“Cyrin & ‘Kara: Charon’s Bonnie and Clyde”
=/\= Sakarra’s Quarters, 6.4 Hours Later =/\=
Cyrin felt the pressure, as it were, of Sakarra ‘opening’ the door. She felt familiar, but it was awkward for him. Even if he did enjoy the feeling of another’s mind, this was not how he had wanted it.
He began to second guess himself about this decision, but it was too late. The concrete had been poured and hardened. Sure a jackhammer could tear it down, but that would be painful to both Sakarra and himself. One of his first instincts was to fight this invader, but he had asked for this, in fact he had encouraged it.
Forcing himself to calm down, he allowed his mind to open as he had been taught by his instructors on Betazed. He envisioned light pouring in from a door that was opening up. He could ‘feel’ Sakarra’s presence but could not ‘read’ her, not yet. He was afraid to even attempt to, afraid that it would be a mind-rape, though rationally it wouldn’t be, but that was something he couldn’t do, regardless that fear lingered, as if a moral and ethical guide to how to appropriately use his ability. ‘Ability, the ability that now lay dormant as a volcano.’ Cyrin’s voice echoed in his mind.
It was rather like diving into a turbulent ocean, waves crashing violently against the shore, and if one was not very careful, it was possible to be pulled down by the current and drown.
Sakarra resisted the overwhelming urge to rise above that ocean, take flight and leave it’s dark and cold depths behind. Because there was another, drowning in there, and somehow she had to find him.
She shouldered past fears and regrets, each of them tugging and pulling, some unfamiliar and incomprehensible, some producing echoes which she had no time to dwell on right now and had to put safely aside so they would not add to the madness raging around her.
And still she had barely skimmed the outer reaches of this other mind. She was still close enough to the surface, she could still retreat, regain control… and leave him.
Leave him… yea, like hell she would. DAMN it.
Hovering at the edges of his mind, she realized he still could not see or hear clearly.
Yes, some part of him was vaguely aware of her presence, like the Valit knows that the Shavokh is circling in the sky, but is blinded by Nevasa’s glare…
Nevasa… bright, hot, unforgiving and impossible to ignore…
Well, there was a thought…
Breathing deeply one more time, she plunged into the mad storm of emotions, confidently radiating all the light and heat that a Vulcan’s blood could summon.
‘I know you’re afraid to reach for me. Don’t be. One way or another, I will be fine. And so will you.’
Cyrin heard Sakarra’s voice. ‘I can’t, you…you promised me no harm would come to me. You lied to me. If I move I will die,’ he responded not even sure if she could hear him over the storm, ‘You told me in sickbay that you wouldn’t let harm come to me! Can you keep that promise?’ he asked contradicting his prior statement, he was allowed to do this. Suddenly he felt a dark presence behind him and came running towards the only light in his head, but stopped.
His body sweating, and the mental image of himself was doing the same thing. Exhausted, ‘I can’t, no more. They can have my gift, it is too much trouble. I don’t want to do this anymore! I can’t do this anymore! You lied to me Sakarra you LIED! I JUST CAN’T…LEAVE ME ALONE!’ He had tried to force himself to consciousness, but it hadn’t worked. His physical self reacting to his mental emotions.
‘You are a stubborn individual, Cyrin Dicari. Now how about using that trait for something more productive?’
It was quite obvious that the gentle, reassuring approach wasn’t getting her anywhere. And still, she would not inflict the full force of a trained Vulcan mind on him, even as he physically struggled to break free, his attempts as useless as those of a trapped Chkariya swatting at the Sehlat’s paw.
‘I warned you that the results could be turbulent. But I also told you I would rather suffer harm myself than let anything happen to you.’
The mental strain was becoming almost painful, as she tried to compensate for his exhaustion and keep her own temper from flaring.
If he would not listen to logic ... a Betazoid might just respond to something else…
Taking another deep breath that may as well have been a sob, she moved close enough for him to not only hear, but see….
The first memory to surface was that of Sovar showing her how to find water in the vast wasteland that was Sas-a-Shar. The wonder she experienced, the disorientation, and then the most undignified chuckle…
No, NO, personal, private, can’t…
But he’d already seen.
Sighing in near despair, Sakarra forced herself to relax.
What is, is.
He still didn’t believe her when she said and reassured him that she would not let harm come to him. The voice…the echo…could be one of them tricking him. ‘I shouldn’t have gone to towards the light’ he thought to himself. As she moved to come closer to him he went to go back up into the darkness but found he could not.
Suddenly a memory exploded in front of him, a much younger girl who looked like Sakarra who was in her mid twenties. Finding water in a wasteland, the excitement, the disorientation…which caught him off guard, and suddenly a chuckle…from Sakarra.
He had only seen what could be the makings of a smile come across her face less than a handful of times. She could be trusted, a memory of his own first really meeting Sakarra flittered by, I trust you more than I trust myself. He remembered saying that, he had come to her out of trust. Stepping towards her a black swirl came rushing towards him. He reached out to grab Sakarra’s out stretched hand as it enveloped them.
A younger boy of approximately seventeen years old formed, they were in a hospital back in San Francisco. He was pacing the floor, a woman at least twice Cyrin’s age was sitting in a chair crying. Cyrin was full of hatred, anger, fear, and self pity. “He’s my father! Damn it do something about it, don’t just sit on your damned asses twiddling your thumbs! This is the twenty fifth century. DO SOMETHING NOW!” the younger Cyrin yelled at a medical officer.
“C-Cyrin p-please, sit d-d-down.” His mother said in between tears her black eyes like mirrors reflecting Cyrin’s face red with emotion.
“I can’t! I don’t want to lose him! Il est mon père, quatre divinités, être damné! Il est mon père!” (He is my father, four deities be damned! He is my father!) Switching to French before breaking down into tears and collapsing on the floor.
His mother gently rising up went to her only child and wrapped her arms around him, ‘My son, I understand…I do,’ she spoke to him telepathically so no other could hear.
The memory faded, but returned shortly with Cyrin in a hospital room…his father, white haired and ashen looking lay on a biobed, practically lifeless. Cyrin walked up to him taking his hand. “Don’t leave me father…I can’t lose you. Father, I…” what he was going to say could be felt through emotion…love. Tears fell from his eyes and onto his father’s hand as Cyrin held it tight, so tight that his knuckles were white. “I love you dad.” He said before hearing someone enter the room…
Finally, he had reached out. And although Sakarra was fully aware that Betazoids tended to not hold back once an invitation was made and a connection established, the sensation was overwhelming enough to nearly make her lose her mental ‘footing’.
The big difference between this Betazoid … and that he was, she realized with no small amount of wonder, possibly more so than even he was aware of … and those she had known before was the amount of turmoil within.
Not the exuberant, cheerful glittering of thoughts and emotions, with the sadness and fears swirling right next to everything else, on equal footing, but a horrible imbalance.
As the memory and the pain that came with it took shape, it took her more than a few seconds to steady herself.
‘Don’t leave me father … I can’t lose you … ‘
‘You’re not a soldier, m’aih!’ … ‘Take me with you!’
‘I think not, ko-kan’
Finally, the echo in her own mind subsided and she could see the young one who was Cyrin, holding on in despair to the one who was his father.
The older Cyrin had tears running down his face, but the memory wasn’t over yet. Though he had caught a glimpse of a memory of Sakarra’s he really didn’t want to share that part of her with him, so he did his best to ignore it. Just like he tried to stop the memory of his father; she had already seen too much of a memory that he hadn’t even shared with the Starfleet psychologist. Yet it just kept on pouring in.
The younger Cyrin turned around to see his mother and a doctor enter the room. “Unless you are here to save him, I suggest you get out,” he directed at both of them his voice writhe with anger and loathing. The doctor just looked at Cyrin solemnly and his mother…his mother was as white as one of the sheets on the bed.
“Cyrin listen to Doctor Tamanaka, please.”
Cyrin hadn’t let go of his father’s hand, when he turned his head back to face his father, “Just. Leave. Me. Alone.” He emphasized each word.
No…stop…not again… Cyrin thought to himself as he watched the horror unfold.
“Cyrin, we can’t help your father. We don’t know what he has contracted…or how to treat it. I am so very sorry.” Doctor Tamanaka told him as pleasantly as possible.
Cyrin released his father’s hand and quietly walked up to the Doctor. “You expect me to let my father go? You expect me to just accept that he is going to die? You expect me to just give up and play the happy ‘he is in a better place’ role?” With each question he asked the anger in his voice was so thick the air around him permeated the anger, his black eyes reflecting the doctor’s image. “Look me in the eyes doctor and tell me that there is nothing you can do for him. Remember I am an empath. I will know if you are lying.” He warned Doctor Tamanaka his eyes staring at the doctor, as if looking into the doctor’s soul.
“Cyrin, there is not-” that was all the doctor got out before Cyrin’s hand swung around and hit the doctor in the side of the face.
“I warned you not to lie to me Doctor!” Cyrin said in a hiss
Doctor Tamanaka’s face went flying to the left as he extended an arm to brace himself from falling to the floor. “I wasn’t lying Cyrin,” the Doctor said wiping blood from his mouth.
Cyrin stood there mortified by what he had done as a seventeen year old. A quick memory of his hatred of Shiarrel t’Rehu passed by, it was the same type of anger…just a different circumstance. He was still crying, but regret, remorse, and sorrow now filled a void were anger, confusion, and hatred once stood. No, he lied to me. He told me when my father was brought in that they could help him. All they did was scan him, probe him, hyposprayed him. They didn’t do anything to help him out. He just stayed in that bed dying because of their stupidity. He said trying to make an excuse for his actions attempting to explain his actions to Sakarra. It was a memory that he didn’t want to share with her in the first place, a memory that was private…personal. His mental projection of himself shaking, frightened of what she would think of him now that she had seen he was capable of pure anger…pure hatred…pure unadulterated rage.
Lieutenant (Then Ensign) Sakarra Tyrax
Ensign Cyrin Dicari
Chief Operations Officer