=/\= T'Shen monastery, Shi'Al province =/\=
17th Day in the month of et'Khior, YS 9022
Picking up the heavy jacket that not only held the human's body warmth but scent, T'Para tilted her head to the side and nearly winked again "Tell me, Brent Warren. Is it your nature to be this attentive without becoming a bother, or is it a skill you learned to please your beloved?"
Intense, to one who was not accustomed to living among outworlders and their dizzying scents, but far from unpleasant. Dusky, most decidedly male, with a faint note of salt and iron. A thoughtful look crossed the V'Ket's lovely features and she reached for the Marine's shirt, pulling it close to Sakarra's face even as she availed herself to the added warmth of the jacket. Yes. Definitely … something. Not a healer by any stretch of the word, T'Para could still sense a reaction, faint and subtle as it was.
"Military fame indeed." The amusement now oh so obvious on her face, T'Para let her fingertips trail over the still cool skin again – ah, far from a Vulcan's healthy heat, but also so, so far from the icy breath of death. For a moment, the urge to laugh and cry and pull her beloved near-sister into her arms was back, exhilarating and unsettling in its intensity. "Though you may be sure no Vulcan would dare to misspell a name."
Brent nodded hearing the warning about the potential Challenge. "The old monk seemed to think that because I killed the Romulan Admiral that I had fulfilled the Challenge already. However I wager that she could begin it even though hm?" he said with a frown. He thought about it for a few moments before he heard the soft melody humming as the skilled hands began to slowly distract him. Oh she was good. A slow smile crested over his face as he began to feel the pain slowly release from his shoulder along with the slow warmth of comfort.
"Damn," he barely managed. "You're really good at this," he said letting his head fall down as he had done from massages in the past. Her mention of just how attentive he was made him chuckle, while still keeping his head down. "Ah learned? No. That would do my mother a grave injustice. She first instructed me on how to behave, especially towards women. However it would do a similar injustice if did not include my beloved in such ways.
"A famous general said it in Earth history. After having fought a long and hard civil war," he said letting a rather satisfied sigh come from his lips, watching as T'Para took him up on the offer of his jacket for her. "Ah. I wonder what kind of poems it will be. A long one? Or perhaps a small sonnet. I suppose I should tell my parents that all of this has happened. We were cut off from direct communication home for some time. They only barely know that I am currently seeing my beloved. Not that I have fallen for her head over heels and her for me."
Pointedly ignoring Sovar's warning glare, the young V'Ket shifted position to stop the little one from cheerfully bouncing against her lower ribs and nodded. "Kal-if-fee may be declared more than once, Brent Warren. Though there are strict rules as to the circumstances, one of the times the Matriarch may do so is the time when she who is of her kin first presents her Chosen one. Of course your beloved might make the case that by killing the admiral you not only proved loyalty to your T'sai but enacted the Clan's right to claim vengeance, something you are entitled to by virtue of being her Companion. Rejecting you therefore would mean rejecting her own House's Champion. The old laws are complex, and rarely enforced any more. But they stand, all the same."
More comfortable than she had been for days, T'Para allowed her long legs to stretch lazily, reinforcing the impression of a feline dozing on a sun-warmed rock as she took in the soothing sound of rain and the low, melodious hum of the young healer's voice. Watching the Marine relax under the skilled hands she allowed herself another tiny flicker of amusement. Emboldened by his favorable response, little V'Ley was applying her art with the aid of some fragrant yelash'ay oil now, adding the soothing properties to her kneading hands. Subtle though it was, and well masked under the sincere and obvious concern of a healer for a being in pain, the young woman's demeanor left little doubt that were his t'sai in any state to do so, she would not be disinclined to … negotiate.
Before T'Para could ponder whether Brent Warren was aware enough of his beloved's culture to not take offense, or answer the interesting information he so freely shared about his own house, something tugged at her mind.
V'Ley had persuaded the Marine to stretch out on the low couch and was straddling his legs to apply careful pressure to the overtaxed nerves, making sure that even once he began to move about again the pain would not resurface for several hours. But he … yes, he had sensed it, too.
And if T'Para had harbored any doubt, the speed with which Sovar suddenly was by the bedside would have dispersed it.
Soon.
The expression on the healer's face was memorable to be sure, excitement and embarrassment, helpless confusion and determination come and gone in the space of a Vulcan heartbeat before she tried to reach for her waking patient and nearly toppled over in the process.
"Ah, et'liwh wayek."
Just so managing to not ungracefully drop to the floor between the bed and the couch, V'Ley was nearly face to face with the young woman when silken eyelashes fluttered and soft lips moved near imperceptibly, trying to shape a word. Too bad her legs were too tangled with the human's to provide assistance, not to mention her robes seemed … stuck. On something. The couch. But the sound of tearing fabric hardly deterred the young healer, struggling to reach for her patient.
Everything that Brent had been considering talking about was immediately shelved as soon as he felt Sakarra stirring. He was immediately torn when the young healer was entangled in his legs and against the couch. He grunted, annoyed now, refusing to be away from her when she finally awoke. He moved both of his hands, having little pain in his left shoulder anymore he placed his hands on the waist of little V'Ley and lifted her off of his legs and the couch, doing his best to try and avoid tearing her robes any more than he already had and setting her down again free of him and the couch.
When she was down next to the bed where Sakarra lay Brent immediately moved over taking his beloved's hand into his. His eyes focusing on hers as he seemed to put everyone else around him out of his mind. He hoped that she was going to wake up now, gods it had been too long since he had been able to speak with her. He spoke gently within the bond that they shared. Telling her that he was here. That he loved her.
It might have been amusing. Hilarious, even. Being lifted with surprising strength and speed while her silk-clad legs dangled in the air, free of the heavy skirt of her robe that was still wedged into the couch before she was ever so gently set down by the bed. The equally insufficiently dressed Marine moving towards his beloved to grasp her hand, the V'Ket wearing no more than towels and said Marine's jacket leaning forward and nudging the Vulcan male out of the way – the only person in the room to still be completely and impeccably dressed as it were.
But they were crowding her patient and time was of the essence. Already the fluttering eyelids seemed to grow heavy, and … "Kroykah!"
V'Ley's voice was not loud, but the sharp command did the trick. Grudgingly, the other Vulcans retreated enough to let her reach … and slap her patient squarely in the face. "E'sha'uh! I'sayrla'uh!"
Not enough. Not enough …
She should have realized. After the amount of pain this body had endured … what to do? What …
Reaching under the silk in despair, V'Ley poked at the dried blood still clinging to the terrible disruptor wound, her healer's senses screaming against what she was about to do. Still so terribly tender, the wound was far from healed, the beaten and battered body having focused on the essential repairs before survival instinct insisted the balance was about to tip, and regaining of consciousness was necessary to not lose oneself to deeply.
Ah, this would hurt, … hurt enough to make even a Vulcan scream were she conscious.
Without hesitating, the healer dug her nails into the warm flesh.
To her utter astonishment, the only answer V'Ley got was a soft moan.
And then she nearly sagged with relief when at least the hand resting in the human's seemed to move, a mere acknowledgement of a familiar, beloved presence, an attempt to answer the touch … but not enough. The dark was still pulling her back, tugging at the heavy limbs, whispering of soothing quiet and rest.
What to do?
If V'Ley had ice water at hand, she would have given the Marine's suggestion a …
"Brent Warren! The rain! Cold water! Hurry!"
[To be continued …]
Lt Cmdr Sakarra Tyrax
Executive Officer
Brevet 1st Lieutenant Brent Warren
Marine Commander
USS Charon
