Friday, November 19, 2010

[USS Charon] SD241011.19 || Joint Log "The Bright and the Dark" Part V || 1st Lt Brent Warren, LtCmdr Sakarra Tyrax

=/\=  Sas-a-Shar (The Forge), near the Plains of Blood =/\=

8th Day in the month of T'lakht, YS 9022


"You worried that if you showed me … I might push you away. But all I saw was pain, and anguish, and a rage that you never wanted to set free. Even now," she looked at their intertwined fingers, a faint, sad smile flickering across her features "you touch me as if I were a fragile thing, not a Vulcan who has crossed the Forge unaided and is no … worse for wear. Would you undo it, if you could? The rage, the killing? If you could restore those lives, would you?"


Brent's only response was to blink several times at her question. Of everything she could have asked him, this was most certainly not it. "Undo it now? After the fact?" he asked quietly, his eyes averted slightly to a nearby rock, as if trying to gather strength from it. After a few moments pause he returned, looking into her eyes. "No," he said in the most quiet voice that she had ever heard him in. "If I hadn't done those terrible, awful things... More people would have died. We might not have taken the ship back. You would still be in the clutches of that admiral, and your world might not even be habitable now..." he finally met her eyes again. "At the very least there would be more dead on the Charon. I couldn't sit idly by and do nothing... I let the rage take me, especially after I heard that you had been removed from the ship.... You know what happened then. I tore that Gai'Shian officer apart, and I forced all of the Romulans to watch as I did it."

"I touch you as if you were a fragile thing because when I first came off of the colony my beloved, I crushed a few hands when I shook them. We are taught to control what we have. To use it when needed but to keep it withdrawn," he said with a sigh. "Are you. Are you afraid of me now? Because of what I showed you?"


This time, it was Sakarra's turn to blink.

Afraid of him. Afraid of …

"No, my love." Ever so gently, she squeezed the hand still holding on to hers. Such a light touch, so tender … and yet he was not … always this careful with her. Though it had taken time to convince him that with Vulcans, and especially a certain breed of them, appearance can be deceiving.

"No." she shook her head, dislodging a strand of curls that promptly cascaded down over her shoulder. "I could not be afraid of you if you tried your best to make me so. Call it a failing of the Vulcan heart, but while I love, I can't fear. Be … tentative under certain circumstances, yes. Afraid … no."

Never mind the fact it was difficult enough to scare a Vulcan, and usually unwise as well. When you knew the terrible things inside yourself, the outside world held few horrors indeed.


But he had told her what she needed to know. And somehow knowing he could not regret, either, made it … easier. Not alright, far from it. But easier.

"I wanted him dead." The temptation to gaze at the stars, take comfort in their eternal, stately dance, was great. But she made herself hold her beloved's gaze, do him the courtesy of letting him see. See the fury, the anguish, the dark well that had delighted in the Vaek'Riov's pain "More than anything, I wanted him dead. And I would have been furious had it been anyone but you who took the pleasure of his death from me."

A Vulcan's memory is renowned throughout the galaxy as being accurate, detailed, near perfect. And it is, in every aspect. Though they like to politely leave out the fact this is true for sensory perceptions as well. If a Vulcan summons a memory, she is there. Feeling the sunlight tickle her skin, smelling the blossoms, hearing the breeze. Or the cries of battle. Helpful, if one wishes to recount events accurately. A curse, when such things surface unbidden.

For a second that was eternity, Sakarra smelled her own blood, felt it trickle over her body. Languid, warm, sensual. Felt a hand close over her throat, the futile struggle for air. Violet eyes, watching. Watching … not with cruel glee, but something approaching … wonder.


"I could have done it, Brent. Countless times, I could have killed him, and with the greatest ease. It was not enough. I tried to tell myself it was because they would have murdered everyone on board Charon, that his word was the only thing keeping them alive. You, Nveid, the Captain, her children, everyone. I convinced myself I was stalling for time. Distracting him, giving you openings, giving you … time."

Liquid-black eyes, gleaming with unshed tears. And at the bottom of the well, the coil of fury unfurling. Could he bear to hear all of it? Sakarra did not know, and she would have rather jumped into Tar'Hana's lava than cause him more pain.

"When the truth is, I did not kill him because I wanted him to suffer. Delighted in it. Once I knew how to hurt him, I did. Repaid every cut, every lashing, every … everything. A thousand times over. And it was still … not enough."


"That's what's been bothering you then isn't it," he said softly. He nodded as he realized that he was again completely wrong when he had wondered if he had scared her of him. As he saw her begin to cry he pulled her close to him, letting her rest against him as he moved his arms around her. He let out a deep sigh, unsure of how to reassure her of what he was thinking, but deep down he knew that she wanted the truth.

"Sakarra..." he said softly. "Everything that he did, everything that he wanted to do. No one could possibly blame you for feeling that way. Anyone would in your position. What he was going to do to your world, what he wanted from you and to do to you," he said the venom beginning to appear in his words again at just thinking about such things. "Wanting to hurt him and hurting him in anyway..." he sighed. "I am so horribly uneloquent. No one in their right mind would judge you my love. No one. And if they do. Fuck them. They have no idea what happened."


Warm. Safe.

She did not resist the arms pulling her close, only exhaled and … let it happen.

Weak. Beaten, battered, sheltered in his arms.

And so what, if this went against just about every inbred behavior, cultural and social norms, and all kind of other silly things. It was his right, and Sakarra would be damned if she insisted on maintaining decorum in the middle of the Forge. Or anywhere, right now.

Weak. Vulnerable.

So what.

Harder than steel, they say. But it's knowing when to give in that had made this particular strand of genes survive, remain where others fell before evolution's pitiless scythe.


Her cheek leaning against Brent' broad chest, she breathed easier. The weight, the pain, it was not gone. But … different. Somehow, even the fury had to give way, recede, turn to powerless mist.

She should have known.

No, it was not quite that simple for a people who held themselves to an unyielding standard, but his frankness had a way of putting things … in perspective. Yes, she knew now she was capable of things – thoughts and deeds – that offended every Vulcan's sensibilities, horrified her to her very core. But she also knew what it would take to make them surface.

It was a part of her. The dark mirror, the fierce smile.

C'thia. Always and only the truth.

Would she have survived without it? Likely not.

Would she have died at peace? Very likely yes.


"I suppose my greater fear was that you would be the one pushing me away, ashal-veh. Once you knew that there is a part of me … that relished what you did. That ... delighted in killing, even as I grieve those who died by my hand. I always knew I was capable of cruelty, even suspected I might… savor the taste of it. What frightens me is … just how sweet vengeance is."

Nestled against her Companion, she looked out at the dark plains and didn't realize silent tears were running over her face until the silver blurred with the stark, inky shadows.

"So sweet that I was angry I could not have more. Anyone in my position would have felt so, perhaps. But one like me should not, cannot. Ever. Because once there, we don't know how to stop. And The Other knows, if you had not killed him … I don't know what I would have done. It scares me to think of him at my mercy, when I would no longer have to hold back for the sake of Charon, the planet, anything."



=/\= To be continued … =/\=


Lt Cmdr Sakarra Tyrax

Executive Officer


Brevet 1st Lieutenant Brent Warren
Marine Commander


USS Charon