heard the horses screaming,” Anne mused. “But no matter how she tried to convince herself that it was better for them to die and her to live, she couldn’t make herself believe it. So in the middle of the storm, she took her pistol and her rifle, covered herself up well, and made for the stable.

“It was harder than it should have been to find it. The scouring wind had worn away parts of her path and built up others so that it was near unrecognizable. Only after she was sure she was halfway there did she recall that one was supposed to tie a rope to the doorhandle, to make sure one could find their way back to the house. By then, it was too late. The beast’s screams were between her and the house. There was nothing to do but dash toward the stable where she could still hear both horses’ cries of alarm, and hope that she made it through the blinding snow with the beast behind her.”

She fell silent for a while, her eyes faraway and dark with remembrance. He couldn’t help but recognize the memory of that desperation, a feeling he’d faced more than once in his travels… but he also knew not to dwell on it, if possible. Brooding changed nothing. After a few moments, Kirk softly asked, “What happened then?” 

His question shook her out of her momentary stillness; she looked down at him, her eyes placid and sad, and began to run her fingers through his hair again. “The beast took her from behind just as she reached the stable doors. It knocked her down into the snow, but its claws had caught in the thick coat she wore and never pierced her skin. The woman tore loose of her coat, the rifle strap tangling in the thing’s jaws above her. In the scuffle she rolled onto her back, and the beast shook her rifle aside and lunged down for her face.” Her eyes were as remote and dark and wintry as the mountains she described, but her hand continued to move, the soothing feel of her fingers sitting oddly against the memory of the struggle. “Three bullets, fired from the revolver. As the thing’s teeth flashed toward her face, the woman desperately shoved the barrel of her revolver against the the bottom of it’s jaw and shot blindly. Luck was on her side. The beast collapsed atop her, dead, the wounds in its skull pouring blood.”

It was too easy to picture it, the huge cat slumping over Anne’s tiny body, blood freezing already in the blisteringly cold wind. Her scramble to get out from underneath it, the way adrenaline would have made her hands shaky and her breath quick gasps. Without thinking, he reached up and caught her free hand, pressing it to his lips. He could see the too-quick pulse in her throat, regardless of her calm expression.

The gesture melted some of her cold reserve, a small smile peeking through like a flower through melting snow. Her fingers traced his lips, his cheek, his eyebrow, while her other hand still stroked his hair. “Knowing the storm was too heavy to find her way back to the house, the woman left her bloodsoaked coat where it was, collecting the rifle and prying open the door to the stable. The horses’ eyes showed white, and they reared and whinnied in their stalls, but the woman cleaned off the blood as best she could and once it was gone they calmed, recognizing her scent. Simone was the first to calm, pressing her warm, whiskered nose against the woman’s body and inspecting her for any hurt. Sartre soon followed. The woman slept that night in the stable, in a large stall with her horses near her for warmth, one of their blankets pulled over her. The storm lasted three days.” Anne suddenly laughed. “Oats get very boring to eat by the second day.”

Kirk could imagine; he’d been stuck in similar situations, where he had to make a ration stretch longer than it should, or eat things that maybe weren’t necessarily food. For a gourmet like Anne, that must have been even more awful.

But she was speaking already before he could say anything about it. “When the storm cleared, the woman went out to see what she had done. The beast’s body had frozen where it lay, blood in the snow, frost blinding its dead eyes. And by the time she saw it was a nursing mother, she was already apologizing, over and over, her heart broken by what she’d had to do. It had been a beautiful thing.”

Kirk couldn’t stop himself. “Hmph,” he said, frowning a little. “Shouldn’t have messed with my tiger.”

That surprised a laugh from Anne, her guilt fading into a sort of humorous resignation. “You’re too perfect, mon cher.” The pensive stillness left her with that, and her grey eyes cleared of storm. “The mother’s hide is in storage; I bring it out when I’m writing. The cubs were found and transported to a conservation once I called it in. I get pictures of them from time to time.” She shrugged. “The horses are still on one of my properties, getting fat on oats.”

“And they lived happily ever after,” Kirk said. The story couldn’t end any other way, not now.

“Yes,” Anne said, her smile turning crooked as she looked down at him. “They did.”

As much as he would have liked to stay where he was, Kirk wanted her in his arms more. It always felt like she was on the point of vanishing somehow, and he wanted her close while she was here. “Come here, tiger,” he said, shifting aside. Anne came willingly down to him, her small body fitting easily against his, warming under the sunlight and his touch, all the cold chased away. In the whispering, rustling stillness of their warm little retreat, it was easy to keep the cold at a distance. Memories were just memories; now was the only ever after they had.

#Jim Kirk/OC #James T. Kirk/OC #ST:WW #fanfic #star trek #star trek fanfiction #dark romance #Star Trek: Walking Wounded #violence

[winterverses]

Walking Wounded - Chapter Eighty-Three

Waking up had been a nightmare. One moment he'd been passing out in that escape pod and the next, everything had been chaos. The triage had been extensive, half the med bay having been moved to bring them in. “What’s our status?” Kirk had asked almost as soon as his eyes had opened. People bustled around him, the vaulted ceiling of the shuttle bay overhead, the sounds of intense activity nearby. Hayes was swearing vehemently under her breath.

“Ship’s status is satisfactory, Captain,” Spock had said smoothly. “The Sorte has been reduced to wreckage. No life signs, and evidence of organic material matching Loche’s genetic pattern spread through the remains of the ship.” Spock paused, then added, “I am pleased to see that you are relatively intact, Captain, however Ms. Hardesty is still in jeopardy.”

Kirk gingerly pushed himself up from the stretcher they had him on, swinging his legs over the side. Everything hurt. His ribs had been gashed open by that pipe; he hadn’t really felt it at the time. McCoy, working busily with Hayes, scowled at the movement, but didn’t make any complaints. He knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on.

“Condition?” Kirk asked, raising his voice a little, giving the doctors a chance to answer.

They were too busy to take it. “Critical,” Spock said. “The hypoxia compounded her injuries due to increased heart rate. That accounts for her physical condition, however she is not responding to treatment.”

Just then, Hayes’ swearing reached a quiet crescendo. “--waste all those hours I spent trying to fix your stupid head, I swear I will find you in the afterlife and choke you to death with your own issues,” she snarled, her hands busy with her medical implements.

It was the first time Kirk had taken a good look at Anne. Her face was so bloodless that her skin was almost blue, her lips purple, cheeks and eyes sunken the way they had been when he’d first seen her. Kirk felt the muscles in his jaw clench. He couldn’t go over there. He would be in the way and if that pushed her past the doctors’ reach...

McCoy glanced up at Hayes. “This isn’t working. You keep her oxygen and brain going and I’ll start repairing the small stuff before I work on the bigger injuries. She’s overwhelmed. If we can take enough of the load off her, maybe she’ll start to pick herself up.”

Hayes gave him a sharp look, then dropped her protoplaser and moved to the machines at the head of the stretcher, performing checks and adjustments with confident grace.

Spock interrupted his black thoughts. “I have already ascertained that transporting them to the med bay would not assist them at this stage. They are aware that they have only to ask. Mr. Chekov is standing by.”

“Good,” Kirk said absently, then shook himself, tearing his eyes away. It was a hell of a lot harder than watching, but he made himself do it. A nurse approached him, holding a protoplaser, and he let her begin work on his side. “Bring me up to speed, Spock,” he said.

Nodding, Spock began to speak, and Kirk tried very hard to ignore the activity nearby. “When you did not arrive at Lieutenant Sulu’s apartment, the assumption was that you had decided against attending. As Loche had intended, we did not immediately ascertain the seriousness of your absence, ascribing it to Ms. Hardesty’s mental state. Lieutenant Uhura was contacted by a reporter while at Sulu’s home, however, a Ms. Anastasia Yu, who informed us that you had not, after all, been followed by any of her profession.”

“That damn reporter.” She’d been useful after all. Kirk pressed his lips together, emotions mixed. Now they’d have to give her another interview. If Anne made it. He pushed the thought out of his head.

“She was very insistent. She would not reveal how she had obtained Lieutenant Uhura’s comm code, but she informed us that not only had you been watched by seemingly unconnected civilians since you had arrived at Yorktown, the surveillance on the lower deck entrance of the Justice building had been tampered with, and thus your departure from the building was not recorded anywhere.”

“And that was enough,” Kirk said. He knew his crew. If Uhura had gotten a call like that, Spock would immediately have raised the alert with both Command and the ship’s crew.

“It was indeed. Commodore Paris’s previous investigations coincided with some of the civilians Ms. Yu named. We quickly realized that Loche had intended the media excitement to act as a cover for his agents to gather information about your whereabouts and create a plan to inflict some harm on you. Within the hour, we had also found Loche to be missing. Several officers are under investigation regarding both his release and the means of transporting you unnoticed to the Sorte.”

“Commodore Paris must be furious,” Kirk said. He knew he would be.

“It is possible that some of them were duped, but not likely. The disappearances from the station happened over a long period of time, more than two years. The subverted officers will face charges and rehabilitation. It appears that Loche used the last of his resources to perform your abduction; many of the actions taken were already coming under scrutiny.”

“One last gasp, huh? I can guess the rest. You recalled the crew and tracked the Sorte.” It was immensely satisfying to know his ship had performed admirably even without him. Even if he hadn’t been there, he knew his directives and his wishes would have been followed.

“I am afraid we did not receive permission to leave the base from Commodore Paris,” Spock said. “I will take full responsibility for the decision.”

Case in point. Kirk couldn’t imagine any of his crew trying to object that they should have sat around waiting for permission to go out and search. It was exactly what he would have done. “You were acting in accordance with previously established guidelines,” Kirk said dryly. “I think I can share some of that responsibility.”

“I would like to add that the Farragut-A--”

“Finally,” Hayes said, and Kirk’s attention snapped to her. “Get your shit together, Anne,” she said, her voice relieved.

McCoy, too, seemed less concerned. “Spock, get us into the med bay,” he barked over his shoulder, his hands frozen on Anne’s arm. Everyone stilled.

Spock flipped his communicator open, “Mr. Chekov, at your convenience,” he said.

Chekov didn’t even acknowledge. The shuttle bay dissolved away, the open, vaulted space replaced by the closer quarters of the med bay. The nurse resumed her work on Kirk’s side, murmuring, “Glad to have you back safe, Captain.”

“Glad to be here,” he said, giving her half a grin. It was that pretty one he’d borrowed the nail file from.

“The Farragut-A has notified us that they are standing by with any assistance we may need,” Spock said. “They departed Yorktown with us, and aided in our search.”

“Give the Farragut-A my thanks. I’ll speak to Vergne personally once we’re on our way back,” Kirk had said. The relief was starting to be almost palpable. He’d snuck a look at Anne.

Her color had improved. She hadn’t looked so corpselike. Kirk had felt himself relax.

It had felt like everything was going to be all right.

And now, days later, waiting just outside a specialized med clinic on the base, he couldn’t help thinking back to all the times the best thing to do had just been to stand by and watch while others bore the brunt of events, dealing with the consequences as best they could.

It was something he could recognize as part of being Captain, but it was hard to swallow, and almost unbearable when it came to his personal life. He wanted to say something about it to Uhura, who was leaning against the wall beside him, but he couldn’t justify it, not when he could talk about it with Anne later and know that she didn’t have to compartmentalize it away to follow his orders. And definitely not in present company. Moving restlessly, he glanced over at Mason.

The man was perfectly still, perfectly composed. Kirk kept his expression neutral, but he was really beginning to dislike Mason. He wasn’t sure if the guy was carrying a torch for Anne or if he was just naturally territorial or what, but there was no reason for him to be in Yorktown, let alone patiently waiting to see Anne after this sort of thing. A bird flitted down, hopping around on the deck near Mason, searching for food. Mason didn’t react.

Suddenly, Uhura laughed, a brief, almost soundless noise. “It’s a good thing those women are locked up. I think we’d just have to have Chekov beam us back onto the ship if there’d been another huge crowd.”

That teased a smile from Kirk. In the couple days since they’d been back, the media issue had died down somewhat, going back to manageable levels. There was still interest, of course, but it wasn’t so intense anymore. Then again, no one had broken the news of the abduction, not even that reporter. “I would have brought the bike,” Kirk said.

“Show-off,” Uhura laughed. “You made everything worse with that, you know that?”

He knew that was true, but he couldn’t help finding it funny. “I promised her I’d pop a wheelie. You want me to break my promises?”

“I wish you would,” Mason snapped, going from stillness to irritation in nothing flat.

“Oh, fuck off,” Kirk said, embracing the sudden hostility he felt. Now if he could just get Mason to take a swing at him, he could kill two birds with one stone-- blow off some steam, and clean that smug prick’s clock. “I’m not the one who let her get kidnapped in the first place.”

Uhura sighed heavily, stepping back and out of the way.

Mason never turned a hair. “While you are undoubtedly a better man than I in every respect, I’m not sure even you could have prevented it from happening, although you would most certainly have had the resources to find her before she became such a shadow of herself.”

Taken aback, Kirk stopped himself from letting loose with more of his anger. The man sounded as dryly factual as a textbook. Well, maybe a trace of disdain, but not where he expected it-- Mason seemed to be directing it at himself. “You have got to be kidding me,” Kirk said, not trusting this turn of events in the least.

“No, Captain. I’d hardly joke about Ms. Hardesty’s safety. I have always taken my duty to her extremely seriously; that is why I wish you would prove yourself more fallible than you have thus far.” Mason looked him over dispassionately, dark eyes guarded. “I have known Ms. Hardesty almost since she reached her age of majority. In that time, I have never seen her so preoccupied and dependent on one single person. I have also never once witnessed this sort of catastrophic inability to write on her part. The two are connected.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Kirk said, although he had a sinking feeling that Mason had a point. If Anne was putting all her energy towards him, what did she have left for anything else?

“I have absolutely no doubt of it, although I understand your misgivings. But I must ask you this-- do you wish to find out how true it is by removing her from everything she knows and expecting yourself to make up for any lack, indefinitely?” Mason’s lips thinned. “You are both extraordinary people, but that is too much to ask of anyone, in every respect.”

Kirk fell silent. This was not something he wanted to confront right now… but waiting until it was a done deal could be a disaster. 

“What exactly are you suggesting he do aside from leave her behind?” Uhura asked, her voice cautious, though not as suspicious as Kirk felt.

“I wouldn’t presume to give advice on such a delicate and personal matter,” Mason said. “I am paid well, but not that well. And not by you.” His dark eyes remained guarded.

So what, just dump this in his lap and expect him to solve it? 

Then again, it wasn’t as if anyone else could.

“Your opinion is… noted,” Kirk said. He couldn’t quite bring himself to say ‘appreciated.’ “I’ll take it into consideration.”

“I hope you do, Captain,” Mason said. He glanced over toward the door, seeing some movement behind the glass pane, then looked back at Kirk. “Despite our differences, I assure you, it has been a pleasure to see Ms. Hardesty so content.”

The man’s obvious sincerity only made Kirk resent him for pulling the rug out from under his hostility. “Noted,” he said as the door slid open, a nurse beckoning them in.

“She’s recovering nicely, given her recent medical history,” the nurse said as she escorted them down the hall. “She���s still a bit weak, and she’ll need to take it easy. We’ll arrange for one of the doctors to check on her in a few days.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Kirk said. “She has a physician who’ll be in contact with her daily.” Hayes would do all the checks. He didn’t even have to ask to know that.

“It really would be better to let our doctors do it,” the nurse said firmly. “Our doctors know what to look for--”

“I’ll have her physician contact you for a briefing. You can establish credentials and such then,” Kirk said just as firmly. This was a semi-anonymous affair, and he wanted to keep it that way. Mason had handled the paperwork, and he’d said it was all very discreet, the surrogate mother well-informed of the biology and the requirements for care, but unaware of Anne’s actual identity. And Kirk’s name wasn’t involved. There was no reason he should be. Hopefully the precautions that had been taken were enough to keep this one under wraps.

“With respect, I can’t allow that on your request,” the nurse said carefully.

Right. His name not on anything meant he didn’t have any authority either. He was so used to his rank and reputation carrying weight everywhere, even in the civilian world, that he hadn’t even considered that. He wondered if the nurse recognized him, and if she was following regulations and pretending not to. Maybe he could leverage that?

“Don’t be tiresome. I’ll authorize it, and if that’s not good enough, she herself will do it in a moment,” Mason snapped.

Whether she had given up or gotten angry, the nurse said nothing more. Maybe Anne had a point about Mason’s confrontational attitude.

Uhura calmly sailed past them into the room the nurse indicated, settling herself on the side of the bed and smiling down at Anne. “How you doing?” she asked, her eyes searching Anne’s face.

Anne was pushing herself up into a sitting position, her skin pale, her limbs shaky. Even so, she looked a thousand times calmer than she had been, her eyes no longer holding that flickering fear. “Better,” she said. “Definitely better. What am I authorizing?”

Mason quickly filled her in, and she immediately nodded to the nurse. “Yes, I’d much rather see my doctor. I’ll have her contact you.”

The nurse didn’t look pleased, but she nodded. “I’m arranging for your discharge records now. Do you need us to call a car?”

“I’ll handle it,” Mason said smoothly.

Kirk stood back, letting the other two satisfy themselves that Anne was all right. Would she really be that dependent on him? Was she already?

He wasn’t sure. How much was too much? And would it get to be too much the longer they were together?

After a few moments of soft conversation, determining whether she was ready to go and whether she needed anything, she said, “You’re quiet, mon étoile.” Her eyes had been darting quick glances at him the entire time, growing more and more puzzled the longer he stayed silent.

“Just trying not to overload you,” Kirk said, feeling his questions start to dissolve under that misty gaze. But was that right? How much of it was selfishness? He abruptly stood away from the wall. “If you think you’re ready, we should get home.”

“Oh, yes,” Anne said fervently. “I’m so ready to put this behind me.” Uhura moved out of the way as she slid her legs out of the bed, and Kirk couldn’t help a little flare of affection at the hesitant way she came to her feet, like a fawn testing its legs for the first time. Before he’d realized it, he was at her side, supporting her as she slid on some soft shoes, helping her from the room. The shift she was wearing could pass for a dress, and once they’d picked up the paperwork, there was no reason to linger.

The car Mason had called was already there, and Kirk helped her into it, the others getting in after him. She leaned warm against his side as the car rose, talking sleepily with Uhura about the party they were still having in a few days, glancing up at him every now and then for his opinion or approval. Mason stared out the window, for once keeping his barbed comments to himself.

Once they had landed, Mason excused himself, citing a need to make arrangements for… something. Whatever, he was always arranging something. Kirk tried to ignore the calm, pointed look Mason gave him when Anne stumbled and Kirk caught her. It was a relief when the car lifted him away.

“What’s your plan, gorgeous?” Kirk asked as the elevator rose. He knew what he’d prefer-- but Anne probably wasn’t up to anything like dinner in the garden or any potential heavy conversation. She still looked too white and shaky, too fragile for much of anything.

The look she gave him was apologetic. “I should rest. I’m afraid I’m not quite all here yet.”

“You do what you need to,” he said. “Uhura and I will scare up some food and check out your plants.”

The smile she gave him was perfect. Open, trusting, brimming with the warmth she felt for him, stealing his breath and a tiny bit of his peace of mind.

Was it really one or the other? Did it have to be such a shitty choice? Was Mason even right?

“I’ll be right back,” he said over his shoulder to Uhura as he escorted Anne to the bedroom where she could rest.

They were quiet as he helped her undress and got her settled in bed, with a few remnants of a brunch they’d had and a glass of water sitting nearby in case she woke up hungry or thirsty. The kiss he’d given her had been relatively chaste, at first, but despite her fatigue and his misgivings it gained momentum, turning tender and sweet, sweet, sweet. Breathlessly sweet.

Which made it all the more awful when she pulled away, her eyes searching his face, feeling like a hand laid on his heart. “What’s wrong, Jim?” she asked.

It wasn’t fair for her to know him that well. He grinned crookedly, unhappily. There was no point in concealing it. “Now’s not the time for it. We’ll talk later.”

Those beautiful eyes of hers continued to search, unsatisfied, worried. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked, the words almost painfully unsure.

“God no,” he laughed, kissing her quickly. Well, it was supposed to be quick, anyway. It lingered more than he’d meant. “Rest up, gorgeous. We’ll talk when you’re up to it. I’ll be around, so if you need anything, anything at all--”

“I know,” she said, and he knew perfectly well that she was resolving not to bother him if she could help it.

“I mean it,” he said, pulling the blanket up over her shoulders, brushing her hair away from her face, running his thumb over one of those cut-glass cheekbones of hers. Silver locks gleamed against the dark blue pillow. “If you have a nightmare, or even an itch you can’t reach, you call me, okay?”

That coaxed a smile from her. “Fine.”

Stealing one last kiss, he left her to rest.

Uhura was out in the living room, wandering around the place, her fingers brushing over the banks of flowers that overflowed everywhere, looking as fresh as they had been the day they were delivered. Stroking the soft petals of one of the red and white striped roses, she shook her head, and Kirk realized he hadn’t warned her about them. He hadn’t told anyone. “Let me guess,” she said, looking up at him as he walked in, the twist of her mouth ironic. “Someone brought you flowers.”

“She doesn’t half-ass things,” he said. He couldn’t even be embarrassed about it, it was too-- too flattering, too ridiculous, too affectionate, something he didn’t know how to define that nevertheless warmed his heart to think of. “Want a beer?”

“Yeah. Sure,” she said. He knew she was more of a wine person, but it didn’t feel like a wine sort of evening.

They scrounged up some food in the kitchen, bits and pieces of things Anne had made. The refrigeration unit was overflowing with food. Anne had been cooking to take her mind off the kid, so they’d ended up with curried this and pie that and just anything she could make. And there had been some things she couldn’t-- a couple of the dishes had burned, or curdled, or otherwise messed up when she attempted something beyond her skills or attention span. Those had all gone down the disposal. Kirk grabbed himself a stray chicken breast and made a sandwich out of it, while Uhura took the rest of the salad he’d used as sandwich fixings and threw a couple skewers of shrimp on it.

“Garden?” Kirk asked, glancing over at her as he’d pulled the beer out of the liquor cooler.

“Sure.” She was watching him with a mixture of concern and caution. It wasn’t until they were outside and seated that she spoke again. “So spill it already. I’m getting tired of waiting.”

Kirk paused, then sighed, looking away. “Not much to spill. You’ve been around this entire time, you’ve seen it all.”

“Captain--” she began, then chopped herself off. “Jim. You should talk to someone, even if it’s not me.”

“That, right there, is why I can’t,” he said. “Captain. Everyone I know has to live with that and take that rank seriously.”

“Except McCoy,” Uhura said, but she knew she was grasping at straws.

“Even if I thought he wouldn’t hit me with the biggest I-told-you-so in history, he’s exploded, what, three marriages now? He wouldn’t get this. Or at least, his point of view wouldn’t be any help.”

“Sometimes it’s not about fixing things. Sometimes it’s just about getting it out and getting a different perspective,” Uhura said, her mouth twisting. “But yeah. I guess I know what you mean. Even without your rank it’s hard to let anyone get that close when you know you have to see them every day for years. Things you say can crop up in the weirdest ways and affect the running of the ship.” She pushed some of the salad around on her plate. “It’s been good having Anne around. She’s not part of the structure we all have to live in. And, to be honest, I have to confess I’ve been wishing she’d come with us partly because of that. It’s selfish, I know, but it’s good to have someone around that isn’t invested in the system and the ranks and all that. Especially someone so easy to talk to.”

“Yeah.” On some level, it was good to know he wasn’t the only one feeling selfish. “Maybe Starfleet should make an effort to have more civilians aboard ship. Hell, maybe even families.”

“Sulu would love that,” Uhura said.

They ate in silence for a time, watching the bubble overhead slowly fading into its night cycle, the breeze sending wafts of orange blossom and other green scents their way. Eventually, Uhura asked, “You gonna be okay with it if Sulu says he wants the kid and she’s gone?”

Kirk had to think about that one. Just another one of the things he’d been avoiding. Those were really starting to pile up. “I think… he’ll be Sulu’s kid. And by the time he’s old enough for me to play with, I’ll be over it. God, if I wasn’t, there’d be something really wrong.”

“And you think she won’t…”

“Nah. She’s terrified of all that, I can’t see her getting attached. She’ll come to visit Ben and Sulu, but she’s got too much going on to do much more than act weird around the kid.” Kirk laughed humorlessly. “It’ll be harder knowing she’s keeping in touch with you. If she does. I think she will.”

“If she doesn’t stay,” Uhura pointed out. “You don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“At this point I don’t even know if that would be better or worse. If Mason’s right. If I’m part of her problem. If I’m not, and that itself is a problem.” Kirk glanced sharply at Uhura. “Well, that was sneaky.” He hadn’t meant to get into any of that.

Uhura sat back in her chair, a little smile playing on her lips. “Sorry. It’s kind of a habit. Blame Spock.”

That figured. He couldn’t think of anyone that would need more finessing into talking about feelings than Spock. Deciding the subject was better changed, he asked, “Why does Spock like her so much anyway? It’s so weird.”

“I honestly couldn’t tell you for sure,” Uhura said. “I asked, but I got some stiff answer about how she’s smart and respectful of his culture and all that. Personally, I think… I think he relates. She doesn’t try to be emotionless the way he does, but they both have a lot of strong impulses and emotions that they have to keep under control. He’s been in her head, and I think he understood what he saw there on a more visceral level than usual.”

“I can see that,” Kirk said, and then suddenly found himself snickering. “Suddenly Bones’s attitude makes a lot more sense.”

“And yours,” Uhura said mischievously, taking a swig of her beer.

“Oh my god, don’t say that,” Kirk said over Uhura’s amusement. That was an angle he had not considered. “We’re dropping this subject right now.” That couldn’t be it. Nope, no way. Spock was his friend, yeah, but… nope. They were married enough already just because of how closely they had to work together. He didn’t need to feel like he was dating a Spock substitute. Uhura was still trying to suppress her laughter, so he added, “That would explain you too, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I did notice. It just doesn’t bother me,” Uhura said.

“By the way, you have some sprouts over there,” Kirk said, motioning to the little row of pots that were precisely placed to have some ratio of sunlight to shade that he knew nothing about. Anne had explained it at some point. He’d listened because she was talking, not because he’d ever need to know. She was so beautiful when she was talking about something she loved.

Uhura smiled, letting him change the subject. “I’ll check them out when I’m finished eating. I hope they adapt to shipboard life, it’d be nice to have a bit more greenery on board.”

“I wonder if we could get one of the labs converted into a garden?” Kirk mused. “They took that seriously when they built Yorktown, so I don’t think the fleet would object.”

“Not that you plan on asking,” Uhura said dryly.

“Nope,” Kirk said, fishing his communicator out of his pocket. “Scotty. Figure out which lab we use the least and how much work it would take to convert it into a garden.”

“What?” Scotty said.

“Just do it. It’ll be useful for morale. And for taking samples of things like those damn mind control flowers. Oh yeah, make sure there’s an airlock section. We don’t want alien samples affecting the crew.”

“Have ye ever thought about saying hello before ye launch into some crazy request?” Scotty asked, exasperated.

“Why?” Kirk asked. “Kirk out.” He flipped the communicator shut and stowed it in his pocket.

Uhura was shaking her head at him by that time. “You ass. You do that on purpose and it drives everyone nuts.”

“Well, yeah.” Kirk felt himself grinning. “That’s the whole point. Gotta keep you all on your toes.”

“Trust me, Captain, you do,” Uhura said.

A/N: Little bit of personal trouble lately, small car accident (no injuries, thankfully), but things are getting better. Sorry about the delay!

#James T. Kirk/OC #Jim Kirk/OC #Star Trek #Star Trek Fanfiction #dark romance #fanfic #Star Trek: Walking Wounded #ST:WW

[winterverses]

Walking Wounded - Chapter Eighty-Two

Anne shuddered and started awake, breathing hard, grabbing for her neck. A ridge under her fingers calmed her enough to take in her surroundings. An isolation room. The sterile white walls of the med bay. Was this the Enterprise? Anne pushed herself up, noting that she was in one of those damn scrub gowns again, and ignored the alarms that started to go off.

Where was Jim? She tore off the sensors attached to her and headed for the door.

Dr. McCoy was immediately there, blocking her way. When she tried to step around him, he caught her arm, holding her in place. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“Where’s Jim?” Anne asked, letting him hold her for the moment. If she wanted to get free, she would. He could not keep her, not if she wanted to go.

The arm didn’t hurt, although it was very tender. They must have fixed it again. McCoy held onto it, looking down at her with a dissatisfied expression. “The Captain is fine. He was released hours ago. You’re not supposed to be awake yet-- he was going to be here to see you when you woke up.”

Anne relaxed a little. “Good. As long as he’s okay.”

“We need to talk,” McCoy said. “In private.”

Knowing what was coming, Anne shrank in on herself. “Can I at least have some clothes first?” she asked.

McCoy’s expression softened. “Go get back in bed. I’ll bring you some clothes and your hairthings.” He let her go, slapping the cutoff for the alarms before he walked away.

Anne didn’t want to have this conversation. Should Jim be a part of it? It wasn’t his, but she was with him… As she walked back to the bed, she considered asking Dr. McCoy what he thought.

Was she going to stay here?

Could she write anymore? It had been so long since she’d been able to feel the words...

Using that question to distract herself was easier than thinking about the upcoming conversation. Still, when McCoy came back, holding an armful of clothes and things, she knew she couldn’t escape it. He stepped outside like a gentleman, letting her get herself fixed up as much as possible, and only came back in when she invited him.

When he did, he sat down on the bed beside her. “You were given a contact drug when you came in to Justice that day,” he said bluntly. “It was a counteractive for your fertility inhibition. That was why Claudia saw those anomalous hormone levels when we were testing you.”

Anne remembered her fright when the man had grabbed her arm. “Did they find him?” she asked.

“Him, and others, although we still haven't found the doctor that set all this up. He might have shipped out. There was a whole crew that Loche had been using to smuggle out his captives and other things. Commodore Paris had been hunting them down for months, but they were organized very well. Each individual man knew very little about the whole operation. But, since we got the big one, the little ones are a hell of a lot easier to catch.” McCoy settled back, crossing his arms. “That’s not what I’m here to talk about, though.”

“I’m pregnant,” Anne said. The thought of it was frightening, nauseating. “Is it really mine?”

McCoy nodded. “Yours, and his. A boy. Jim told us what to look for. That doctor was thorough-- even put a backup in stasis inside you if the first one didn't pan out.” His lip curled in disgust.

Anne’s lips felt cold. What the hell was she going to do? “I don’t want it,” she said, her voice toneless. “I’d be a terrible mother. Why would I want to pass on the things my mother did to me?”

“Now, that’s something you should be discussing with Claudia,” McCoy said gently. “But starting from where you are, you have some options. We can get rid of it. It can be like it never happened.”

Anne thought this over. Just wiping it clean and pretending it had never happened was very appealing. Wasn’t that what she always did when something went wrong?

That wasn’t fair. It wasn’t the kid’s fault, just like it wasn’t Lilla’s fault.

She suddenly straightened. “I want to talk to Hikaru and Ben,” she said.

McCoy thought this over. “I see where you’re heading with this,” he said. “It’s not a bad idea. Not here, though. You’ll need a powerwall or a holo so that Ben can join in.”

“We can talk in Jim’s room,” Anne said. “He won’t mind.”

Shaking his head, McCoy said, “He should not be involved in this discussion, and if you use the Captain’s room, he’ll insist on it.”

“Why not?” Anne asked. “If I already know what I want to do, it’s not like he’s going to change my mind. And I’m not having it. No way.”

“If he gets involved, he’s going to feel responsible. And do you really want him feeling responsible for your kid when you’re long gone?” McCoy said.

“I… I don’t know if I’m leaving,” Anne murmured. “He asked me to stay.”

There was a short silence as McCoy absorbed this. “After all that talk about how you needed to be alone to write, after what that pointy-eared freak was saying about how it would not be compatible with shipboard life--”

“I don’t know, okay?” Anne cried. The thought of staying here was… frightening. It would be giving up her freedom. It would be giving up her comfortable loneliness.

But it would also be gaining friends who would do just about anything for her, and she would do the same in return. And someone who cared for her.

It felt like a trap with teeth made of love. It felt like the world’s softest, most comfortable chains.

“I don’t know,” she said again, her voice wavering as she tried not to tear up. “But if Hikaru and Ben want him, he’s their child, not mine, and Jim will know where he came from. If he’s present for this talk, that’s fine. He’s going to find out anyway.”

McCoy sighed, scowling at the medical equipment around them. “You do have a point. He can be there, but I’ll tell him-- no, you’ll tell him, to keep his damn mouth shut. He’s got no part in this.”

Swallowing hard, Anne nodded. “That’s reasonable,” she said.

McCoy shook his head. “All right. Go on up. Your permissions are probably all still in place. I’ll request an immediate conference with Sulu and we’ll go from there.”

Standing shakily, Anne said, “Don’t you dare tell Jim. I don’t want to talk about it with him.”

McCoy knew what she meant. Not the pregnancy, but whether she would stay. “Not on my soul,” he said, an unhappy little smile lingering on his lips.

The halls were so familiar. She barely even had to think to navigate her way through those shining black and white hallways to the Captain’s cabin. It was so… routine. Everything on the ship was so familiar. When she stepped into Jim’s room, however, she had an unpleasant shock. All of her things were gone. Of course, they were in the apartment. It felt… unwelcoming, though. As if her presence here had been erased. Anne picked up a padd and sat down on the couch to figure out where they were. They were almost back to Yorktown already, and she wouldn’t have to put up with this for long.

As she had known, Jim was the first person to show up. He walked over to her, sitting down beside her, and gathered her up against him, burying his face in her hair. “Hey, tiger,” he said, his voice muffled by her hair.

Part of her wanted to pull away, and the other part of her wanted to just melt up against him and maybe start crying. She couldn’t do that, not when they were going to talk about this thing inside her. “Do you know what this is about?” she asked quietly.

He relaxed a little, catching her reserve and knowing there was a reason for it. “Bones didn’t say. Just said you needed to meet him and Sulu in my cabin.”

Anne took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to firm up her composure. “He wasn’t bluffing, mon étoile. I am pregnant, and I do not want him. If Hikaru and Ben want it, I will give him to them.”

Jim sat back, searching her face. “It’s… he’s yours?” he asked. Anne nodded. “And… his?”

“Yes,” Anne said. After a moment, she asked, “Can you live with that?”

If he had said no, she might have changed her mind. Maybe. But he didn’t. “If he’s their kid, he’s their kid. Demora would love a brother to beat on.”

Anne gave him a brief smile. “Dr. McCoy says you are not to have any part in this discussion. And… I’m sorry, but I need some space. If you’re holding me, I might…” Her voice wavered, and she stopped, trying to master it.

Jim slowly pulled away, watching her with concern. “Got it.”

Anne suddenly laughed, looking down at her hands. “Après cette conversation je risque vraiment de perdre la boule.”

He probably didn’t understand exactly, but he caught enough to know that it wasn’t good. “We’re coming into Yorktown in an hour. Can you hang on until we’re home?”

“I think so. But… if you’re too nice to me, I’ll lose it,” she said.

“Do you want me to call Claudia?” he asked.

“No.” She closed her eyes, then reached out, holding his hand. “I think this is all I can handle right now. Is that all right?”

He grinned crookedly at her, squeezing her hand gently. “You got it, gorgeous.”

When McCoy and Hikaru came in, they were still sitting that way, talking softly. Jim looked up, then hit some of the switches on the holoprojector. “Let’s get Ben in on this before we start talking,” he said.

McCoy scowled. “You don’t get to have a say. You’re only here because she wants you here.”

“I get it, Bones. I’m not going to interfere. It’s none of my business and I’m okay with whatever happens.” Kirk leaned back against the couch, his hand finding Anne’s again.

Hikaru sat down, looking at the both of them, his gaze lingering on their joined hands. “I’m still in the dark here,” he said, sitting down near Jim. 

McCoy crossed over and sat down with Anne. Immediately, she stood, meaning to head to the synthesizer. “Would anyone like some tea? Water? I’ll get some biscuits--”

Jim reached out to touch her hand, a laugh in his voice. “It’s all right. Go get some if it makes you feel better, but I think we’re fine.”

Anne hesitated, then crossed around McCoy to go to the synthesizer. When she’d brought back the tea and biscuits, Ben was on the holo. Anne passed around the plate and teacups, and everyone took a teacup and maybe a biscuit, if only to be polite.

Once she’d sat down, McCoy said, his voice quietly sardonic, “It’s your play. You might as well lay down your cards.”

Anne watched him for a moment, then nodded and looked to Ben and Hikaru. “I’m pregnant against my will and I do not want the baby, but I don’t like the idea of termination. Do you want him?”

Both Ben and Hikaru stared at her, processing this. Finally, Ben asked, “Are you… are you all right?”

Anne smiled a little. “Mostly. I will be, I think.”

Hikaru glanced over at Jim, then back to Anne. “Is he…”

As delicately as she could, she gave them the truth. “Lilla’s half-brother.” And then, because she knew the meaning of Hikaru’s glance, she said, “There’s no question of it. Dr. McCoy confirmed the genetics.”

They were silent again for a moment, looking at each other, and at her. Hikaru relaxed a little, glancing again at Jim. “This is pretty sudden. We need some time to talk it over.”

Ben gave Anne an embarrassed little smile. “We were finally making headway with Ethics over Lilla. I don’t know. We hadn’t thought about three kids.”

Hikaru looked at him. “We really need to talk about it. Can you give us some time to make the decision?”

Swallowing hard, Anne said, “Yes. But…” Her voice started to tremble. “I’m very uncomfortable with this. I’m not sure how long I can last.”

Hikaru nodded sharply. “Then the best thing to do would be to find a surrogate immediately. Regardless of our decision, there’s no reason for you to carry him. Especially under the circumstances. We can help with compensation, if you like.”

A bit of tension left Anne. “I’ll have Mason start looking. There’s no need to worry about her compensation; I’ll take care of it.”

Ben nodded, concern evident in his broad face. “This is a lot to handle. If there’s anything we can do--”

“It’s all right,” Anne said softly. “I’ll be all right.” If only because she had to be. Jim squeezed her hand gently, and she looked over to him, wishing she could just lose it and be done with it. His half-smile coaxed an answering one from her, however, and she looked back to Hikaru and Ben. “If you want, I can come over tomorrow to help with Lilla’s paperwork. We don’t have to talk about this unless you want to.”

“That would be really great,” Ben said, but his smile was more worried than he meant it to be.

“We’re not going to ask what happened in there,” Hikaru said. “In case you were wondering.”

Jim finally spoke up. “I’ll tell you about it sometime. It’s not pretty.”

Hikaru nodded. “Got it. Sir, we’ll be reaching Yorktown within the next half hour. I should return to my station.”

Jim glanced over at Anne. “I can stay if you need me.”

Shaking her head, Anne smiled wryly down at her teacup. “I think Dr. McCoy and I have some discussion to have about the process of getting this kid into a surrogate.” McCoy laughed briefly, humorlessly.

Jim nodded. “All right. Call me if you need me.” After one last squeeze of her hand, he stood, Hikaru following him out to the bridge with a last warm look at his husband.

“A boy would be nice,” Ben said quietly. “We’ll see. Hikaru and I will talk about it. But take care of yourself, okay?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Anne said, making herself smile. Ben nodded, and cut the transmission.

McCoy reached for another biscuit. “I’m not an expert here, but I’ll tell you what I know,” he said.

Sipping her tea, Anne held it together and listened.

The process was simple enough. It could be done in a few hours. McCoy knew some of the doctors in Yorktown, and could recommend someone to do the procedure. It was all very dry and clinical, and Anne was incredibly grateful for that. It helped her keep it at arm’s length. Eventually Anne tried to call Mason, but for some reason got his answering service. That was troubling, but Anne shrugged it off, instead taking notes on the padd as to what her requirements should be.

Too soon and not soon enough, they were docking at Yorktown. Jim sent a message saying he’d had someone scout for them-- there was no crowd. Perhaps now that Loche was dead, his women would stop harassing them with the press. McCoy left her with a frown and a promise that she would see Claudia within the next day.

For a few moments, she was alone. For those few moments, she sat very, very still and forbid herself from screaming.

And then, relief. Jim was back. Anne stood immediately. “I need to go home,” she said.

“We’re going. I don’t need anything here.” Jim gave her his arm, and she took it gratefully, leaning into him.

Thank whatever gods there might be for him. If not for him, she wouldn’t have survived the roaring, thunderous emotions threatening to overturn her control. She responded automatically to anything he said, concentrating more on the feel of his arm, the warmth of him, the comforting sound of his voice.

As they exited the docking passage, a familiar figure caught Anne’s eye, tall and dark, more commanding than handsome. Mason. She had to blink a few times, reasserting to herself that he was actually there as he approached. “Jim,” she said weakly.

It only took one look at Mason to raise Jim’s hackles. He said nothing, but he pulled Anne closer to his side, stepping a little in front of her as if to take the brunt of whatever Mason was going to do.

“Ms. Hardesty,” Mason said, inclining his head. “Captain Kirk.”

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” Jim said. “We’re going home. Now.”

Mason raised one disdainful eyebrow at Jim, and then turned to Anne. “I didn’t travel all the way here just to be brushed off by your current fling. You employ me for a reason, Ms. Hardesty, and if you wish to continue to employ me, you must pay attention to what I say.”

It was too much, finally. Anne felt her tenuous grip on her emotions slipping. “Drop it, Mason,” she said sharply, forcefully enough that Mason was taken aback. “We’ll talk, yes. I promise you that. And I’ll listen. But right now, I just want to go home and scream until my fucking throat bleeds.”

By the time she finished speaking, she was drawing stares. She wasn’t quite yelling, but she was louder than she should be, and she could feel her hands clawed as if to swipe at him. Jim’s hand on her arm felt more like it was holding her back than supporting her. Mason just stared. She’d never spoken to him that aggressively before, and she’d definitely never started readying herself for physical aggression.

Jim pressed closed to her side, murmuring in her ear. “We’re going home, gorgeous. It’s all right. We’ve got an aircar waiting, and all we have to do is get into it and go.” He continued his soft murmur until Anne started to relax, then settled her arm back on his and took a step in the direction of the aircar stands.

Mason started to speak, then abruptly stopped, changing his tactics. “I apologize, Ms. Hardesty. Clearly you’ve been through a terrible time, and I’m adding to your trouble at the moment. I will send you the location of my lodgings, and when you are feeling up to it, I wish to meet with you and discuss measures of protection for you. In the meantime, I am, as always, at your disposal, and you have only to ask me for anything you require.”

Anne could feel herself settling, her body relaxing. “We’ll talk soon, yes. If I need you, I’ll call you. And stop the comments about my ‘fling’. I don’t want you talking that way about someone who almost lost his life to save mine. Again.”

Mason’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline, and he looked to Jim. “If that is the case, I owe you more than an apology.”

Jim’s mouth twisted, but he took it gracefully, just nodding to Mason. “We’ll be in contact,” he said shortly, leading Anne away. After they’d gotten into the aircar, Jim laughed once, shaking his head. “I don’t know why you keep him around,” he said. “He’s a complete asshole.”

His humor drew a little answering humor from her. “Yeah, but that’s a good thing sometimes. When I wasn’t so all over the place, I could just let it slide. It didn’t bother me.”

“You’ll get there again,” Jim said.

They rode the rest of the way in a comfortable silence, one that Anne used to move closer to him, letting herself melt into his side. He encouraged it, his arm around her, perhaps knowing that the trade was either closeness or speech, one or the other. When they finally got into the elevator and stepped through the door to the apartment, Anne felt a weight lifting from her, and her control slipping again.

“I’m going to go to the garden,” she said quietly.

“Do you need me?” Jim asked, just as quietly.

Apparently that was the cue to fall apart. “I don’t know. Do I?” Anne asked, her voice trembling. “He told me I lured you with helplessness. Did I do that? You keep rescuing me. Am I doing that on purpose? I don’t feel like I am, but he was right about so many things and… I just don’t know. Do I need you? Is that why you’re here? If I stopped needing you, would you leave?” By the time she paused to catch her breath, she could feel tears on her cheeks. She couldn’t look at him. “Isn’t that how it started? Isn’t that why you wanted me? I told him it wasn’t true, but…” She couldn’t finish.

Drawing her into his arms, Jim pressed her against his chest. “All the best lies are built around a grain of truth. Isn’t that what they say? Helping you was part of why we got together, but that was a circumstance, not a reason.” He laughed quietly, and it reverberated under her ear. “Besides, you’ve been rescuing me too. Don’t forget that.”

At that, Anne really did start to cry. “Why are you so good to me?” she choked out through sobs, her face pressed against his shirt. “I don’t know how to deal with it.”

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “Just because you don’t know how to deal with it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.” He was so warm and solid against her, his arms around her feeling like a shield that would protect her...

Anne could stand it for only so long. Soon she pushed away, walking toward the kitchen, the garden, wiping her streaming eyes with the heels of her hands. She felt him hesitate, and then he followed behind her, a little more slowly. The tomatoes needed to be picked. The orange tree needed the smaller fruits pinched off. The herbs all needed water. They’d only been gone for a few days, but she needed to check all the plants, to make sure she still knew them.

As she did her rounds, Jim sat near her, watching, helping, sometimes asking a soft question. This should have been a private thing-- she was still crying through most of it. But it didn’t seem to matter. He paid no attention to it, and so neither did she. Sometimes her tears fell into the pots. That was fine. That tiny bit of salt wouldn’t hurt any but the most delicate of the seedlings.

And she did have seedlings. The tiaré plants were sprouting, most of them. That, more than anything else, lifted her out of her mood. She couldn’t help but smile when she saw the tiny little leaves fighting their way up through the soil. It felt familiar.

“What are those?” Jim asked softly. 

“Those are the ones Nyota and I planted.” Anne turned a watery smile on him. “I wasn’t sure they would take hold.”

“Why wouldn’t they, with you taking such good care of them?” Jim teased. “You’ll have to get her over here to see them.”

“I will. When I’m a bit…” She shook her head, still smiling, tears still falling. “I’m going to be a wreck until this thing inside me is gone, I hope you know that. At least I don’t remember how it got there. He did whatever while I was unconscious. This time.” She laughed quietly. “I’m sorry. Every time I get things together, something happens and I fall apart again.”

“I think that’s justified,” Jim said, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her cheek. “The last year of your life has been hell. As long as you pick up the pieces, I don’t think you need to worry about falling apart for a while.” He paused, then said, “If you want, I’ll contact Mason and get him going on the surrogate thing. The sooner it’s done, the better.”

“I don’t know if he’ll listen to you,” Anne said. “He might. It’s hard to tell with him. And I don’t think he likes you.”

That surprised a laugh from Jim. “Gee, I had no idea,” he said, chuckling.

“It can be very hard to tell with him. He definitely sees you as someone important, or he wouldn’t be such an ass to you,” Anne said, feeling his humor lift her spirits even more. “But yeah. Call him, I guess. And I’ll verify whatever he needs.” Shifting over, Anne leaned against him, feeling the light-baked brick beneath her, the sweet living coolness of the plants around her and his solid warmth against her, his body comforting and familiar. Jim wrapped an arm around her, settling her against him, heedless of the dirt and debris of her gardening. “Actually, I think it would help a lot if you made that call. I can do it. I could do it. But if I don’t have to…”

“I don’t mind. It’s just a call. He’s the one doing all the work.” He paused, then asked, “If Sulu and Ben don’t take him, what are you going to do?”

Anne hadn’t thought that far ahead. She’d been avoiding it, to be honest. “Adoption to whomever fits the criteria, I guess. It’s not like I could do it. I’d be a terrible mother.”

Jim was still for a moment, then said quietly, “Nah. You’d be a lot better than you think, except for one thing.” He squeezed her gently against him. “You don’t want it. That’s the sort of thing you shouldn’t do unless you really want it. But other than that, you’d be fine.”

For some reason, that was reassuring. The whole thing came with complicated feelings and issues, like duty and biology and purpose. It was kind of nice to know that someone thought she’d be good at those things, even if she didn’t want to. It was also nice to be told she was capable of it, then told that didn’t mean she had to do it. “Have you ever wanted kids?” Anne asked.

Jim was quiet for a long time before speaking. “My dad had already been a father for a few years by the time he died,” he said. “He was a year younger than me when he crashed the Kelvin. He was so young. I always sort of wondered… if he stayed with my mom because of Sam at first. I could never ask her something like that, you know? He was a hero. She loved him with all her heart. But sometimes it’s like he was so perfect that he had to have a flaw somewhere that didn’t show. Maybe he only stayed at first because of Sam. I don’t know. I can’t ask him, and whether it’s true or not she says they were in love. I would never question that.”

“And you’re bringing all that with you into the question,” Anne said softly, trying to coax rather than interrupt.

“Yeah. And then my stepfather… I figured it would never come up, really. I’ve never been that serious. If it happened, I’d want to be there. I wouldn’t want my kid to grow up thinking his dad didn’t care enough to stick around, or that he’d done some stupid noble thing that got him killed… Kids don’t get things like that.” He laughed, and leaned his cheek on the top of Anne’s head. “But that’s not my life. My mom was in the fleet, and that’s the only reason she was able to stick around my dad. She couldn't even bring Sam along. I can’t imagine living like that, or trying to raise a kid on board a ship, even if the Enterprise had the facilities. Or doing it like Sulu-- he talks to Ben and Demora every day we’re within range. He’s there as much as he can be. And when he’s home, he’s a great dad. So is Ben. But I can’t imagine that. A kid should be the most important thing in your life, shouldn’t it? I’d have to quit the fleet, and I can’t do that.” He lifted his head, looking down at her. “I guess it’s a little different for me. I don’t have to worry about all the physical stuff, what happens to your brain and body and all that. I don’t want a kid because I’d have to give up my life for him. I guess it’s a bit more academic for me.”

“Yeah,” Anne said. “I’ve been so busy just fighting to be me that I can’t do it. I couldn’t just decide to stop being me and start being Mom. I’d be giving up everything.” She looked away, smiling wryly. “I think in the end we have the same reasons. Mine just come with a lot more fear, and yours with all that guilt and obligation and all.”

Jim nodded. “Yeah. That sounds about right. We’ll just have to make our mark in other ways.”

“You’ve got a pretty damn good record going already,” Anne laughed. “I’m going to have to step it up if I want to keep up with you.”

“Do we have to get into a philosophy argument now? Because I’m warning you, I’ve gotten my practice with Spock. So tell me, what’s worth more, existence or happiness? I’ve saved a lot of lives, but you’ve probably made just as many of them happy. Is existence really worth that much without happiness? How do you measure something like that? Are we going to add up all the minutes of the lives of everyone I’ve saved-- starting from after I did it, of course-- then add up all the minutes of happiness you’ve given people with your books-- there’s what, nine of them now? How do we account for intensity, or quality?”

By the time he stopped for breath, Anne was snickering. “All right, all right. God, couldn’t you just be a meathead that I could think circles around? Mais comment ça se fait tu es si parfait?”

“Shut up. You start speaking French, and I start thinking about dragging you to bed,” Jim teased.

“Cher, mon beau, mon trésor, mon amant, mon coeur, mon ciel étoilé,” Anne taunted. It was too hard to resist when he said ridiculous things like that. He was begging for that kind of reply.

In hindsight, she should have expected him to be serious. “Or we could just stay right here,” he said, his hand curving around her waist as he leaned into her with his shoulder, bearing her down to the ground.

Anne let him press her, weirdly shy in spite of her words. It felt as if he’d be touching her for the first time again in some strange way, as if her body wasn’t hers but would be made so with his touch. “I’ll get you dirty,” she said, holding up her dirt-smutched hands, the crescents of her fingernails black with soil.

“Then you’ll just have to keep your hands off. I don’t mind. That means I can do whatever I want,” he said between tiny kisses along her jaw. And that was so much better than anything else she could be doing, so much safer and more pleasant and just all around superior to any other possible pastime that she fell into it without another whisper of hesitation. Problems could wait. Everything else could wait. Right now she just needed to feel him.

#Jim Kirk/OC #James T. Kirk/OC #fanfic #star trek #dark romance #star trek fanfiction #Star Trek: Walking Wounded #ST:WW

[winterverses]

The Hollow Ones

My ears hear what others cannot hear. Small, faraway things people cannot normally see are visible to me. These senses are the fruits of a lifetime of longing. Longing to be rescued. To be completed. -- India Stoker

Slim, deft fingers. It was those he noticed first as he stood there waiting for her to be finished wrapping his bouquet. Elegant brown hands, unpainted nails, with no sign of calluses or work-roughened skin. The regular woman had calluses, just faint ones, one on the side of the first joint of her right middle finger and the other on the heel of her left palm. This woman’s hands were soft all over, as if she spent a lot of time or money making sure her hands looked as if she’d never worked a day in her life. Touga looked up, mildly curious.

An unexpected wave of deja vu rolled over him, making him catch his breath. Deep purple hair was gathered into a knot at the back of her head. Sea-green eyes, long-lashed and heavy-lidded, not watching him. A faint smile on her beautifully curved lips… one that, despite knowing nothing about her, he could have sworn was fake.

But why would it be? He had no reason to believe it wasn’t genuine. The conviction remained with him, however, unshakable. The feeling of deja vu grew stronger. 

He had an account at the quiet little florist in the bottom of the office building. It made things easier-- he was always buying flowers for someone, for some reason. Often they were for himself. The flowers he took home were always the ones she was wrapping up now, the silvery, red-lipped Osiria roses. He had them ordered in specifically for him. No need to waste them on someone who wouldn't appreciate them. But this girl was new… wasn't she? Certainly his order would have been written down, but she hadn't consulted the proprietor or any list, just immediately gone to wrap up his roses as soon as he entered. He hadn't even spoken to her yet.

May as well make sure those really were his roses. “Excuse me,” he began, walking over to her.

Her hands stilled completely and her eyes shot up to his face as if startled. Almost immediately, her hands started up again and she gave him a bland, polite smile. “Can I help you?” she asked, as neutrally she would to any stranger.

No. Something was off. Something wasn't right here. Intrigued, Touga gave her his most sincerely charming smile. “I believe those are my roses, but… I could swear we’ve met. Haven't we?”

Always just a little too perceptive, a little smarter than anyone had given him credit for. Anthy saw Touga notice her surprise and felt faintly irritated. Not much smarter, but enough to make him annoying. They'd worked together well once, long, long ago, but she didn't want to see him now. He shouldn't have remembered her. “No, I don't believe so, sir,” she said, smiling her blandest, most boring smile. “Are you Mr. Kiryuu?”

She'd half-hoped that he'd recall his father and be put off. He must have been too used to it for that. “I am. Are you certain we've never met?” His slate blue eyes were probing, too interested. She didn't want him to be interested in her. He laughed, a little chuckle that was meant to sound endearingly embarrassed. She knew he felt nothing of the sort. “I'm sorry if I'm too insistent. I just have the strangest feeling that I know you… or maybe I did, once.”

“I don't think so, sir,” Anthy said, still smiling, and taped the bouquet shut. That was what she got for not paying attention.

Before she could punch anything in on the cash register, he stopped her. “I have an account,” he said, and he'd grown up enough that he didn't say it with any particular inflection. Years ago, it would have been bragging.

“Thank you so much for your patronage,” Anthy said, smiling exactly as brightly as a grateful proprietor would to a valued customer. Touga left, but that curious look never left his eyes.

The next week when he came in for his roses, that strange woman wasn't there. Nor the week afterward. He had the oddest feeling that she was avoiding him; there was no reason on earth for her to do so, nothing that he could possibly have done that would put her off… but he'd seen her eyes narrow slightly when he'd asked if he knew her. She hadn't liked that. It wasn't a reaction he was used to receiving. Oh, maybe it had happened once or twice when he was younger, but he never needed to make up for a bad first impression now. He could hardly imagine how to begin.

Normally he would have ignored her and gone on with the rest of his life. She was unimportant, barely on the periphery of his awareness. He should have forgotten about her the moment he'd left the store.

That he hadn't was proof enough for him that he should pursue her further.  Whimsy rarely played a part in his decisions. Impulse was something he'd carefully controlled all his life. This… was different, somehow. Was it because of that strange feeling of familiarity, or was it because she had been indifferent to him?

Either way, he found himself sweetly rejecting his current paramour, making sincere-sounding apologies and assuring her that it wasn't her fault and that perhaps someday in the future he would be open to something more, and no he didn't want her waiting for him, and it was all so ridiculously tedious that he had to keep himself from becoming short with her display of emotions. He would definitely stay in touch, definitely not lose her phone number and forget her name the moment she was out of sight.

It was no more than any of them deserved. Their eyes lingered on his expensive suits and his antique car, his impeccable looks and perfect body. He knew very well that he was a status symbol to them, a set of price tags and the expectation of gifts, a promise of sweet words and pleasurable evenings showing off to their friends that yes, they were desired by him. He lived up to it. It was simpler than finding something real.

Breaking up gave him a reason to go to the quiet little florist when he normally wouldn't, and of course, that woman was there. His skin was suddenly at attention, as if her mere presence had him awaiting her touch.

Was that what this uncertainty was, some strange sort of foreplay? Was that how those others felt about him? It was impossible to tell. And he couldn’t let it sway him; despite the twinge of attraction, what he most wanted was to know more. She was a mystery. 

Again, he was here. Anthy damped down her internal frustration. Yes, at Ohtori they had colluded on certain things, worked together for certain ends-- Saionji came to mind, the outburst that she and Touga had driven him to with the illusions, the bloody slash across Touga’s back. Touga had orchestrated that… but he couldn't have done it without Anthy's willingness to play her part. Masking her irritation, Anthy again gave him her blandest smile, standing behind the counter as if the barrier would protect her from him. “Is there something I can help you with, sir?” she asked. Hopefully he would think she had forgotten his name.

He shouldn’t have remembered anything. None of the others had. The only one she hadn’t spoken to was Saionji; his attachment to her had been too strong, and she had worried that it would break his forgetfulness if she approached him at the kendo tournament she’d seen his name listed in. She’d watched him fight from the sidelines, his movements more controlled now, his mastery of the sword evident. Without her to push and sway him, his temper was no doubt easier to master.

Touga hadn’t been there. Perhaps that was another reason Saionji had seemed more at peace. Perhaps that was why he’d won the tournament, grinning widely as a brown haired girl had rushed into his arms at the end. Touga’s absence had made these things possible.

But here he stood, giving her a charmingly embarrassed smile, the tips of his fingers delicately stroking the lip of one of the roses in the vase near him. They were red as blood next to his pale skin. He still kept his fingernails long and perfectly manicured. “I’m afraid I need some cheering up today,” he said, his smile turning a little regretful. “Is there anything you can suggest?”

Anthy had to try very hard not to press her lips together in irritation. That was no more sincere than anything else he did. She knew it because she had been that hollow, once. His question demanded a question in return, an inquiry about the reason for his feelings or an investigation of his preferences. She decided to go with the latter. “Which of the roses makes you happiest?” she asked, not moving from her spot.

A mistake. She’d gone with roses without thinking, and she saw that curiosity flare in his dark blue eyes. There was no reason for him to be curious! He only ever bought roses! “Usually it’s the Osirias, but I know you have to order them in. You don’t happen to have any now, do you?”

“I’m sorry, no,” Anthy said mildly. She knew very well that he always ordered the Osirias. And… to tell the truth, she couldn’t blame him for his admiration. They were uniquely beautiful, the petals luminously white on the outside, red as sin on the inside. “Those are difficult to get without a few days’ notice.”

He shrugged, his smile quirking in a careful construction of understanding. “I suppose I’ll have to be satisfied with something else. Could you possibly tell me a little about the other roses? I’m curious.”

There was no way she could remain behind the counter then, not and keep her façade of welcoming customer service intact. “Of course,” she said, coming out from behind the counter, walking the few steps across the room. “Is there any specific color you prefer?” she asked as she came to stand near him-- but not too near-- her spine straight, her posture as remote and perfect as it had been when she had been the Rose Bride. “Orange, perhaps? It is comparatively rare.” She gestured toward an arrangement of orange roses, one that had maroon chrysanthemums scattered among them for contrast. 

She had to admit she’d been thinking of Juri when she’d made it. Their brief encounter at a fashion show a few years ago had left Anthy thoughtful; Juri was as elegant and detached as ever, and there had been no recognition in her eyes when Anthy had complimented her on her wardrobe choices, a closely fitted, dark pinstriped suit with a maroon ruffle spilling out at the throat. Her hair was looser than it had been, falling over her shoulders in graceful ringlets. She’d accepted the compliment graciously and turned to look for someone in the gathering crowd waiting to be let in to take their seats. A smile suddenly lit Juri’s face, and Anthy thought she’d caught a glimpse of maroon hair before Juri strode off, following that glimpse.

“I’m not one for orange,” Touga said, his voice shattering her remembrance. His eyes were on her rather than the flower arrangement, his gaze probing. “I do enjoy rarities, though. I’m glad you noticed. Are there any other uncommon roses you can show me?”

If only he’d stop watching her… but Anthy knew his mind was working, teasing at the edges of the forgetfulness, trying to figure out who she was, what she was. The intense attention was a little unnerving; she had cultivated an air of unimportance and used it well back then. It had obviously lingered, in spite of her efforts to be the person Utena had imagined she could be. 

Even thinking the name hurt. She’d looked so long and found… nothing.

She swallowed, knowing he would notice that she was unsettled but unable to keep it entirely to herself. Her voice was calm and unwavering, however, and her smile as vapid as always when she answered. “If you’ll come over here, we have some blue roses you might like. They were once said to be impossible.”

He somehow ended up standing beside her at the next arrangement, his Italian-cut grey silk suit almost brushing the arm of her dress. His proximity made her even more aware of him, a little shiver wanting to run up her spine. He’d always had that effect, though it had never worked on her before-- possibly becoming less hollow made her more susceptible to physicality. Anthy gestured at the arrangement, blue roses and white lilies spilling from the tilted vase in a cascade of petals. “Something like this, perhaps?”

He reached out to fondle one of the roses, languidly glancing at it as his fingers made contact with the velvety surface, then looking back at her, his eyes intent as his fingers stroked the petal. “Did you make this?” he asked, and while he only sounded curious, there was an undertone in his voice that brought memories rushing to the surface.

Miki. They’d played with him, batted him back and forth between them like two cats toying with the same mouse. Anthy's hints of sexuality, and Touga’s brazen use of it. It had spontaneously appeared, that game between them. They’d never spoken of that secret game, not even to each other.

Miki was none the worse for it, thankfully. Anthy had been to one of his concerts, had the chance to speak to him after his performance. The auditorium had been packed. As Anthy had walked up to the passage backstage at the end, she’d caught sight of a blue haired woman in the front row. Miki himself had been as bashful as ever under the heaping praise, but there was a new strength to him now. Perhaps he’d found his shining thing after all. He’d smiled at her, shook her hand, and accepted her compliments with no recognition at all. Once his attention turned elsewhere, she’d left.

The remembrances rushed through her mind in an instant, but she hesitated too long before she spoke and she saw Touga’s blue eyes flicker as he noted it. “I did, yes,” Anthy said, her voice as mild and placid as always.

“You have a wonderful touch with beautiful things,” Touga said, that undertone in his voice like the purr of some giant, self-satisfied cat. His fingers stroked the petal, his nail lightly scraping the skin of it. “It’s very beautiful… but I think I’d prefer something more genuine.”

Of course he knew that blue roses were dyed. Of course he would know that. And of course he could somehow make it about her rather than the roses. Anthy knew what he was doing… but that didn’t entirely stop it from working. She nodded her head, acknowledging his point, and said, “I may have something in the display cooler.”

Once in the cooler, of course he stood close enough that she could feel the warmth of him contrasting with the frigid air, like standing in the chill air a moment before stepping into a warm bath.

There was a bank of yellow roses overflowing the cooler buckets on the left, an order that was about to be made into centerpieces for a wedding. He chuckled fondly when he saw them, and Anthy knew he was remembering his sister. Nanami had done well for herself, making it to the top of a successful finance company. Anthy had seen her once, coming out of her building into the busy street, surrounded by a cloud of followers that she was barking orders to. Pretending clumsiness, Anthy had bumped into her hard, as if she’d stumbled. Where the old Nanami would have thrown a fit, this one asked, if a bit impatiently, “Are you all right?” Her lackeys fluttered around them, steadying them and offering assistance. Anthy had answered her and they’d both continued on their way.

Behind the exuberant burst of yellow roses, near the back, there was one lone rose that might suit Touga’s overly discriminating taste. Anthy lifted it gently from the cooler bucket, bringing it up for his inspection, the unfurling flower so dark a red that it might have been black.

It was a mistake. She realized it as soon as she’d done it-- she’d lifted the rose up to him, and his eyes had widened, as if with some realization. His hands came up, clasping the stem of the rose, careful not to touch hers. “I’m sorry to bring it up again, but there’s something so familiar about you. Are you sure we’ve never met?”

“Never,” Anthy said, feigning surprise. Of course lifting up a rose to him would tease loose another thread of remembrance. She should have known. Why hadn’t she known? Was that something that came with being human, did losing that hollowness mean she also lost some of her clarity of thought?

“I could swear…” he said, trailing off. His fingers did not touch hers as he lifted the rose from her hands. He hadn’t touched her back then, either. Once she’d been his bride, he’d dropped all pretense of seduction. He’d known he hadn’t needed it, not with her. She was the Rose Bride. But… he’d never used her that way. He hadn’t even touched her unless it was necessary for their deceptions. That felt almost kind.

But then, he knew very well what it was like to be objectified. Against her will, Anthy felt a little swell of kinship with him. 

“Lovely,” he murmured, glancing at the rose and then back to her.

Mustering her professional demeanor, Anthy asked, “Would you like me to make an arrangement for it?”

A lazy grin curved his lips. Anthy could tell it was so practiced that he barely knew he was doing it anymore. “Sometimes I prefer beauty unadorned,” he said.

“At least let me wrap it for you,” Anthy said. As he acquiesced and followed her from the cooler, she couldn’t help but wish that they were on the same level, whether that meant that she was hollow again or whether that meant he had chosen to be human. They might have been able to coexist somehow, in some nebulous way her mind couldn’t define. Maybe it was just that she wanted someone to talk to after all this time.

She’d been wavering, Touga knew it. Those sea-green eyes had changed from blank and impenetrable serenity to alertness, watching him carefully, weighing his actions. It was perhaps the first time she’d really looked at him. But the wavering had come to nothing; when he’d asked about the possibility of knowing her outside of her workplace, perhaps at a little café he enjoyed, she’d gracefully declined. Wishing her a good evening, Touga started for the door, his mind flicking through potential options for changing her answer.

Another customer bustled through the door before he was halfway there, an older woman in a designer dress, a scowl marring her smooth brow. In her arms she held a potted rose bush. It was covered in deep purple blooms, the barest hint of white deep in their hearts. She almost ran into him, ignoring him completely, and she was speaking before she even reached the counter where the intriguing woman stood. “This is not what I wanted. I told you I wanted Midnight Blue longstems. This is a shrub.”

The woman with the sea-green eyes responded mildly, “Midnight Blues aren’t a longstemmed variety. We told you that when you placed your order, and you said you would take them however you could get them. I’m sorry if we misunderstood you, but there is no way to get Midnight Blue longstems. They don’t exist.”

Revulsion prevented Touga from leaving. Carrying his single dark rose, he stepped back, drifting around to the side of the counter and listening to the exchange while pretending to browse the flower arrangements.

“If you like, we can refund you the cost of the rose bush,” the green-eyed woman said calmly.

“Oh, you’ll do more than that. You’re going to pay for my gas getting here, the half hour I spent talking to you then, and the time I’m spending talking to you now,” the other woman sneered. “Lawyer’s rates. I round up to an hour for consultations. And I’m going to lodge a complaint with whatever governing bodies are concerned with this business, starting with the rental owner here.”

Disgust had been building in Touga’s mind through her entire speech, and it peaked at her last declaration. This was ridiculous. Before the purple-haired woman could answer, he spoke up, striding over to the counter. “I’d also like to file a complaint. Do you mind if I get your name so I can make the process smoother?” he asked, pulling out his phone to take notes.

The customer smirked triumphantly at the woman behind the counter before looking to Touga and giving him her name. “It’s so good to know I’m not the only one this business has taken advantage of,” she added.

“I’m sure it would be,” Touga said, “but I’m asking you to leave the premises, ma’am. I’m the owner of this building, and if you don’t remove yourself immediately, I will file a complaint. With the police, for trespassing.”

The only expression on the woman’s face was shock. Excellent-- he’d caught her completely off-guard. “You can’t do that,” she finally said, visibly starting to gear herself up for another tirade.

“I absolutely can. And I promise you, I can hire an entire team of better lawyers than you.” Replacing his phone in his pocket, he withdrew his wallet and pulled out a couple of bills, handing them to her without looking at them. Hopefully they were ones. “For your trouble,” he said. “Now leave.”

Flabbergasted, the woman reflexively took the bills, then collected herself and left with a huff, the quick taps of her high heels cut off as the door closed behind her. Once she was gone, Touga turned to the woman behind the counter. “It appears that lovely rosebush is back in your inventory. I’d like to buy it from you.” Not that he thought he could keep it alive, but at least he’d be able to enjoy the sweet clove-like scent for a little while, before it died.

When he looked at the green-eyed woman, however, he caught a glimpse of an almost stricken look. Blinking rapidly, she cleared it away as best she could, but Touga could tell her composure was hanging by a thread. “Take it, if you like,” she said. “As thanks.”

He shook his head, opening his wallet again and pulling out one of the large-ish bills. “Don’t be ridiculous. A business needs money to run.” Laying it down on the counter, he picked up the potted rosebush and started for the door.

Just as he touched the handle, he heard her voice, a note of urgency in it that had never been there before. “Wait,” she said. “Please.”

Looking back over his shoulder, he saw that stricken look again, as if something had pierced her to the core. And again, she blinked it away, although this time she couldn’t seem to recover the placidity she had worn like armor. Touga turned toward her, waiting for her to speak.

“My name is Anthy,” she said as she came out from behind the counter, walking toward him as if choosing her steps on precarious new ground.

Touga smiled, meeting her halfway. When she looked up at him, that blankness was nowhere to be seen; she was curious, uncertain, and something about her wide eyes and the set of her lips suggested a barely-hidden ache that he couldn’t define. Instead of trying, he said, “The goddess Antheia.”

She smiled, a puff of air that was almost a laugh escaping her, as if the reason for her amusement were a secret she couldn’t voice. “Yes. Possibly. I do love flowers.”

“I don’t know how to take care of this,” Touga said, nodding to the small shrub he was carrying.

“If you like, I’ll teach you,” Anthy said, her smile fading. “But… it’s been a long time.”

Touga nodded. He knew she wasn’t talking about the plant.

And that was how, a few days later, this fascinating, mysterious woman that felt so familiar lay in his bed, draped across him, both of them still breathing hard and utterly satisfied. Even in bed, she had felt so familiar; a gesture or a look would suddenly strike him as something he’d seen before, somewhere he didn’t remember. It was a little dizzying. Outside of the bedroom there had been talk, of course… but there had also been silences, and that was something he’d never had. Those silences were a chance to set aside his endless performance, and something about Anthy made it possible to do so. It was as if she knew him from the inside, knew what lay beneath his performances. Sometimes it seemed she would react to his inner thoughts rather than what he’d done.

It was… comfortable. He should have been incensed that anyone could presume to know him that well… but something in him wanted it. After all these years of playing his role, there was something attractive about being able to set it aside.

Not that he would ever speak to her about it. That was too personal, even for a lover. He was under no illusion that this would last… but for now, the enigmatic silence she brought with her soothed him like cool darkness after an eternity under the glare of a desert sun.

He slid his hand up her back and she shifted gently so that her head was pillowed on his shoulder. She smelled like roses and sex. Familiar. “I still feel like we know each other,” he said.

It took a long time before she answered. “We never will,” she sighed.

Weighing the answer in his mind, he decided it was sound. He had no intention of laying his soul bare for someone else to carve up. There wasn’t enough of it left for that sort of nonsense. “Good,” he said, and continue to stroke her back, his fingers tangling in those glorious purple curls.

It had been so long, so very long since Anthy had left Ohtori. So long to fight for herself with no one there to help her or protect her… was she backsliding? She couldn’t tell. But there was more humanity left in Touga than she had thought, or he wouldn’t have stepped in to get rid of that awful customer. Such a small thing. She dealt with angry people from time to time. Their threats never came to anything. But to have someone look at her situation, decide it was wrong, and immediately attempt to change it without asking for anything in return… it really was such a small thing, but it felt like water for the parched land of her soul. 

It wasn’t something she could give up. If it had been someone else, yes, she would have let them go, deciding they were a good person and admiring that. But Touga wasn’t a good person. She knew that. He’d protected her in spite of what he was… and she couldn’t help remembering the way they had treated each other in Ohtori, the delicate dance around their respective territories and the brief moments of concord between them, cut short as if they had subconsciously known that getting too close would be disastrous.

They could never hurt each other now. Their walls were too thick. And eventually they would tire of each other and drift away, but for now it was good to be held by him and know that something in him thought she was worth protecting even in defiance of his selfish, cold nature. And it was good just to be held by him, although she sometimes recognized a gesture or a look that could only have come from Ohtori. 

His hand slid up her back, nails dragging lightly on her skin, and she felt goosebumps follow it. It had been a long time since she’d slept with anyone, and the break in her celibacy was welcome. She shifted so that more of her body was pressed against him, her head resting on his shoulder. “I still feel like we know each other,” he murmured, his voice a purringly satisfied sound that failed to disguise his questions.

Should she answer those questions? Should she let him know? If any of them could handle it, it would be him. He was already unhappy, she knew, though he didn’t feel it because of his hollowness. It wouldn’t destroy him to find that years of his life were lies the world had told him; he’d had his reality shattered long ago, first by his parents, then by his adoptive parents, then by Akio, then by Utena… one more shattering could hardly do that much damage at this point.

But then she would have to explain herself. If she did that, she would make herself vulnerable to him. That was not an option.

“We never will,” she sighed, a little sad that it could never happen, but mostly relieved. Keeping her silence meant he could never hurt her.

His hand slowed to a halt on her back while he thought, then he said just one word. “Good.” He began to stroke her back again, sweet silence resuming its dominion over the room.

Perhaps this was all she deserved. Perhaps this was all they deserved, this hollowness. But at least if this was hollow, they weren’t alone in it.

Just as a flower does not choose its color, we are not responsible for what we have come to be. Only once you realize this do you become free. And to become adult is to become free. -- India Stoker 

This story is a part of the Absolute Destiny Post-Apocalypse zine. Check it out for more cool stuff!

#utena #touga kiryuu #himemiya anthy #touga #anthy #fanfic #sku #rgu #shoujo kakumei utena #revolutionary girl utena

[winterverses]

Petalfall

Warning: Sexual Content

When Anthy had left, it should have been a relief. Kanae had never been able to connect to the girl, had always felt something eerie about her presence. Though she admired the tender way Akio cared for her, she’d also felt left out, as if she was an interloper in their tiny family despite being Akio’s fiancee. Kanae couldn’t help the sneaking relaxation and sense of hope that had begun to fill her at the news. Akio should have had more time for her once Anthy had left for the sister school in Amsterdam. He should have been able to spend a few evenings with her, should have been able to set aside some of his duties in order to enjoy their time together. He should have been able to show that tenderness to her.

Instead, he’d become even more busy. He’d suddenly become so preoccupied that even Mother had remarked on it, saying he was neglecting his familial connections for work. Now finished school, Kanae’s only reason to be on campus was because of her position in Ohtori; it was strange for her to be roaming the school, but she had nothing better to do, no one to talk to. Even her friends had left the school after graduation-- and the outside world seemed so far away, too far away to reach. She had no purpose here, no duties. There was nothing to do but wander the school, looking for places to sketch or paint her watercolors.

The rose garden was forbidden to all but the Seitokai. She knew that. But as she stood across the courtyard staring at it, she felt a burst of resentment. This was her school. She was the fiancee of the Rijichou. She should be able to go wherever she liked. Anyway, she didn’t want to touch the roses, only to paint them. Clutching her portable easel case to her side, she strode towards the rose garden, trying to pretend she had every right to be there. It was after hours. No one would stop her.

Grasping the handle of the glass door gave her a moment of hesitation, then a shiver of deliciousness. She’d never been one to break the rules, but this felt… good. What could they do to her anyway? She was the Rijichou’s fiancee. 

Pulling open the door sent a waft of warm, humid, lusciously scented air over her, and that was more than enough to dissipate the last of her hesitance. Kanae stepped inside the rose garden, looking around. There were the gardening tools, and there was a little bench to sit on around the base of the central column, and all around were the overflowing banks of roses, a riot of color and scent, each one seeming to beckon to her, to want to be touched. Kanae slowly walked toward them, dazzled by the sheer abundance of them.

It was only once she looked closely that she saw how neglected they were, and felt a pang of kinship. There were petalless heads here and there, leaves that had little holes as if some insect had been eating at them. Some of the roses were dropping their petals as she watched. The soil around their roots looked dry, maybe too dry. It wouldn’t be long before they were dying.

Struck by the sad similarity to how she felt, Kanae took a moment to look around. There was the watering can, still full. Once she was finished painting, she would water them. Even if she couldn’t do it for herself, she could at least lift the roses out of their neglect a little. Maybe she could ask Akio to change the rules so that she could find a gardener to take care of them. They didn’t deserve this.

It was starting to get late, the light dimming just a little already as the sun sank toward the horizon. If she wanted to paint, she’d best get started. There was one rose that stood out to her, a deep red one on its own, its blossom already blown wide and petals starting to dangle, as if they would soon fall. Something about how the shadow and light played on that one made it the only choice, at least this time. Kanae sat on the bench in front of it, unfolding her little lap easel and pulling out the palette and paints stored inside. She’d at least try to do this rose justice before it died.

Watercolors were soothing. The way the paint moved and thinned, letting her guide it across the paper, the small resistances it put up, the strange things it did when one color met another-- Kanae had loved it all her life. If she hadn’t been Kanae Ohtori and destined to be in society, she might have pursued this. But Mother wouldn’t hear of it; she’d set Kanae’s course, and there was no point in resisting it. Kanae knew very well that Mother got what she wanted, always. Resisting had gone badly for Kanae. And so she’d complied, and complied, and become so accustomed to complying that it was hard to imagine anything but tiny rebellions such as this, this stolen moment of her own in a place she shouldn’t be. She left herself sink into the work of painting, refining an edge here, adding different colors to the wash there, taking tender care with the lip of the petal that hung toward her as if reaching for her touch.

When the door opened behind her, she noted it absently at first, then came to full and nervous attention. She wasn’t supposed to be there. No one was supposed to know. Instead of looking over her shoulder, she drew on her dignity instead, squaring her shoulders. Best to act like nothing was out of place, that it was her prerogative to be there.

“I hadn’t expected to see anyone here,” a rich, deep voice said. Kiryuu Touga. She knew him, a little. He was in the grade below hers, and he was the Seitokaicho. If he complained…

“I wanted to paint the roses,” Kanae said, making her voice warm, as if she expected no retaliation. Sometimes when you acted like you didn’t expect punishment, they forgot to punish you.

“May I see it?” he asked. He hadn’t taken a single step toward her, just stopped once he realized she was there. That was… comforting.

Finally looking over her shoulder at him, Kanae took a moment to examine him. He didn’t seem upset, only curious; his gaze rested lightly on her, his body relaxed. She smiled, just a little. “Please. I’ve heard you appreciate art. I’d like your opinion.”

Kiryuu Touga was a playboy, and she knew that, but for the moment he seemed… more human, as if he’d set down his charming act. He smiled a little in return and came to sit beside her on the bench, not so near that she felt crowded, but near enough that it felt… companionable. He looked at her once again, as if silently asking her permission, and Kanae felt her smile widen as she nodded at the paper in front of her. It was unfinished, but it was already beautiful and she knew it. She had to judge these things on her own; Mother had never cared for her hobby.

When he looked, he did it seriously, studying the painting with interest that felt genuine; as he did it, Kanae found herself studying his face. It was easy to see why so many others had fallen desperately in love with him. The strong jaw and knife-edge cheekbones, the rounded curve of his bottom lip that seemed to echo the curve of the rose petal she’d spent so much time on-- he was beautiful. But to her, he’d always seemed flippant, shallow, self-absorbed. Not at all the quiet, companionable, interested person that he was now. 

After a long time, he said, “The way you did the glazing in the background is wonderful. The colors make the rose so much more vibrant. And that bottom petal…” He reached out, not touching the painting, but letting his long, manicured nail describe the curve of that petal, so like the curve of his bottom lip. “...it’s simply lush. It feels like you wanted to touch it.”

Without really understanding why, Kanae felt her heart start beating faster and her cheeks heat a little. “I did,” she said.

“Did you?” Touga asked, his calm, vibrant blue eyes flicking to her face, only curiosity showing there.

Kanae shook her head. She hadn’t touched anything. 

“Why not?” Touga asked.

She felt her cheeks heating again and brushed it off as best she could. No one had really shown interest in her for so long that she wasn’t used to it anymore. “I didn’t want the petal to fall before I could paint it.”

He nodded. “That would have been a shame. But you’ve painted it now. You could, if you wanted.”

His words seemed loaded with other meanings, as if something was going on between the two of them that Kanae could barely follow. But whatever it was felt so good, it felt so good to have someone really looking at her, it felt so good to have someone asking her what she had wanted and what she had done… Akio hadn’t really ever asked her so much as divined what she wanted and then done it, when he was paying attention to her. Mother never bothered, only told her what was best. This was so different and so unexpected that she couldn’t bring herself to shut it down, although she felt some vague stirrings of warning.

Kanae looked down at her easel and the painted rose, then up at the real thing. She could, after all. Even if it wasn’t allowed. That greedy little shiver of delicious disobedience ran up her spine again, and she set the easel carefully aside. Glancing at Touga once again gave her nothing more, only his interest, his curiosity, his attention fully on her. Before she realized it, she was leaning forward, reaching out, her fingers brushing the petal. It was soft, velvet beneath her fingertips, the surface giving a little beneath her gentle touch.

And then it gave way, the petal breaking loose, slipping from her fingers. Before she could register more than a little burst of irrational fear, Touga had moved, his hand beneath hers, catching the petal before it fell to the ground. His crimson hair slid over his shoulder, a veil between her and his expression; his hand came up, gently depositing the petal in hers, his fingers lightly pressing hers to cup it without crushing it. When he looked back at her, he flicked his hair back over his shoulder and drew their hands back between them, the petal held safe inside. “It’s yours now,” he said. “Keep it, if you like.”

They were so close now. He was so close to her, and he was so intent on her, watching her, seeing her. The delicious feeling of secret disobedience seized her so that she couldn’t speak; if she had wanted, she could have abdicated responsibility for the way her other hand drifted up to his face, her thumb skimming the full curve of his bottom lip. But no. For once she was in control, and she chose it, and she knew it. He shifted beneath her hand, kissing the ball of her thumb. Just that, and suddenly her skin was at attention, her body ready to burst with longing. It had been so long since someone had seen her.

When his arms came up around her, she moved eagerly into them, her lips parting against his and the taste of him filling her mind, the newness of it, this secret pleasure that was all hers. He was different from Akio-- where Akio had overwhelmed her with the pleasure of his kisses, Touga responded to her every gasp and lick, building that pleasure together with her. He didn’t control what she did, he answered her movements, as if it was a conversation they were having in kisses and gentle nips and growing heat.

If this was what it was like to have a lover instead of a fiance… Kanae couldn’t help but compare. Akio had been the only one she’d ever kissed before, the only one who’d ever held her, stroked up her back as their lips clashed in sensuous combat. Part of her was nervously going over and over the reasons why she should stop immediately-- her duties, Mother, the school, Akio-- but that part was becoming increasingly drowned out by the part that had been starved of this attention for longer than she’d imagined, the part that was soaking up Touga’s focus on her like the thirsting roses would soak up water. When his hand slid up her side, pausing just beneath her breast, she felt a bolt of irritation. Why shouldn’t she have the things she wanted? Why shouldn’t she do what she wanted for once instead of doing as she was told? The hand that was still cupped around the petal moved to his, urging it up to touch her breast.

No one but Akio had done this. And while with him it had been amazing, wonderful, this was… different. Akio had done what he wanted; Touga was doing what she wanted, his thumb stroking over her nipple, teasing it into hardness, gently pinching it to send pleasure racing through her veins, gathering between her legs and throbbing there.

Would he…? He would, wouldn’t he? He had to have… many times. It wouldn’t make sense if he hadn’t, not with the constant cloud of admirers around him. At least one of them. Probably more… many more. 

Kanae had to consider very carefully whether she wanted to be one of those admirers… but her body was demanding more, as much attention as he would give. It wasn’t that she had feelings for Touga. She barely knew him. But she needed this, needed him to be there, to see her and recognize her and respond to her. He was giving her all of that in spades, the way he shifted when she moved closer, supporting her body against his, the heavy-lidded way he watched her face when their lips parted because they needed to breathe. She felt as if it was something vital that had been missing for her whole life.

So when his other hand slid down her hip, she let her legs fall open, stroking down his arm as if to coax his hand between them.

“Mmm,” he purred, then pulled away. Kanae suddenly felt panicky, as if she’d gone too far and he would say something, and then Akio would, or Mother would-- “Come sit here. It’ll be easier.”

He kissed her again, lightly, and then drew her into his lap, his back against the central column and her knees on either side of his hips. His hands stroked down her body, soothing now, as if he realized what was going on in her head. And all the while, he watched her face, his eyes calm and unworried. After a moment, she realized she could feel the hard bulge of him pressing against that center of her throbbing pleasure. Only once or twice had that happened with Akio. Another thought swept the panic aside-- what if she went further?

What if she had sex with Touga, here, now?

That greediness, that disobedient desire gripped her again. That was something she could always have for herself. That was something that wouldn’t be dictated to her or plotted out for her. That would be her own, her own secret, something that was all hers.

Yes. The only other thing she had was her paintings, and no one cared about those. This, at least, would be shared with someone who paid attention to her, at least in this moment.

Kanae met Touga’s eyes. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

He shook his head. “I would never make trouble for you. It would be ungentlemanly.” His gaze was steady and clear.

Did she even love Akio anyway, if she could consider this? She thought she did, but… she shook the thought off. He wouldn’t find out, and she could have this little secret of her own. Kanae felt her cheeks heat again as she realized what she wanted to ask. She never would have with Akio; he would have just directed her. With Touga, though… “Can I touch you?”

He smiled, and the curve of it made her insides twist, made her want to press herself up against him. “I’d love it if you would,” he murmured, his hand sliding up to cup her cheek, coaxing her into more of those wonderfully responsive kisses. His uniform wasn’t hard to undo; soon her hand was stroking down his bare chest, exploring him. He might have been a year younger than her, but he was muscled from years of some sort of exercise-- swordfighting of some sort, she supposed. All Seitokai members knew some sort of sword style, although she didn’t know why. Keeping that rose petal carefully cupped in one hand, she explored him with a hand and a half, caught between enjoying his kisses and feeling his body respond as she found spots he liked to have touched-- his sides, his flat nipples, the space between his navel and the waistline of his pants. 

In the meantime, his hands were lazily working their way back down her body, one of them lingering at her breast while the other stroked lower and lower. As her fingers reached the fastening of his pants, she felt him grind a fingertip hard between her legs, just in the most sensitive spot. A moan burst from her, reverberating in their kiss. Once her head cleared, it didn’t take long to figure out that he’d been telling her, in his own way, what he wanted. Of course she was going to listen. How could she not, when he was paying such close attention to what she wanted? Her fingers reached the fastening again, tugging at it, fumbling a little. This was new territory. With Akio, they’d never gone beneath clothes. When the button popped open, she was rewarded with another hard stroke over her clit, making her hands jerk as she shakily pulled down the zipper.

Once she had, once there was only one layer left between her hands and his skin, she felt Touga lift his hand, just for a brief moment, before it slid up beneath her dress, stroking up the tender skin on the inside of her thigh. A little high noise escaped her as he cupped the mound beneath her panties. It felt like something should have been screaming at her that this was too far, that she should stop, that she would get in trouble and disappoint Mother and Akio and that voice just wasn’t there. At all. Enjoying its absence, she lifted the waistline of his briefs, pulling them carefully down as he lifted his hips to make it easier.

His cock sprang free, hard and pulsing where it brushed her fingers. Kanae heard him purr into the kiss, and then he was easing her panties aside, his fingers finding her slick and wet with want. They traced around her entrance, delicately dipping in, then back up to her clit to rub firmly. That was when she had to break off the kiss, panting, too distracted to continue. Her own hands explored him, touching here and there, then grasping, stroking gently so that she didn’t accidentally hurt him.

Forehead resting against his, she touched him while he tormented her with his hand, his other one still tenderly pinching and plucking at her nipples beneath her dress. Once she had her hand wrapped around his cock, he groaned softly, murmured, “Yes, like that. Harder.”

She could stop now. She’d gone further than she ever had with Akio. But… she wanted it all. This strange moment out of time felt like it would be lacking if she didn’t take it as far as she could. With that in mind, she leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “Undo my dress. I don’t want to take it off, but…”

Touga understood. Still teasing her with one hand, still purring with pleasure as she stroked him harder, he flicked open the top few buttons of her dress, tugging it and her bra down to expose her breasts, never touching the scarf that wound around her neck. Then he surprised her, leaning forward and catching a nipple between his lips. Crying out softly as the pleasure shot through her, Kanae felt herself leaning forward into it, bracing herself on the column with the hand that held that carefully protected petal while her other hand stroked and toyed with his cock. The angle it put her hips at was almost right, she could almost just sink down onto him. Almost. She wasn’t ready yet. It was a little scary, not because of all the pressures surrounding it, but because… it was just so new. She’d thought this would happen on her wedding night, with Akio… but she didn’t want that now. That would be good when it happened, but this was hers. 

The finger Touga had been teasing her with began to dip further inside her, slowly, and Kanae breathed out a soft, “Yes,” making it absolutely clear with a shift of her hips that pressed his finger further inside her. She’d done this herself some nights when she’d been frustrated after leaving Akio, but having someone else do it was so incredibly different. Especially when he clearly knew exactly what to do, his finger crooking in a come-hither motion that suddenly had her hips moving, trying to get more of that amazing sensation. That was when all thought of anything outside the two of them and this moment truly evaporated; all she wanted was the feel of him inside her, whether that was his fingers or his cock.

His free hand came down to guide hers, helping her do what he enjoyed even as he distracted her with first one finger, then two, his lips laying a string of kisses across her bare chest to her other nipple and his teeth catching softly at it. Kanae’s hips were moving involuntarily, her heart pounding and her blood racing, pleasure shooting along every nerve. He was so good at this, good enough to turn even her inexperienced fumbling into something scorchingly sensual. She could feel the build toward orgasm starting, that slow implosion in the pit of her stomach that seemed to gather all of those sensations and compress them until they would eventually explode outward.

It seemed like forever and somehow only a few seconds before she was nearing it, not at the brink yet but getting closer, when Touga pulled his fingers from her and lifted his lips. “Now would be the best time,” he said, his voice sounding strained and uneven. “If you want.”

Kanae didn’t let herself think about it. She’d heard that it would be painful, but he was probably right-- she was close enough that a little pain probably would make much of a difference. Hopefully. Her hips moved, her hand angled his cock with his help, and then it was pressing at her, the head pushing its way inside.

It was easier than she thought it would be. There was hardly any pain at all, just a feeling of overwhelming fullness, unfamiliar but not unpleasant-- quickly growing to be pleasant, actually, as she took him in short thrusts, taking her time to adjust between each one, gratified at the way his breathing quickened and his body tensed beneath her. By the time he was all the way inside her, she was panting again, her body wanting to move, but her good sense telling her she should wait a while, at least until her muscles relaxed a little. Opening her eyes, she saw Touga watching her with barely restrained hunger, his eyes piercing and his jaw tense. Suddenly she understood that he was having to make himself stay still, for her, so that she would enjoy it more. A little burst of affectionate gratitude propelled her forward, catching him in another kiss, one that he eagerly responded to, his mouth ardent on hers.

By the time the kiss broke off, Kanae realized that her hips had started rocking on their own, a little wave of pleasure following each movement. And then there was no point in stopping, neither the movement nor the kisses, and so she followed them both, kissing Touga again and letting her hips rock more and more. It became a self-perpetuating cycle, with the pleasure spurring her on, that slow implosion building again inside her, every movement contributing to it and every little bit of enjoyment making her want to move faster, harder.

In a strange way, it felt like climbing a staircase, each thrust of their hips pushing her higher, making her dizzy and breathless. The pulse and pound of it was so enthralling that she almost didn’t care about what happened when she reached the top. But, sooner than she thought, she was there, feeling like any movement could set off the explosion she felt inside her, but not quite now, not quite yet. And then Touga’s hand slipped down from her hip to stroke between her legs, and everything stopped for one quaking, trembling moment, that implosion compressing further than she thought possible before suddenly bursting. Helpless to do anything else, Kanae clung to him while those waves of overwhelming pleasure raced through her, gasping and crying out against Touga’s mouth, the kiss forgotten entirely. Somewhere in it, she could feel him cry out too, his body shuddering beneath hers and his hips thrusting up, pressing hard into her. It was hardly important, though. This was hers. This endless moment of pleasure was all hers, something no one had decided but Kanae herself.

When she came out of it enough to recall where she was, her face was buried in Touga’s shoulder, her body pressed against his and the petal she’d tried to protect was crushed in her fist. It didn’t matter. It was more of a keepsake now than it would have been if it was untouched. She gave herself a few moments to catch her breath and then lifted her head, looking up at Touga. His catlike little grin of satisfaction told her all she needed to know; she smiled at him and began to pull herself into place, covering her breasts and redoing the buttons at the back of her dress.

There was no conversation until they were both properly covered, each of them helping the other not to look too mussed, and certainly not as if they’d just had sex in the rose garden in the middle of the school, where anyone could have been watching. Kanae felt a distant worry about that, but banished it as best she could. If someone had seen, most likely they wouldn’t say anything, and if they did, she could deny everything. Touga would back her up; she didn’t think he would want that kind of a scandal marking him just before his graduation. It could get him expelled.

As Kanae picked up her easel, she looked at the painting she’d done of the red rose, then glanced at Touga. “Do you want this?” she asked, gesturing to the painting. “It’s almost dry.”

His eyebrows raised, and he asked, “You don’t want it?”

“I’ve got the real thing,” Kanae said, showing him the battered rose petal in her hand before tucking it between two pieces of paper. She would press it in a book later, something stupid and silly like a romance novel that she knew Akio and Mother would never read. Something that was hers.

Touga appeared to consider. After a moment, he shrugged. “Why not? You have a lovely style.”

There was no talk of whether it would happen again. Kanae wasn’t sure whether she wanted it to, and she had the feeling that it wouldn’t really matter to Touga. But it might happen. Maybe. If she needed something of her own again, it could happen. Kanae handed him the painting, murmuring as she did, “Thank you.” There was no way to explain what she was thanking him for, so she didn’t try. Let him think it was for the sex, if he liked.

But when she looked up into his calm blue eyes, she had the strangest feeling that he did understand, and that he didn’t want to talk about it any more than she did. “Until we meet again,” he said, and left the rose garden, painting in hand.

She stayed a few moments after he’d left, smiling to herself as she watered the thirsty roses. This had been her decision, no one else’s, and she could keep that with her the next time Akio spoke over her or Mother decided for her. She had the proof that it had been real, after all, in the fallen petal.

***

Perhaps he shouldn’t have displayed the painting in his room, but Touga hardly cared anymore. Akio was barely present in the school, though Touga didn’t know quite why. He felt he should have, but… no matter. Anyway, the painting was pretty, and it matched his decor, and that had been a most interesting evening. It hadn’t presented itself as an advantage so far, seeing as Akio was less involved with the school and the duels had halted, but it was something he could keep in his back pocket and use if necessary.

Only if very necessary, though. There had been something about that encounter that he’d recognized on a very basic level. He didn’t think about it much if he could avoid it. It had just been sex.

But when Akio did come to his room after so long away, he’d noticed the painting immediately after their dalliance, while they were both still naked in bed. Akio’s shoulders had tensed for a moment, then relaxed. “Hmm. I’d wondered what had gotten into Kanae lately. It appears it was you.”

Touga couldn’t help a smirk. “I only saw a princess in need of rescue and did what was necessary. She was grateful.” He glanced over at Akio. “You should be too. You’d much rather she left you alone anyway.”

“I may have a use for her yet,” Akio said thoughtfully, ignoring Touga’s barbs. “There does need to be a Rose Bride…”

Touga restrained his scoff. None of the Seitokai would duel again, and certainly not for Kanae. Akio had to know that. Not to mention that if he continued to ignore Kanae the way he did, she would never agree to it. 

“You don’t believe me?” Akio asked, his voice mild and curious in that dangerous way.

Touga chose his words carefully. “I’m sure, if you chose, you could make it happen. But you’d need new duelists. And I doubt she would be very good at it.”

There was a long pause, and then Akio sighed. “You’re probably right. I’ll have to keep looking. In the meantime, go ahead and keep her busy if you like. I need her for the moment, but I can’t afford to spend the time on her.”

“If she wants,” Touga said, trying to project indifference. He should have been indifferent in truth, but there was something he recognized in Kanae. Was it loneliness? It was strange. She could die tomorrow and he wouldn’t grieve, but… he didn’t quite want to be a part of anything that would affect her either, or at least no more than a furtive liaison in some dark corner of the school.

Touga had to admit to himself, too, that no matter whether Akio cared or not, there was something very entertaining about the idea of fucking Akio’s future wife. And… who knew? It could come in handy. Someday.

#utena #touga kiryuu #Kanae Ohtori #Touga #Kanae #fanfic #nsfw #shoujo kakumei utena #revolutionary girl utena #sku #rgu

[winterverses]

Walking Wounded - Chapter Eighty-One

Warning: Violence.

The door slid open again far faster than Kirk had expected. When Loche had said a matter of hours, he’d assumed that meant more than one or two. One look at Anne’s face told him all he needed to know; something was very wrong. Well, he’d half-expected it. Things like this never ran smoothly. Her eyes told him just as clearly that the situation wasn’t unrecoverable. She would have been calmer if there were no options left.

“I would ask what little plot the two of you hatched, but it’s not going to matter in a few moments,” Loche said. His fingers were lightly encircling Anne’s arm, just about where the bruising from the break was. “I should have given you longer to speak. Perhaps you’d have come up with something that didn’t depend on your poker face. My little brute is a decent enough liar, although that’s to be expected. Creatures of artifice, some of it pleasant, some not. You, on the other hand, are the proverbial open book. Even now you think you have a chance to salvage your situation. What you expect yourself to be capable of while chained to a wall, light-years away from any potential rescue, I cannot possibly know. Nor do I care. At least you can rest easy knowing that you may have been the one man my savage girl did not gladly throw to the wolves to save her own skin. See how she regrets what she’s about to do?”

Loche squeezed lightly at Anne’s arm, bringing her to a halt well within arms’ reach of him. A spasm of pain twisted her mouth, but beyond that, she didn’t falter. Maybe she was still that sure on her feet even injured, or maybe she just knew that stumbling would end up even worse for her. Whatever the reason, she stood as tall as she could, chin lifted high, as dignified as a queen despite all the bruises and grime. 

“Nothing to say? I would have thought you’d at least be flattered,” Loche said. That disgusting little smile of his never wavered.

“Your delusions aren’t that great a compliment,” Kirk said. He wished he knew how to play this. Should he be trying to talk Loche down, or should he be provoking him? He wished Anne hadn’t kept him in the dark… but seeing how easily Loche had known something was up, he had to admit that it was probably for the best that he didn’t know the plan from this point on. He knew his poker face was better than Loche thought, but Anne was on another level. She was giving nothing away, not even to him. All he saw was fear… and struggle.

Maybe that was all that was there, but he doubted it. It couldn’t be. It wouldn’t make sense. He knew her too well for that.

“I told you I knew her better than you did. And I do. Isn’t that right?” Loche’s fingers tightened infinitesimally around Anne’s arm once again. While she stood rigid, fighting off the pain, he continued to speak, his lips brushing her ear. “Either way, you’re going to kill him. If you make me force you, I will make it slow. Understood?” 

“Yes, Loche,” she said quickly, uncertainty flitting through her eyes.

That wasn’t what worried him. No, the unnerving thing was the way her eyes flooded with an awful, depthless apology as she lifted her good hand. Unsurprisingly, it held a knife that gleamed wickedly in the uncertain light.

What had gone wrong? If something had, how would she even tell him without jeopardizing her own chances of survival? Well, if this was it, better to let her know. “It’s all right. One of us should get out of this, at least.” Kirk gave her a little grin, even though he somehow didn’t feel that great right then. She smiled in answer, a twitch of the lips, as if she couldn’t help but respond. 

“Tell me you love me,” Loche murmured, his hand tightening again on her broken arm, his dark eyes riveted to her face as if he were searching for something beyond her passive compliance.

Anne closed her eyes against the pain, but no more. “I love you,” she said tonelessly. Disgusted, Loche squeezed her arm harder, his avid eyes on her face. She turned her head to look at him in spite of the pain, her lips white, her eyes huge, that elegant neck of hers taut. “I lo--”

Kirk felt the blood drain from his head so fast it left him dizzy. “Anne, no!”

The knife flicked up and across that taut, elegant neck, and a red deluge gushed down her body, saturating that torn grey dress, too vivid against her ice-white skin. Loche looked stunned, slowly lifting his hand, then suddenly slapping it over her neck as if he could stem the flow. “You bitch,” Loche said unbelievingly as she sagged in his arms. “My son-- you bitch!”

Kirk felt himself straining at the chains and then suddenly came back to himself. Any more pressure and that one weak link could snap. He’d need it if he could make things play out the way he wanted. Loche was pressing ineffectually at her neck, trying to pinch the vein shut, making a mess of things. “Let me go. Let me go!” Loche scowled harder. Good. He wasn’t so busy that he didn’t hear. “She’ll die if you don’t let me go,” Kirk yelled.

“If she dies, it’ll be what she deserves,” Loche snarled, his hands nevertheless trying to stem that red tide.

“Then say goodbye to your only chance for a son,” Kirk said.

Loche’s gaze rose to his. Kirk could almost see his thoughts scrambling for traction. “If I let you go, you’ll attack me,” Loche said warily, wanting to believe he was wrong, wanting to believe he still had that chance.

“No. I swear it. Can’t you see you’re already losing her?” Kirk cried. The thought of it was too much to stand.

Anne’s eyes fluttered open, but he kept his fixed on Loche. To his credit, Loche made up his mind quickly, laying Anne down on the floor and pulling a small metal oblong from his pocket. Touching the cuffs with it didn’t open them-- they also needed his thumbprint before they would open. Kirk didn’t waste time posturing; he yanked at his shirt, tearing it, keeping an eye on the pipe lying nearby as he leaned over Anne, blocking Loche’s view. As he’d hoped, her eyes went from glassy and half closed to alert, almost frantically asking him what he was doing. She had guts, he had to give her that. He tried not to show his relief as he made a pad of half his torn shirt and pressed it hard against the side of her neck. If he could have spoken, he would have told her to trust him-- and maybe he didn’t have to, because she let her eyes slide closed.

No blood on her lips. She hadn’t cut deeply enough to nick her airway. She was still conscious, which she wouldn’t have been if she’d gotten the carotid. He ignored Loche’s demands, shifting her so that he could place a knee on the side of her neck while he tore the rest of his shirt into strips for a quick field dressing. She’d gone for the jugular, either knowing or hoping that it was entirely possible to survive it with quick action, and if it was very quick action, to remain conscious long enough to be useful. Maybe.

A hand on his shoulder, fingers digging in hard, yanked him back out of his racing thoughts. “I didn’t let you go so you could strangle her,” Loche snarled.

“She’s fine. It needs that much pressure or the artery doesn’t stay closed.” Artery, not vein-- Kirk didn’t want Loche to find out that the wound wasn’t as bad as it looked. He didn’t try to explain further, just finishing with the wide, long strips of cloth instead and sliding them under her neck, making a kind of slipknot. Carefully, he moved back, immediately replacing his knee with a hand and tightening the knot as much as he dared. The cloth pad was already soaked through. She’d probably just gotten the one vein. Probably. He hoped. That was as much as he could do, however-- he couldn’t risk Loche getting antsy and starting a fight directly over Anne’s body. “All right. I’m going to move back and put one of my arms up so you can chain me again.”

Wisely, Loche kept his mouth shut until after he’d snapped the cuff around Kirk’s wrist. “Do they teach noble uselessness at Starfleet, or is that just you?” Loche asked, leaning down to get the second shackle.

He never had a chance. Throwing his entire weight against that one weak link, Kirk felt it snap, his fist landing behind Loche’s ear with enough force that he thought he might have broken a finger. Loche crumpled to the floor, unconscious, or at the very least dazed, and Kirk scooped Anne up, making for the Sorte’s bridge.

Her eyes popped open before he could juggle her enough to put pressure on her neck as he ran. “Hands on your neck, tiger,” he said. “Keep pressing on that thing. You could still bleed out if we’re not careful.”

She obeyed, maybe not as quickly as he might like, but he figured he’d be a bit sluggish too if he’d lost that much blood all at once. Pressing the hand that still held the knife against her wound, she said, “James Tiberius Kirk, if you could have gotten out of those chains anytime--”

As perverse as it was, he couldn’t help laughing. Maybe the relief was getting to him, although scolding him wasn’t exactly the most normal reaction either. At least her voice was steady enough, if weak. “Nope. Just the one. But it was enough, he was down last I checked.”

“Good. I thought for sure you were going to throw the whole thing.” He felt her starting to shiver.

“Keep it together, Anne. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

“I don’t exactly have a choice,” she said. At least he could feel her tension telling him she wasn’t letting up on the pressure. “Jim, you might still have to kill him.”

“Why the hell am I running to the bridge then? I could’ve killed him there,” he said, slowing.

“We don’t have time for it. The atmosphere vent is already started. I don’t know if I did something wrong or if it’s just automatic, but it started. We have to either get the bridge blast doors closed, or find a working escape pod.”

Suddenly he was running full-out. “Shit. If we don’t get the bridge doors closed, that’s going to give him however long with the phasers potentially working...”

Surprisingly, Anne laughed. It was weak, but at least it was humor. “Well, Plan A, blast doors. Plan B, escape pod.”

“I’ll handle the doors. You find a working pod. How long do we have?”

“I don’t know. Minutes.” Anne’s shivering increased. “I don’t know how useful I’m going to be…”

“I need you, tiger. You have to keep it together.” If he couldn’t depend on her, he’d have to do it all himself. That made getting those doors closed an even bigger priority.

They burst into the bridge, Kirk running for the bank of escape pods along the side. Carefully, he deposited Anne near them, checking her over as he did. Her arm was swollen, her eyes glassy and her face still icy pale. “Can you handle it?” he asked. She didn’t look like she could.

“I’ll try,” she said, very obviously trying to marshal her wits. She moved toward the bank of pods, looking at the computer there.

That had to be enough. Kirk ran to the door controls, trying to find the override that would shut them all. Damn Orion controls-- they were laid out in such an unfamiliar design that he kept going over the same things by accident. It took far longer than he would have liked to find the emergency section, and once he did, the damn gravity gave out again, leaving him floating above the console. Swearing softly, Kirk brought himself down, punching in the sequence for closing the blast doors.

Like a wolf on the trail of a wounded deer, Loche rushed through the blast doors just before they closed. Kirk glanced over at Anne. She was clinging to the computer console, using her broken arm to put whatever pressure she could muster on her neck, hopefully figuring out which of the pods was in working condition. “We’ve got company,” Kirk called, and she glanced over her shoulder, confirming that she’d heard him.

Good. It was up to him now, a reasonably fair fight. Loche bounded off one of the bulkheads, flying towards him, the broken pipe in his hands. Freefall fights were awful. Every time you hit something, you rebounded. Kirk pushed himself away from Loche’s trajectory, wrapping the length of chain from his cuff around his fist. It would have to do as a weapon. Anne’s knife was too far away, and he’d rather she had it anyway. Shoving himself off a wall, he tackled Loche, one hand seeking for the man’s skull so he could punch him. They bounced off the floor, rising into the air, and Loche pulled back the pipe, jabbing Kirk in the ribs with the jagged broken end.

Shrug it off. It couldn’t be that deep. Kirk shoved Loche away, sending himself backward into another bulkhead. Adrenaline blotted out the pain. Pushing away from the wall, he moved to the side and up, shoving off the ceiling as he caught where Loche’s new trajectory was taking him. A moment later they were grappling again, Loche’s arm trapped against Kirk’s side, the pipe useless for the moment. One shot, two, and Loche’s lips were burst and bleeding where the chain around Kirk’s fist had torn the skin. It didn’t make him look any less dangerous-- the murderous hatred in Loche’s eyes was too intense.

Loche’s hand snapped out, and Kirk barely blocked a punch that would have caught him in the throat. Knocking it harmlessly to the side, however, took his attention off the pipe-- and Loche switched hands with it behind Kirk’s back, swinging it left-handed at Kirk’s head. Maybe that was what he’d been after all along. Kirk let go of Loche’s other arm, kicking him in the stomach to send the strike wild as they shot away from each other again. 

He had to get rid of that pipe somehow. The reach gave Loche an advantage. Rebounding off a bank of computers, Kirk realized that Loche had ended up dangerously close to Anne. She wouldn’t stand a chance in her state. Kirk wasn’t sure she would be able to get away-- she hung in mid-air, her hand still pressed to her throat, her body limp and her hair drifting like she had been drowned, obscuring her face. He couldn’t see whether she was even conscious anymore. Without thinking about it, Kirk had already pushed off, shooting toward Loche, intercepting him before he could make his way to Anne, catching him in the stomach with a shoulder and sending them flying towards the viewscreen at the opposite end of the room. That pipe came down on his back, a glancing blow.

Loche’s legs caught on one of the consoles, and Kirk barely manage to grab on to Loche in time-- instead of losing his grip, he was flipped up over Loche, the sudden trajectory change a little dizzying. It made his aching side scream, but Kirk managed to turn around mid-flight, using his momentum to pull the both of them into a nauseating spin that left him behind Loche.

He couldn’t let him get away. Not this time. Wrapping his legs around Loche’s waist, Kirk grabbed Loche’s arm and yanked it backward, his other hand gripping the pipe, trying to wrest it away as they whirled toward the viewscreen. Loche’s other hand scrabbled at his leg, digging in, trying to find purchase.

Gravity suddenly returned, and with it, the ship started creaking alarmingly. Kirk and Loche landed hard, Loche on the bottom, and Kirk kneeling on his back. A roar of air behind the blast doors confirmed that the venting was happening, but as it did, the creaking and groaning increased. “Structural integrity,” Kirk gasped, still yanking on the pipe. “Without the air pressure, this thing’s gonna tear itself apart!

He knew it. This piece of shit ship was going to kill them all. Through gritted teeth, Loche snarled, “All I need to do is keep you busy.”

Kirk twisted the pipe sharply in one direction, then the other, Loche losing his grip enough that Kirk tore the pipe from his hands. “Anne?” he called.

No answer. 

No time for it. Throwing the pipe across the room, he held Loche down and threw a punch with his chained fist. The ship shuddered as his knuckles slammed the back of Loche’s head, as if his punch had further destabilized the structure. Unthinking, he held Loche down, punching again and again, until Loche stopped moving. He couldn’t tell if Loche was out or just stunned.

No time for it. He could hear the wail of metal being torn apart beyond those doors. He didn’t care if Loche was alive or dead-- he needed to get to those escape pods.

Anne was slumped over the console as if she’d fallen on it when the gravity came back, her good hand still pressed to her neck, still holding the knife. “Anne. Anne. Wake up, tiger,” Kirk said, lifting her chin and patting her face.

Her eyes fluttered open. “Jim. I found a working one. It’s meant for one person but we should fit. Alpha six, on the end there.”

The shriek of metal from beyond the doors was starting to become imminently alarming. It wouldn’t take long for the bridge itself to start tearing apart. “Is it ready to go?” he asked, and Anne nodded. “Come on,” he said, reaching under her good arm to help her to her feet.

The floor began to buckle alarmingly as he rushed Anne over to the pod. Getting her in was no big deal, but just as Kirk was about to step in, Loche tackled him, pinning him against the wall. The mad darkness in Loche’s eyes flared, consuming what was left of the man's sanity. Kirk got off a couple of body shots, but it was as if Loche didn’t even feel them. “I will see you both dead before you take what’s mine,” Loche snarled. 

Kirk felt a presence at his side-- Anne had stepped out of the pod, head high, arms at her sides, relaxed and seemingly at ease. “Loche,” she said, her clear, strong voice drawing Loche’s attention. Incredibly, she managed a defiant, contemptuous smirk. “Every time I said I loved you, I was lying.”

Even more incredibly, that obvious truth hit home in a way Kirk couldn't quite understand. Loche’s lip curled in disgust, his focus entirely on Anne for that moment, actually reaching toward her to grab her by the throat.

She let him. She even stepped into it.

There was no time for Kirk to pick his shot. He could see the buckling floor starting to crack. Dropping his hand to the knife hilt Anne had gotten close enough to hand him, he rammed the blade home, under the rib cage and up, hoping it reached the heart. Either way, Loche wasn’t going to interfere anymore. Limbs suddenly weakening, Loche lost his grip on Anne and staggered back, blood pouring out of the wound.

Kicking Loche away, Kirk again helped Anne into the pod, this time following her. It was a tight squeeze, but it would have to do. The pod doors shut, and immediately they felt the pressure of liftoff, the stars suddenly surrounding them. With a little maneuvering, Kirk was able to get at the control panel, while Anne kept the pressure on her neck.

“Shit,” Kirk said softly. “We’ve only got three hours of full air-- less because there’s two of us. He ran the calculations in his head. “I can decrease the amount of oxygen in the mix to buy us some more time, but if I do, we run the risk of passing out.” He looked down at Anne. “And if we pass out, no one’s keeping pressure on your neck.”

Anne’s eyes were dazed as she tried to follow this. “Can’t we hail someone?”

“We’ve got emergency signaling going, but I can’t contact anyone in specific.” Kirk punched a few more buttons. “We’re a few hours away from Yorktown. I can use the thrusters to head us in that direction, but… it’s not a ship. We would never get there on our own, not without warp capability. Not with this air supply.”

Anne sighed, her eyes fluttering closed. “Is there any way to give the power from the thrusters to the emergency signal?”

“Yeah. The thrusters are pointless. I’ll check if I can divert power and amplify the emergency signal somehow.” He sighed. “Damn. I wish Scotty was here. This is his thing, not mine.”

“Once you’re done, turn the air down as low as we can go,” Anne said.

”If we pass out--” Kirk started.

“We’ll just have to get that bandage as tight as possible and hope it’s enough,” Anne said. “Tear my dress. We can use it to make a tighter dressing.”

“Let me just get the thruster power diverted first,” he said. The close quarters made it hard to punch in the commands, but eventually he settled Anne against his chest and worked around her. It was a good thing she was so small. If he had been with Claudia, this would never have worked. After a long silence while he tried to rework the thrusters, he said, “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

Anne seemed to swim back to awareness, shifting gently against him. She knew exactly what he meant. “I couldn’t think of anything else. He thought I’d do anything to survive.”

“I know.” Kirk finished the programming. “I just wish… I wish it hadn’t been necessary. At least you knew what you were doing.”

Anne’s voice was tinged with horror and regret when she replied. “I had practice,” she said.

He carefully wrapped his arms around her, holding her without aggravating any of her wounds. “It’s all right, gorgeous. We’ll get back and get everything fixed up.” He paused. “Everything.”

“I’m not going to think about it,” Anne said. “If I do, I‘ll start crying, and that’s the last thing we need.” She pressed her cheek against his bare chest, then touched his arm. “Better get that dress torn up. Being unconscious sounds great right about now.”

He had to agree. It would probably be better than waiting. “I’ll see what I can do.”

With time to do it properly, the bandage was much more useful. It did restrict Anne’s breathing a little, but that was better than the alternative. Kirk wasn’t quite sure it was enough-- from what he understood, what the pressure did was keep the edges of the cut vein together so that most blood could flow normally. Anne knew a little more about it than he did, and she said it would work. Probably.

“Now we just need to be found,” Kirk said once Anne was settled against him. His arm was around her shoulders, pressing her against him in hopes that it would help with her neck. He’d already programmed the air to slip down from 20% oxygen to 12%-- probably enough to knock them both out in their weakened state. If he’d wanted, he could have cranked it down to 10%, but that felt like a bad move when Anne had lost so much blood. It wasn’t worth it. It wouldn’t gain them that much more time.

“We did all we could,” Anne murmured. Between her injuries and the lowering oxygen, he could tell she was starting to fade out.

For a moment, Kirk felt like he should say something, tell her how much he cared. He started, and then all the reasons not to say it rushed in, choking the words off. She was almost passing out anyway. Would she remember? If they weren’t found, it wouldn’t matter. Even if they were found, it still wouldn’t matter. Would it? Or would it just be one more bit of pressure, forcing her toward a future that she didn’t want?

No. It would be too much. If she knew, she knew, and if she didn’t, he wouldn’t push it on her.

The falling oxygen was starting to make him dizzy, a little euphoric. In the end he just said, “We did good, gorgeous. It’s up to the Enterprise now.”

If she replied, he didn’t hear it.

#Jim Kirk/OC #James T. Kirk/OC #ST:WW #fanfic #star trek #star trek fanfiction #dark romance #Star Trek: Walking Wounded #violence

[winterverses]

Walking Wounded - Chapter Eighty

Warning: Violence, forced pregnancy.

He brought her out, not knowing that she’d already been out, perhaps not remembering that she knew this ship well enough to where the controls for everything were. She hadn’t always stayed in that cage. Anne knew very well where things like the environmental controls were. It wasn’t an ideal solution, but it was a definitive one. She’d just have to convince him to leave her alone long enough to finish the programming. It was more like the little Orion runabout than anything made by Starfleet, but her practice with Mr. Scott helped her navigate the system. After that, wait until she was alone again, find out what part of the ship he was in, and press the button.

He didn’t know she was planning to kill him. Or did he? He’d always known she hated him with her whole being. She couldn’t have killed him on the base, surrounded by his lackeys. Here, there was no one else. He had to have some inkling. But he walked beside her, unarmed, relaxed. He didn’t even look at her.

He should have been more wary. But then, he’d never seen her as a real threat.

He led her to the mess hall, doing that sympathetic thing that had never worked on her. “You must be hungry,” he said smoothly. “Sit down. I’ll bring you something to eat.” He held her hand as she stepped over the bench, seating her as if at a restaurant or something before he went over to the synthesizer.

As if she didn’t know why he was being so solicitous. She swallowed hard, feeling nauseated.

She had to pretend the food didn’t make her feel sick. She ate mechanically, not knowing or caring what it was.

“I do admire your instincts, you know,” he said, as if picking up a conversation they’d already had. He had seated himself beside her, not close, far enough away to hold most of her in his field of view. “You attach yourself to the right people, you rid yourself of the wrong ones, you navigate obstacles with incredible flexibility. On some level, you knew that killing Brynna so brutally would intrigue me, and you knew that if you solidified your role as the favorite, the only person you would have to be afraid of was me. Isn’t that right?”

She had to answer. She pretended to be swallowing to gain herself a precious second to think. Was it true? It could be. Did she remember feeling like there might be benefits to killing Brynna outside of the obvious? Anne couldn’t tell. It was hard to think of anything but her situation now. She had to answer. “I don’t remember thinking of that, but it is possible,” she said carefully. Sometimes even that was too dangerous, but he was relaxed and happy today so he probably wouldn’t hurt her for her answer.

“I thought as much. It seemed like something you wouldn’t have been aware of. You were much more conscious of it when you manipulated Tarenn and rigged the game to get yourself away from me. Making sure that you were part of the bet, making sure he would win… I was angry, of course, but I had to admire how cold-blooded you were about making sure he demanded you. I would imagine that you found time to seduce him at least twice before that bet was made. Am I right?”

Answer. Any answer. No, not any answer. “Yes,” Anne said. It was true. She’d taken the chance when she’d seen it, using her body to convince Tarenn he needed to have her, making herself into a thing to be bargained for and traded, unable to object. It was better than Loche. No matter what Tarenn had ended up doing to her, she’d felt more human with him than she had with Loche. And she had survived it. Wasn’t that enough?

“And immediately after, you draw in a man who, by no coincidence I’m sure, is the most powerful man in your vicinity. I’m sure you even believe your attraction is real. Maybe by now it is real. But again, I have to admire the utterly relentless way you seek out and attract the person who holds the most power to change your circumstances and how you use them to your benefit.” Loche smiled, and it sent chills down her spine, because it looked so friendly and amused and just normal, in such abnormal circumstances. “What was it that you did to lure him?” He looked her over, as if he’d see her answer written somewhere in the lines of her body. “It wouldn’t have been sexual at first. Not with a Starfleet officer whose conduct could be questioned. What made him interested in you? How did you bait your hook?”

Anne had to swallow back a lump in her throat. The last thing she wanted to do was think about him, not after what Loche had told her. Jim was dead. He wasn’t coming. She didn’t want to answer, but she had to keep Loche in a good mood, or he would be less likely to give her the time she needed to figure out how to make the environmental controls do what she wanted. “He’d read my books,” she said quietly. “He knew who I was.”

Loche shook his head, his smile still lingering. “You know when you first gained his interest, and it wasn’t then. What did you do?” He paused, still as a snake before striking, his smile widening as the silent moments ticked by. “I’ll tell you, then,” he said finally. “You played the damsel for him. You gave him someone to rescue. I saw it when he came after you that night; his first concern was for you, well-worn and familiar to him, as if he’d been rescuing you all along. You lured him with helplessness, and he was the perfect sacrifice to your self-preservation. He would have died to save you then. You're alive because of his death.”

Anne couldn’t speak. Everything he’d said felt true on some level. But she hadn’t done it on purpose-- she’d just felt safe with him. She’d just felt loved. “It wasn’t like that,” she said softly, and felt tears spill down her cheeks. “I never used him. I love him.” The admission slipped from her before she thought, and for a moment she felt like she was teetering on a precipice, and that had pushed her an inch closer to the fall.

Loche’s eyes barely even flickered at her declaration. “So you did fall for your own fictions. I suppose that’s a necessary part of your strategy for survival. If you don’t become the role you play, you start to shatter inside.” Loche reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek, his thumb running along her cheekbone. The movement was so reminiscent of how she’d been touched before that even more tears spilled over. “I saw you shattering when you were with me. You couldn’t be the role you played, not entirely. In a way, it’s good that you’ve embraced this new role so wholeheartedly. It means I can finish what I started with you.”

Long-familiar terror stabbed through her like those knives of his. Anne had to control her breathing, to keep her expression from showing her fear and rage. She couldn’t speak. There was nothing to say. She just watched him, her tears still spilling down her cheeks.

“Are you finished, my savage girl? Remember, you’re eating for two now,” he said, his amusement surfacing again, his mouth curving into that charming grin, his eyes the cold, flat black of a shark.

Anne looked down at her plate. There was something on it, but she didn’t know or care what it was. She hadn’t noticed how it tasted. If she had to put anything in her mouth, she would vomit. She might vomit anyway. “I’m finished,” she said, looking back at Loche and raising a hand to wipe her cheeks. She didn’t have the luxury of mourning right now. Just accept it and move on. Just set it aside. It was irrelevant to what she needed to do. So was the fear.

She only managed to push it out of her thoughts by reminding herself that if she didn’t, Loche might not die. Even then, it was an effort.

He stood, offering her a hand up, which she took. It would have been dangerous not to. When he started walking, however, he left by the door opposite the one they’d come in. They passed close by the environmental controls, and Anne worried that he might notice something amiss there, the display slightly different from how it should have looked. There had been no way to make it give false readings, or at least no way that she’d found. He didn’t notice. It was a very small change. Maybe he didn’t know enough about environmental regulation to notice the difference. She sure didn’t-- she’d just been putting zeroes wherever they looked like they might make a difference, and setting the controls up to depressurize on her command. The worst that could happen was that it went off before she was ready, and that wasn’t so bad as long as she knew about it. She’d have a few minutes to get to a safe place.

The gravity gave out for a moment while they walked down one of the halls toward the back of the ship; Loche twisted in midair, perfectly comfortable in free fall, and caught her, drawing her to him. When the gravity came back, snapping back to full force this time, Loche made sure he took the brunt of their landing. “Can’t be too careful,” he said as he gently set her on her feet. He continued to walk, and she followed, until he came to one of the many doors into the storage rooms. Looking back at her, he palmed the lock, grabbing her hand afterward and pulling her inside behind him.

At first, she could only see Loche’s back, but he pulled her around him.

There was Jim. Alive. Loche had lied to her. Anne felt frozen for a moment, her focus shattered, and then her rage broke through. Snarling, she threw herself at Loche, punching and scratching, ignoring Jim’s attempts to get her attention. Loche’s fist slammed into her ribs, knocking the breath out of her. She raked her fingernails over his face and caught one of his eyes. It wasn’t deep, but he faltered for a moment, blood dripping down his face. Anne tried to take advantage of that, her fist lashing towards his diaphragm. He managed to dodge aside, his face twisted in fury. He was so goddamn quick, and she was still sluggish with drugs. His hand snapped up, taking hold of her hair and lifting her from her feet. The next thing she knew, she was hitting the wall, her head slamming painfully into it before the rest of her body followed.

If she’d been dizzy before, that was nothing compared to now. She crumpled to the floor, too hurt to get her legs under her, trying to deal with the sudden pain and pressure and trying not to throw up. Through the fog in her head, she registered Jim calling her name, straining against the chains that held him.

Stupid. So stupid. Had she let her anger ruin their chances?

So stupid.

Some instinct made her continue to ignore Jim, her hands slowly coming up to hold her pounding head. She didn’t hear Loche coming over to her; she just felt him grab her hair and yank her up, looking in her face. Whatever she was feeling, she tried to imagine it ten times worse, trying to show that on her face. It must have been believable-- Loche dropped her, a fresh explosion of pain inside her skull leaving her whimpering pitifully, eyes shut tight.

“You should be more careful,” he said, his voice heavy with menace. “I would be extremely upset with you if you lost the baby due to your stupidity. You seem to need a reminder, and I’ll enjoy providing one. Don’t worry. I won’t harm our son.”

That was almost enough to push that nausea over the edge of her control. She swallowed convulsively, trying not to gag. The fuzziness was clearing a little. She heard the door whoosh open, then shut again.

“He’s gone,” Jim said quietly. “Are you all right?”

“I’m not dying,” Anne gasped between swallows.

“We need some way to get me out of these chains. I can’t help you until I’m free. Can you think of anything that might help? Have you seen the way they’re unlocked, or what he uses to open them?”

He was talking almost too fast for her to keep up with. “I can’t think right now, Jim. I haven’t seen anything like that. God, I’m so glad. He told me you were dead.”

“He told me that too. That I’d be dead in a few hours.” Anne cracked her eyelids to see him looking down at her with a hollow grin. “I guess I know what he wants you to do. I’d really prefer that both of us get out of here, but if it comes down to only one of us having a viable chance, we’d better take it. That’s enough of a win for me.” His voice seemed tentative, hesitant, as if he couldn’t believe he was saying the words.

Everything froze for a moment. She understood what he was offering. That survival urge almost choked her, squeezing her chest and throat tight, her body still and numb.

Loche would want her to mutilate him. He might make her do it the way he had the other time, holding her hand in his, crushing her fingers around the knife while it cut. But eventually they would come get her. She might spend the rest of her life crazy with grief, but… that was survivable. She could live on that dry, airless, starless moon. Couldn’t she?

Could she?

...even if she could, would it matter? 

A sudden idea shattered her numbness. Risky, yes-- but it wasn’t the unthinkable she had already felt, let alone the utter madness Loche wanted to swallow her into. It might not work. Even if it did work, it might not help anything. It might fail and then they’d both die.

Was it really worth it?

Yes. Yes, it was.

“Jim, you need to listen to me. I think I can get you out of those chains, but you have to promise me that once I do, you’ll hit him with everything you have and completely ignore me. Say whatever you have to when it comes time. You’ll know. And then we need to get behind the blast doors on the bridge and somehow keep him in a different room. I’m in the middle of rigging all the sections to vent their atmosphere.”

“Good thinking,” Jim said. “Did you dump the storage tanks too? You don’t want him finding the emergency controls and using the stored atmosphere.”

Anne grimaced. “Won’t we need them? If we dump them, we won’t be able to refresh our oxygen.” 

Jim grinned. She could hear it in his voice. “We can’t be that far from Yorktown, not in this heap. As long as the bridge stays pressurized, we should have enough oxygen to last us until we’re found. And we’ll be able to signal the Enterprise to come get us.”

She couldn’t think to find any problems that might result. Her head was too fuzzy. But Jim knew what he was talking about better than she did. “All right. I think I can do that.”

His voice had firmed, her news heartening him. “Good. If your plan works and I get out of these chains, we’ll be home before you know it.” He paused, then said, “Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I can’t. You need to trust me. Whatever happens, just tell him anything that will work. You’ll know what to say. And when you’re free, you need to ignore me and take care of him first. Promise me you will.” Anne had never wanted anything more in her life. It would mean the difference between life and death for both of them.

“Just tell me, Anne. Tell me what it is.” Cracking an eye at his troubled, soft tone, she saw Jim smile wanly. “Captain’s orders.”

Anne managed something that might have resembled a smile. “Sorry, sir. Classified.”

“That means I’m going to hate it, doesn’t it?” he asked.

She didn’t get the chance to answer him; she heard the door slide open and Loche walking back into the room. He didn’t even get the chance to speak. Jim spoke first, his voice full of anger and worry. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I was quite annoyed when I saw that the one visible reminder of me was removed.” Loche spoke conversationally, as if they were just getting coffee together somewhere, just a chat between friends. He grabbed Anne’s arm and rolled her onto her back so that he could reach her left arm, his hand iron-hard around her wrist. He jerked her into a sitting position that made her head throb, pulling her arm straight. Somewhere in the back of her head, she had known that was what he would do. She opened her eyes again just in time to see him swing the pipe.

Pain exploded through her, a white heat that burned away her thoughts. It had broken again. Anne clamped her lips shut, wanting to scream but knowing it would only encourage him. Any reaction would make things so much worse.

Unfortunately, Jim hadn’t taken that to heart the way she had. He spoke, his voice full of quiet rage. “I’m going to make sure you pay for that one.”

“Oh, will you?” Loche asked, sounding politely interested. The pipe clattered to the floor. Anne knew what was coming next and tried to prepare herself not to scream, but when his hand snapped around her broken arm and crushed the splintered ends together, grinding them against each other, she couldn’t help it. It burst out of her despite her frantic attempt to keep it leashed. Her whole body tried to curl up, her arm one large white flame that was burning the rest of her alive. When Loche loosened his grip, it came with a fresh kind of pain rather than relief, and Anne had to grit her teeth so hard she was afraid she might shatter them to prevent another scream from bursting loose. “She needs her other arm, but she doesn’t need her legs. I’ve always wondered if I could snap a femur, but it just never seemed to be the right time to try.”

“If you do that, you run the risk of killing her.” She was fairly certain only she could hear the faint sickness in his next words. “Whatever happens after this, she’s your only chance for a son.”

Loche seemed to think about this, staying silent for a few moments. “You do have a point, I suppose. It would have to be the shin.” He changed again, then, all warm and attentive concern, his grip on her lifting away, being replaced by a hand supporting her back as he knelt down beside her. “Can you walk?”

He’d never known anything about healing. He’d never cared enough to find out how to put things back together, only to break them. “I think so, but I think I have a mild concussion.” She inhaled deeply, then winced. “And maybe a cracked rib or two.” Except he hadn’t hit her hard enough to crack a rib, and if he had, she would have been incapacitated far sooner.

“Then there’s no point in making you waste your effort by walking.” He never questioned it, too convinced that he’d put her through too much pain to lie to him. Unconcerned, he picked her up, barely seeming to notice her weight. Anne felt her skin crawl as she gingerly cradled her broken arm against her. If they got out of here, would she ever be able to let Jim do that again? She wouldn’t know until they were out. If they got out. It was such a thin sliver of a chance.

Right before the door shut, she heard Jim say, “I’ll figure something out, Anne. I promise.” If she hadn’t been listening very carefully, she wouldn’t have heard the subtle stress on those last two words.

Loche’s soft laugh was the only answer. After the door slid shut and he’d walked down the hall a ways, he said, “I admire the job you did with that one. Tarenn must have been easy enough to flip. Orions are always so fixated on physical pleasure. To be that fettered to meaningless sensation is limiting enough in a person, and worse in a whole race. But I suppose he can’t help being what he is, and you took advantage of it beautifully.” He laughed again. “A human Starfleet officer is another matter. I know. I’ve flipped quite a few of them in my time. Never a Captain, although I don’t have your charms to aid me.”

“Why do you say that?” Anne asked, suspecting the answer she would get. She’d rather keep him talking, though. If he was talking, he wasn’t immediately about to hit her. Probably. Usually.

“Did that knock on the head rattle your brain? You’re a woman. I’m not.” He sounded amused, not irritated. Good.

“Not everyone likes women,” Anne said wondering which direction he’d go with it. Conversation with him could be treacherous, but so long as she prompted him to talk, she was usually safe.

“They can’t have that many female Captains. Women aren’t suited to command.”

“You met Captain Vergne,” Anne said.

Loche made an irritated noise, but he’d always enjoyed expounding on his points of view to a captive audience. “She’s a good example of why Starfleet shouldn’t encourage that sort of thing. I’ve never met a more vindictive, abrasive creature. I’m not sure whether the role made her, or whether she had to become that way to get it, but it’s clearly detrimental. She’d be much happier if she could be truly female instead of pretending to be male.”

He had to have grown up on some backwards colony world. You didn’t hear about them often, but everyone knew those colonies were out there. If nothing criminal had happened the Federation couldn’t shut them down, but they were checked on frequently, and anyone who wanted to leave was given free passage, either to their originating world, or to an equivalent colony without the social idiocy.

He must have taken her silence for a lack of things to say; he continued on his own. “Every so often there’s a rare creature like yourself with equal capability for intelligence and cold-blooded savagery. Even in men, this is hard to find, though it can be trained. That’s why I settled on you. It’s a shame you were unable to embrace your nature as well, but it’s understandable. You always were ambitious beyond your place. And chemically speaking, you should begin to bond in a month or two. It’s what you’re meant for, after all.”

Crazy. She’d known he was crazy, but this was a different level of crazy. She couldn’t think of anything that indicated ‘cold-blooded savagery’ less than having to be repeatedly beaten into hurting people.

She wasn’t going to think about the rest.

The door to her room slid open, and he placed her in the dirty brown hammock that was the only feature of the room. Anne was careful not to look at the panel beside the door. She’d checked, and the seam was no wider than it had been before she’d opened it. She didn’t need to look at it again.

As he stood over her hammock, looking down at her, he shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. “You know what I want you to do, don’t you?”

“You want me to kill Jim,” Anne said, and despite her best efforts, her voice caught.

Loche frowned, but it eased before he spoke. “Yes. You will kill him, willingly or not. If you are not willing, I will do everything necessary to make sure the experience shatters you-- and if you don’t come out the way I like, I will kill you myself.”

She’d known it, but it was still a shock to hear the words said out loud. Anne felt the blood drain from her face, her lips feeling cold. “What about your son?” she asked.

“I would rather you were both dead than to have him raised by a weakling.” He smiled, that charming, reasonable smile. “Only the strong survive. You have always been very, very good at that, or you wouldn’t have recognized me for what I am when we first met. Your instincts are good. That’s why I chose you.”

That didn’t help anything. Nothing about any of that would do anything but push her further toward insanity. Instead of screaming, Anne just said softly, “I don’t want to do it.”

It was true. She didn’t want to do it. She wasn’t going to, either… even though her instincts were shrieking at her to take the safe way out, even if it cost her Jim’s life. 

She made sure that struggle showed in her expression, in the darts of her eyes toward him and away, as if she couldn’t stare the truth in the face. It would make things look more real. When he was gone, she would push that struggle away and work.

“I understand that, but you will do it, one way or another.” Loche looked down at her, and she wondered how she could ever have thought him handsome. She felt like she should have seen his cruelty in his face. He believed she had. Maybe she had. Maybe he was right. 

Allowing the tears that were just under the surface to well up in her eyes, she said, “I… I need some time.”

“I had thought as much. You have less than six hours, but not by much. If you cannot come to terms with killing him by the end of that time, I will give you one last chance, and then I will force you.” His lips curved in a small smile. “I very much enjoyed our time after poor Lauren died. I’d rather have you willingly, of course, but there are some consolations if you’re not.”

Anne felt as if her skin was made of ice, her mind trying to slam itself shut in horror, trying to find that comfortable dissociative state that Claudia had helped her not to need anymore. It wouldn’t come. Marshalling her thoughts, avoiding the thought of what had or hadn’t happened, what might or might not happen, Anne just asked, “Could you turn the lights off? They’re hurting my eyes.”

He seemed to consider her for a moment, then nodded. “You’ll have to live with that until the next time I come to check on you,” he said.

He had no set pattern. That could have made things harder, but she figured she could get caught out of her room once before he became suspicious. With the Sorte’s systems acting up, it was entirely too possible for her door to malfunction, and while she might be hit for leaving her room, he wouldn’t do more than that. Probably. Her mind struggled ahead of her, trying to plan out her moves before he had any idea she even had pieces on the board, and she nodded. “I don’t mind the dark,” she said.

It was true; she never had. Darkness was safer than light, easier to hide things in. It would help her focus on the task before her. She just hoped she wasn’t too hurt to pull it off.

A/N: Japan was just too hectic to post anything, so you get a double-feature this week! This was the part I was worried about dropping out after, so I'm glad to say that's not happening.

#Jim Kirk/OC #James T. Kirk/OC #ST:WW #fanfic #star trek #star trek fanfiction #dark romance #Star Trek: Walking Wounded #violence #forced pregnancy

[winterverses]

Walking Wounded - Chapter Seventy-Nine

The door slid open, and Kirk immediately dropped his hand, hoping the bent link in the chain wouldn’t be noticed. It took a moment to register who was standing there in front of him.

That friendly, charming grin. Those cold, dark eyes. Loche. 

He said nothing, just looked at Kirk as if admiring a trophy on his wall. 

“What, no insults? No mocking? How classy of you.” Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to try to provoke him, but at this point, who gave a fuck?

Loche paced back and forth, his piercing gaze on Kirk the entire time, that charming grin never fading. Finally, he spoke. “You have a matter of hours left, Captain. You will die, and I won’t be the one to kill you.”

“That’s gotta be a disappointment for you,” Kirk said, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Sometimes-- not often, but sometimes-- I find something more important than my own satisfaction. This is one of those times.” Loche continued to pace. “You will die, and I will be there to see it. That will have to be enough.”

“How did you get out of custody? They had you in maximum security,” Kirk said, letting his voice be just the tiniest bit impressed. It was worth a shot. Sometimes his opponents needed to show off, and sometimes they’d spill useful information when they did.

“What makes you think I’ll tell you?” Loche asked. “I have no need to prove myself to a dead man.”

Fuck. Well, he’d tried. “What makes you think my ship’s not already on its way here?” Kirk asked.

“If it is, which I doubt, it will make no difference.” Loche turned to the door. Without looking back, he said, “In a few hours you will be dead. Perhaps I will be as well. If not, I will never again be the man I am now. It doesn’t matter.” He paused just in the doorway and chuckled. “A dead man talking to a man with no future. It’s funny. Laugh.”

Somehow it just didn’t tickle his funnybone.

#Jim Kirk/OC #James T. Kirk/OC #star trek #star trek fanfiction #dark romance #fanfic #ST:WW #Star Trek: Walking Wounded

[winterverses]

Walking Wounded - Chapter Seventy-Eight

It was the Sorte. It was the Sorte and somehow she was on it. Anne pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to stop herself from screaming. She should have known. There had been no possibility that Loche would let her go, not while he still had breath in his body. The time between leaving Justice and waking up here was a grey wash of semiconsciousness. A doctor in surgical scrubs, one that she hazily recognized from her captivity. Starfleet uniforms. And yes, Loche himself, free, looking down at her with cold, dead eyes. She should have known.

It was only now that she was back in captivity, back in the cabin Tarenn had slept in and violated her in, that she could see what had happened. They’d been herded like animals, the wolf nipping at their heels even as they thought themselves safe. The watchers, following them under the cover of public curiosity. The media, used to chase and maneuver them into a vulnerable position. Her guilt, used to ensure that she wouldn’t be up to a physical altercation. And Jim…

Where was Jim?

There was no point in relying on Starfleet. Jim was the one she trusted to come after her, but he was nowhere to be seen. Of course, it would have made sense to separate them. Let her rot in this metal-walled box of a room, the only feature the dirty hammock that served Tarenn as a bed. Let her agonize, wondering what had happened to Jim, wondering if she would make it out alive this time.

Anne forced herself to take a slow, deep breath and to exhale it again. She would survive. She had done it before and she would do it again. No matter what. Even if she was stuck on this garbage scow light years away from Yorktown-- and she knew she was, she had to be, if Loche had burned his connections to the point of getting out of maximum security, there was no way he would stay where he might be easily caught-- she would still find Jim, get them both out, survive.

How many officers had Loche turned? How much influence had he gained over Starfleet? She should have known. There was no way to get off the station without Starfleet’s knowledge, so when she’d been kidnapped before, they had to have subverted more than one officer in order to get her off the station.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Anne scanned the room, her eye lighting on the panel beside the door. Loche had never known that about her; he wouldn’t have known to take away her hairpins.

The door slid open, and there he was-- tall, imposing, his pallor unchanged by his recent captivity, his body still muscled, solid, ready for violence. Anne kept still and waited for him to speak.

His dark eyes skimmed over her with satisfaction as he approached her. “They do say there’s a glow some women get.”

No. No.

Clamping down on her fear, Anne forced herself to regard him evenly, silently. It was fine. It could be fixed. All she had to do was survive. That was the important thing.

But then he held out his hand, a bloodied delta insignia in it, and Anne felt her composure shatter into a million pieces, her vision greying out as if her blood had suddenly stopped circulating, had vanished entirely. No. No, no, no. It wasn’t possible. No.

She must have screamed, though she didn’t hear it. And as much as she didn’t want to believe… there he was. There she was. And there was the delta. Loche’s lips moved as if he was speaking, but she barely heard it, and didn’t comprehend. Only the tone. Only the laugh.

After that first scream she suddenly felt barren, as if she were standing on an airless moon in the middle of an evaporated sea. She silently watched him leave, his satisfaction palpable. The bloodied delta insignia still lay on the floor.

Some time later, Anne picked delicately at the edge of the panel beside the door, the hairpin between her fingers shaking, heart pounding like the hooves of a fleeing deer. With what she’d been told, with what had been done to her, she had only one choice left.

Even if they found her, they would not stop her. Not this time. She wasn’t sure they could, not without Jim.

There was no other way she could leave even if her friends came, not after… not after. It would be too painful. It would be denying the only purpose she had left. And this thing inside her, this parasite… there was only one choice. Whatever happened to her in the process, it had to be carried out.

Anne could feel her mind struggling to come apart. The only thing left to hold it together now that Jim was gone was the one person she hated more than anything in the universe. His death. He would die.

He would die, he would die, he would die, and it would never be enough to erase that cold laughter in his voice as he said that her stars had all winked out.

She would not scream again. She would open the door. And when she did, she would kill him.

A/N:  Apologies again for the lateness! I didn't realize until it came time to post that the chapter had to be majorly rewritten, and since I'm in the middle of preparing to go back to Japan, I didn't have time to do it until literally two hours ago! But I've checked through the next couple, and they're pretty much ready to go. Thanks for your patience!

#Jim Kirk/OC #James T. Kirk/OC #star trek #star trek fanfiction #dark romance #fanfic #Star Trek: Walking Wounded #ST:WW

[winterverses]

Walking Wounded: Chapter Seventy-Seven

When Kirk woke up, he couldn’t immediately identify where he was. It looked familiar, but his fuzzy brain refused to give up the information. When he tried to move, he found he was chained to the wall by both his hands and his feet, the chain so short that he couldn’t even step away from the wall.

Well, shit.

What options did he have?

No, it was better to start with goals first. Goal number one: get out of the chains. Goal number two: get out of this blank grey room. Goal number three: find Anne. Goal number four: get the hell out of wherever he was and get back to safety. A distant goal number five: find out who did this. And where the hell had security been?

No point worrying about that. Goals set. Now, potential solutions. Check for weak links in the chains. Examine the locking mechanism to see if it was one that could be forced. Look around for things he could use as tools.

He was in the middle of checking for weakened links when he realized where he was. This was the Sorte. He’d thought the Sorte had been junked, but he recognised the room he was in as one that had been used for storage of their illegal cargo. The chains were a new addition. As if to confirm his suspicion, the gravity suddenly wavered, leaving him in freefall for a moment before he slowly sank back to the floor. This piece of shit ship would probably end up killing them. Nothing worked properly on it. Kirk went back to examining the chains for weak links.

It had to be hours later when something finally happened. He’d checked the chains, found one possibility and begun to work on it by wedging it in the loop that held the chain and putting pressure on it, checked the locking mechanism-- electronic, and too complicated to force-- and looked around for tools that could help him, of which there were none. So he was working on that one weak link when he heard a howl of rage and pain that he recognized, even muffled by the walls and doors between them. Anne. It suddenly became hugely important to get that weak link open. Whatever had happened to her could not be good. Kirk redoubled his efforts, trying to force the link to bend and possibly snap. It was frustrating to do one-handed, but he had to get out. He had to get to Anne.

The worst part was having to be patient. Kirk worked on that one link for hours, until he was exhausted, his eyes sliding shut even while he tried to force the link into bending. Eventually, he slid into a restless, uneasy sleep, dreaming that he and Anne were in a forest being hunted by a black wolf.

There was no telling how long it had been when he woke. His arms and legs were stiff and sore; he worked the stiffness out of them as best as he could. Then he started to work on that weak link again. He’d bent it, now if he could just bend it the other way, weaken it more…

#James T. Kirk/OC #Jim Kirk/OC #Star Trek #Star Trek Fanfiction #dark romance #fanfic #ST:WW #Star Trek: Walking Wounded

[winterverses]

Walking Wounded: Chapter Seventy-Six

Everything was fuzzy. It wasn’t the pleasant kind of fuzzy either. Anne had to be very, very careful of how she stepped, because she couldn’t quite feel her feet properly and those heels were murder. Whatever they’d given her to counteract the drugs they used in the interrogation was compounding her fatigue, making her slow and stupid as well as tired. Jim was taking care with her-- she’d told him as soon as she realized what was happening-- and she knew the car would be waiting for them. Léo was contracted to them for the duration of their stay; he had no other customers. Jim had commented on how often he seemed to be their driver, but she hadn’t gotten around to telling him Léo was their chauffer. Probably he would have objected anyway.

As always, the car was waiting for them when they stepped outside. The area was deserted except for a couple hopeful journalists who immediately approached, ignoring Jim’s repeated, “No comment,” and following them all the way to the car door, insistently close.

Then things suddenly went haywire. Anne felt a sharp sting on her bare arm, as if from a hypospray and immediately began to feel even dizzier. She stumbled, the heel of her shoe turning under her, and fell to her hands and knees. Jim didn’t need a warning; he stood over her, trying to defend her from the two fake journalists when Léo got out of the car behind him. Except it wasn’t Léo. The man’s foot lashed out, catching Jim behind the knee and staggering him, giving one of the others an opening to jam the hypo to his neck. Anne tried to force herself to get up, but whatever they’d hit her with was making her limbs feel as if they were made of lead. She barely registered Jim still fighting, trying to hold off the three attackers even as the sedative kicked in, making him slow and clumsy. Fumbling in the little purse she was carrying, Anne managed to get out her new communicator, tuning it to the first code she remembered and trying to yell for help. Someone’s foot lashed out, knocking it from her hands, and in front of her Jim sank to his knees, still trying to fight.

The last thing she felt was someone grabbing her under the arms, pulling her onto something that felt cushioned. Even the ravening fear at being drugged like this again couldn’t keep the fog from blotting out her consciousness. No help would come. Why would it?

A/N: I missed last week, and these two chapters are so short that I figured I'd post them together. Thanks for your patience with me, I've got a lot on the go...

#James T. Kirk/OC #Jim Kirk/OC #Star Trek #Star Trek Fanfiction #dark romance #fanfic #ST:WW #Star Trek: Walking Wounded