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syredronningStory Masterpost on DW - Story Masterpost on LJ
The silence is unusual and deep, almost suffocating, and it surprises Chris to find that he's really gotten so used to having company, someone within reach at all times.
Shaking his head, he gets up into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Seems he really needs to book a nurse service, should he ever end up alone again. He doesn't like to go there in his head, doesn't want to think about Dael leaving for a mission or her career (which seems to be on hold, and he needs to ask her about it), but vows or not she'd still able to do whatever she wants with her future, and should never feel obligated to pamper him all the time.
The machine's slight noise dies with a gurgle, the smell of his preferred coffee brightening his mood. But the second the machine quiets, the eerie feeling intensifies again; and worse, there's suddenly an additional thought, the feeling that he's not alone here, that someone is watching him, tracking his activities. His breathing quickens as he turns his head to look into the illuminated corridor, then trains his eyes onto the ceiling to run his gaze over the corners. Of course there are no cameras. Of course there's nobody here.
"Fuck it," he mutters and grabs the coffee to walk straight into the corridor. "See," he says to himself, "there's nobody here. They're all out, and the doc will be back in an hour and I'll sit down on the couch now and wait for him."
The doorbell rings, cutting through his attempt at rationalizing. He jerks so hard, hot coffee spills over his hand but he doesn't feel a thing.
The bell shouldn't ring. Nobody should visit. Nobody has a reason to come for him tonight. It must be his imagination.
But then the doorbell rings again, violently noisy to his ears, and there is someone out there and he just can't move.
The third, sharp attack finally snaps him out of the panicked freeze. It's just a doorbell. It's just a visitor. He could look to see who it is.
With shaky steps, he pushes the button for the outside camera.
There's Mori Illyon, dressed in civilian attire.
Mori… She'd been a friend once.
He opens the door.
"Hello, Chris," she says, a strange smile on her face. "It's so good to see you. Can I come in?"
"No." The word slips out before he can even think about it. "No, you can't."
"I just wanted to talk to you," she says, putting one hand on the door frame.
"Outside. In ten minutes," Chris manages to say. He's relieved when she nods and turns, because he's not sure he would've been able to stop her from entering. When the door closes, he notices that he'd spilled half the coffee, his hands still shaking hard.
Fuck.
She'd been an old Academy friend of his, true, and their last contact had been about Asimov, he remembers vaguely. But today she's Head of Ship Operations, appointed by a man who, in the rare moments he dares to think about him at all, has become The Goddamn Fucking Old Bastard. The man he doesn't want to meet ever again because he wouldn't trust his reaction.
With effort Chris puts the cup away, wiping the spots on the floor with his t-shirt because it's the only thing he's got handy right now. Then he goes to dress, jeans, shirt and sneakers, and stands in front of the closed apartment door for at least ten more minutes.
He doesn't have to go down. He could ask the doorkeeper to not let her in a second time. He could…
She'd be back, he realizes. This hasn't happened by chance, it's been perfect timing. Just when he's alone… So maybe someone is tracking him after all, knows where he is, whether he's alone or not. He shivers.
Taking his communicator, he thinks about calling the doc, but that would only prove he can't manage on his own for even an hour. He puts it back in his pocket.
Fuck Mori. Fuck Starfleet.
Using his suddenly flaring anger like a shield, he walks out and down the staircase.
"Chris," she greets him when he joins here in front of the apartment house. "Already wondered if you'd forgotten about me."
He couldn't remember her voice ever having sounded so false and insincere. "Let's take a walk," he mutters, steering away from the direction of the park with the duck pond which to him belongs to his tribe.
"What do you want?" he asks harshly.
She tries putting a hand on his arm, but he pulls away. Raising her hand in a quiet apology, she takes a step away from him. "Chris, hey, it's me, your friend Mori. I just wanted to know how you are."
"We aren't friends any longer," he states reflexively, although it sounds a little overly dramatic even to his own ears. "Not since…" He shakes his head.
Mori sighs. "What should I have done? Said no to the old man's offer?"
"If you had been smart, yes."
She shrugs, a silent just because you went overboard doesn't mean we'd all do that.
"Leave me alone. I've got no business anymore with Starfleet."
"Then why don't you resign?" she asks bluntly. "You could do that any time. Hell, many people are waiting for you to do it."
"I'm still on medical leave. I don't have to decide anything."
She laughs, shoving her hands in the pockets of her jeans. "I know you. Starfleet is your life. You never even knew what to do with a decent shoreleave. You don't hate the 'fleet, you hate the people who did that to you, and that Nogura didn't do anything against it. But that doesn't mean you hate Starfleet, because that would mean hating Kirk and McCoy for still being in it. I know people who do that, they write flaming mails and distribute propaganda vids. You don't hate the 'fleet any more than I do."
She looks up, meeting his wary gaze. "And that's why you don't resign, Chris, and never will."
"You're wrong," he says tonelessly.
"Oh, I am? Let's see." She whips out a small PADD. "Here, I saved you the pain of filling in your details. You only have to sign."
He mutely stares at the resignation form that appears on the screen; he knows it, having it filled out once in a while over the last decades in a moment of flaring anger or bone-deep frustration. He only had to sign to get out of the 'fleet, full honors, full pension. He'd be a free man.
His hands don't move.
At last, he turns away, defeated. "What do you want, Mori?" he asks again, curling his fingers against the onset of trembling.
She puts the PADD away and manages not to sound triumphant as she says, "I want you to come back to the Admiralty."
"What for?"
"For the Borg task force."
"You're kidding. And I know it's been dismantled."
"Parts of it are still active. We badly need someone for the science team."
"There are better people than me."
"We tried, but the scientists hated them all. They keep asking for you."
"I'm a security risk. I'm out of order." He waves at his head.
"We'll see to that."
"I sleep twelve hours a day just to stay functional. I'm useless in an office job."
"We don't care where and how much you work, as long as you keep the specialists happy. Analysis showed that you only spent about fifteen hours a week with them and their information. You would be able to work these hours, wouldn't you?"
He laughs darkly. "Sometimes I think I'm crazy, but listening to you, I know where the real crazies are." But along with his impulsive reaction, there's suddenly a strange blossom of hope.
"Just give it a thought. I don't want to pressure you. Can't deny that quite a few officers would be relieved to see you gone from their ranks for good, but I'm not among them. We've got an important task at hand and you're the man who can do it."
She almost touches his arm. "We need you, Chris, and you need us."
"I hate Nogura. I hate Esteban. Can you make sure that I'll never see them again in my life?" he asks. "Because I might try to kill them."
"Maybe I could. Please. All I want is that you give it some serious thought. Talk with your family, get their opinion. I'm sure they'll see the positive aspects of this."
"I doubt that."
Mori nudges his arm, and this time he's too worn-out to pull away. "Chris — I could use some more allies in the HQ."
"I'm touched," is his stiff response. "You must be in a pretty weak position if you need a nutcase like me for support."
"That's how you see yourself?" she asks with a probing gaze.
"Not on good days," Chris says. "Mori…"
"Take your time. I'll ask you again in a few days." She lightly hugs him, clay arms around his numb body, a waxen cheek touching his. "No matter your decision, I'm so glad you're on the way to recovery. Have a good time and give my best to your folks." When she leaves him, he looks after her in frozen indecision until the cool night drives him home.
***
The doc finds him on the couch, curled in a blanket and uselessly trying to get his shaking hands under control.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
"Just all a bit too much, I guess," Chris mutters, unwilling to relate Mori's surprise visit which would only trouble his tribe. He sighs in relief as a hypo is pressed against his neck, relaxation setting in seconds later.
"So all good when we leave you alone?" Leonard says more than a little annoyed. "Can't go away for an hour without you getting worked up. Dammit, Chris. You don't know your own limits right now." There's exasperated silence for a moment, before his lover continues, "Did you phone any of the therapists I recommended to you?"
"Not yet," Chris admits.
"If you think you'll get over your current issues just from sitting them out, then -"
"I don't, doc. I'm just not sure they can help me either."
Leonard rolls his eyes. "You don't know if you won't even try." He snatches his PADD, opening the list before pushing the device at Chris. "Choose three for an appointment. Talk to them. Make your choice, or try out the next ones."
"Choose for me," Chris says blankly. "I just… fuck."
"If I make an appointment, will you go?"
"Yes."
"Okay. I'll pick my personal favorite, and we'll get you there. If you want me to, I'll come with you. I can wait outside, or even come in."
Chris nods tiredly. "That might be good." The way he's right now he's fucking useless for his tribe, and he needs to do something about it very, very quickly. They all deserve better, especially Dael.
Leonard seems to have read his mind. "You've got an awesome young woman wanting to be your wife." Chris draws a face. "And stop hating that word, that's what people call it. You've got an awesome woman ready to stick to you in good and bad times, and god knows she's had her share of bad times with you already. So if you're half the man I think you are, you’ll get up and do anything to get better, if not for yourself, then for her."
"I’ll try, doc. But it's pretty steep." Chris looks away. "Sometimes I'm not sure I'll make it." Actually, the fear of failure is a regular companion since the moment he'd decided to go home.
"You either make it… or if not, fuck hell, then go and kill yourself for good because what you did was the worst thing you could do to us… dammit." Leonard turns away, wiping one hand over his face as if it could stop the sobs that come out of it.
Chris shudders from the blow of these words, the incredible, undisguised pain in the doc's voice. He's never seen his lover suffer like that. "I'll manage, Leonard. I promise." He reaches out, relieved when his lover catches his hand. "I'll do it. For us all."
***
Jim and Dael return only half an hour later, and Chris feels sorry for them, both for their obviously unsuccessful outing as well as for noticing his fragile state, still curled on the couch with a cup of Dael's favorite tea in his hand. The idea of sex had gone out of the door by his kind-of breakdown and Leonard's persistently unhappy gaze. On the beach, Leonard had never pushed like that. Here in the city, it starts to feel like subtle but relentless pressure, and Chris doesn't quite know whether he'll bend or break under it.
The doc and Jim vanish for presumably a shower, possibly sex, while Dael joins him, slipping onto the couch next to him in her full party outfit, all dark leather and bright blue makeup, her hair wildly styled. Lowering the PADD with the information about the psychiatrist of Leonard's choosing, he pulls her into a kiss.
She smells of something similar to incense and a bit of leather, and he sniffs along her chin. There's also a trace of Jim's preferred shower gel, and he licks along the trace, gently biting her earlobe. It feels good beneath his teeth, sweet flesh, soft and a tingle of her sweat behind it. One of her hands runs over his chest and up to his neck, deepening their kiss. They keep going for a while before he pulls away with a sigh, his back slightly aching from the position. Still an arm around her shoulder, they settle more comfortably next to each other, her legs pressing against his through the blanket.
Dael's gaze drifts to the PADD, and he gives it over to her.
"So you chose a therapist?" she asks.
"The doc picked one for me, because I asked him to." He sighs. "I need one, doesn't really matter who. There isn't a quick fix, the doc likes to say."
She puts the PADD aside. "I'm not sure he's right."
Chris strokes her shoulder in silence.
"You could see a Vulcan healer."
"Could I?" He looks at her in surprise. "I often got the impression that you didn't like your stay on New Vulcan. That they couldn't help you the way you needed it."
"It's complicated. Some of them did a lot of good for me, but I knew that many Vulcans didn't want us to stay there. There was so much anger and hate directed at Raol and me, I started to hate them back. It was illogical and… ungrateful." Deal leans her head against his shoulder. "The healers had a hard time with me and almost gave up; only one persisted. Without her intervention, I would probably have turned insane." She falls silent.
"What's the price you had to pay?" he asks. Because everything comes at a price.
Dael smiles sadly. "From my point of view — none, because it was either that or not having anything resembling a normal life for years, maybe never. But I understand what you mean." She takes one of the drawing pads that started to populate the apartment, flipping it open to get a new sheet of paper, then takes a black pen.
"Imagine this would be the emotional range of a human —" She draws a horizontal line, then a sinusoidal curve that crosses that line. "The line is your baseline, the curve are the variations you can feel. Happiness, sadness… depression." She points at one especially low inflection point.
"What she did, is this." She draws two more horizontal lines, one above, one below the baseline.
"She cut off the maxima," Chris says.
"Exactly." Dael takes a slow breath. "I've heard it's not much different from what they do with medication but that never worked well for me." Lost in thought, her finger drifts along one cut-off maximum.
"It doesn't mean I don't feel anything, I just… can't feel it completely. I can remember what it’s like to feel so much joy that one's heart wants to burst, but I cannot experience that anymore. However, I also can't feel anymore how it is to lose all hope." She casts Chris a glance. "They didn't think I'd make it. They thought Raol… but they didn't consider that the baseline is set within the individual. They can't shift that one. Only you can do that for yourself."
"And how does your baseline look like?" Chris asks.
"Before we met, it was here." The pen's tip comes to rest at the baseline she's drawn. "After that…" It moves strongly upwards, quite to the maxima, and she looks at him with a small smile. "You changed so much for me. You don't even know how much."
Chris softly caresses her neckline. "Same here." Then he asks, eyes back to the drawing, "Wouldn't it be possible just to dampen the negative feelings?"
"Maybe someone could do that, but they can't. They're Vulcans. They don't think that there are good and bad emotions — all emotions experienced in excess are dangerous." She draws small circles with the pen. "Considering that all mood medication has similar effects, they probably have a point." She looks up at him. "Please don't tell Jim. He sometimes tries so hard to make me overwhelmingly happy, and I don't have the heart to tell him that it won't work like he thinks. That I'll never feel as intensely as he wants me to."
He pulls her close, holding her in a quiet promise. His eyes still on her drawing, he starts wondering about what else Vulcan healers could do. "What about your memories?"
She stiffens. "What about them?"
"Do you remember everything that happened? Was there anything you wanted to forget? Could they take that away from you, at your request?"
She shakes her head, but there's something odd all of a sudden, an insecurity in her eyes as if she's not sure herself.
"There was a ritual… k'sh'nin, Lady T'Pelei called it… it took the edge off, made things easier."
"The edge off…" He combs through her hair in thoughts, ruining her perfect wave to create the chaos he likes so much. "Guess I'll try the traditional method first," he says at last. "It's taken me so long to allow my feelings, I'd rather not cut them off right away."
Dael nods, head slightly bowed. "I understand. I just didn't have a choice."
He frowns at how much she makes it sound like an apology, wonders if she feels disabled at times — it might be, considering that she doesn't want Jim to know.
"Thank you for telling me about it. It's good to know there are alternatives for me, even if I might never need them. And I love to learn more about your past. To me, you are perfect, just the way you are."
He kisses her forehead, and is relieved to feel her relaxing in his embrace.
***
The therapist the doc delivers him to is younger than Chris, and of an almost Greek beauty. His name is Ralph… Ralph something. He can't remember the fairly complicated East-European family name.
He'd thought the gap between reality and whatever is going on in his head is deep, but in fact, it's wide, wide as the polished wood that stretches between them, shimmering mahogany. Chris manages to say not a single word through the first ten minutes, only clamps his hands around the arms of the chair, trying to breathe. He hadn't thought it would be so damn hard.
"Walk with me," the man says and they step out into a small garden together. At least, fresh air.
"Why did you come?" Ralph asks, repeating the question from the very beginning, and Chris curls his hands, searching for words. He must try, for them. For Dael and Jim and Leonard, for the time that's ticking away for the four of them. It's five weeks until the Enterprise leaves, possibly five years until his implant might fail — too little time for them.
"I need to be able to live a normal life again. Or at least, be able to live with the others without alienating them."
Chris knows he does that. He tends to be just a little bit out of tune with the others, unable to adjust to more than one person at any given moment, his thoughts and focus always ready to shift and move on like an elusive ghost. The four of them had sex a few times together, and he likes these focal, beautiful moments but then his mind disintegrates and things go blurry, and sometimes he leaves and spends an hour on the terrace, staring holes into the dark floor because moving would mean thinking would mean facing things.
Or maybe he thinks that because Leonard thinks that.
"Why don't you start by telling me a little about your tribe, as you call them?"
For the first few minutes, Chris stumbles over every word, disjoint adjectives hunting fleeting verbs; but then it all spills out like a story he'd always wanted to tell. It's only when he walks out of the building afterwards that he realizes the magnitude of things he'd just shared, a bout of nausea tightening his throat. He barely speaks with Leonard who's been waiting for him, barely remembers the ride in the cab home until he can curl around Dael, hiding from Leonard's questions in her shadow.
It's a bit unfair, to all of them.
***
"Did you kill Alain?"
Until a second ago, there'd been the normal layers of sound of six people around a dining table, forks clinking on dishes, chewing mouths, easy conversation.
"Did you, John?" Chris asks again.
The noise dies, all gazes moving to him. John, Jim, the doc, Dael, Eric. Wide eyes, pained eyes, slightly angry eyes.
Chris realizes his mistake. This is supposed to be a friendly dinner invitation, nothing else. John's been good. Has been on his side. He's got no right to ask.
"You've got every right," John says, seriously. "Let's talk about it after dinner, shall we?"
"Sure," he says. The noises return, more subdued.
When they walk away, he can feel the eyes of his tribe on his back. John pulls him into the bedroom.
"Chris…" John sighs. "Come here." His friend draws him into a strong embrace, then kisses him.
He kisses back. It's a comfortable touch.
"I didn't kill him, I promise. Can't blame you for thinking it, though. I might have, if I had found him." John gives him a crooked smile.
Chris nods.
"How are you doing?" John asks. "The real answer, not the dinner table bullshit."
"I'm doing okay."
"Chris."
He looks away. "Could be worse, I guess. Started seeing a therapist but I doubt it will help."
John massages his shoulder, easing his tense muscles. "You really want to marry Dael?"
"Only thing I want more is to have the four of us here on Earth," Chris says, though it's not completely true at the moment. He doesn't know how to deal with Leonard who wants more than he can give right now, but at the same moment insists that Jim not be tied to Earth now that his career is moving forward. He'll be sad to see them leave but Dael will be here with him and she's become home. Five years isn't long enough to see the end of Jim's career anyway.
There's reality and there are dreams and sometimes he knows which is which.
John's hand wanders up his neck. "She's a good girl."
"I need to get sane again."
John turns away, pouring a drink for them. "Last time I saw you," he says as he turns back, glasses in hand, "you did your best to ignore me and everyone around you. I'd say you've come a long way already."
Chris takes the offered drink. "Every achievement is fragile," he says. He had been better on the beach, had been able to talk sensibly with Iro in the end. And with Leonard.
Leonard…
"Hey, stay with me," John says, unsuccessfully trying to hide his concern behind a sarcastic smile. "My whiskey's too good not to savor it."
His cloverleaf is glad to leave shortly after.
***
Both Jim and the doc spend a lot of their time on the Enterprise refit, though they never talk about the details. At first, Chris thinks this has something to do with security advice they'd received, but then he finds Jim and Dael sitting in the kitchen talking about the ship. They immediately shut up on his arrival.
It's not paranoia when they're really out to get you, he remembers an old, ironic proverb.
He knows they're close. It looks gorgeous, the two of them together, quite different to what he has with each of them.
But he doesn't like this abrupt silence.
Next time he waits outside, and stops breathing when Jim talks about Esteban.
***
The next morning, the therapy session is on the beach and they sit there and Chris wants to speak about Esteban, but he just can't, the name stuck in his throat like a piece of iron bar. He'd told Mori he hated the man, but it's a strangely emotionless hate layered with a more solid angst and helplessness. Esteban has turned larger than life in his head, he knows that but can't help it — a demon out to get him.
That the night, in his first nightmare in a while, Chris is tied down by cloaked ghouls, his mouth forced open wide before a man with a white mask pushes a slick, large dick down his throat, again and again. He arches, choking and fighting in panicked agony. When he comes to, hands hold him down while he's still choking, everything hurting, tears running down his face.
"Chris, it's just a dream, breathe, Chris, it's not real."
"Set him free. Do it."
The hands leave him abruptly, and he rolls from the bed to the ground, coughing his lungs out.
"I can't do it," he whimpers when they put him back in bed later, two loads of tranquilizer in his bloodstream. "I can't." It's one thing to know you're broken, it's another to walk over your own broken pieces with naked feet.
Dael caresses his face. "We'll help you through," she says softly, and he can imagine her taking care of her brother like this, holding the boy through the nightmares that had to haunt him. "We're here for you."
Behind her, his men look concerned.
Raol killed himself. Her care wasn't enough.
It's no good.
***
There are only two states of the doc right now; either he's solely absorbed into Jim's orbit, or he's in a strange kind of competition for Chris with Dael. Chris is so tired of it.
"I don't want the two of you to fight over me," he says as he corners the doc later that day, stopping him from following Jim and Dael into the kitchen.
"I don't. I know when I've got to step back," Leonard says stiffly. "And I guess it's better, considering that you don't seem to be working very hard on getting better."
There's accusation and frustration, out in the open. The gap is wide and it's a four letter name.
Chris lowers his head. "I try. But I'm still not sure I'll make it." His chest hurts. The room darkens.
Leonard's hand is warm on his cheek. "Dammit, Chris, you've come this far, don't give up now just because it takes a little time."
"We don't have that time. There've got to be other solutions."
Leonard sighs. "The human brain isn't a piece of machinery."
"Mine is." He slips his hands under the hem of Leonard's shirt. The need to touch his elusive lover is overwhelming, leaving everyone else out. "Because of you."
"If it were so easy to fix you, I'd put every damn implant in your head that I could," Leonard mutters but doesn't push him away. "It's all in your hands now, Chris."
"Need you, doc. Please." He tugs him towards his bedroom, and his lover follows with a last gaze at the kitchen door.
Seems Leonard wants him too, judging from the haste the doc gets him naked and then grabs the lube, only superficially preparing them. In a moment like this with only the two of them, Chris can't help the feeling he'd had when he'd made the recording, that terrible piece that should've never left the planet.
"You still can have all of me," he whispers as the doc pushes in hard, clamping his legs around strong hips.
"No, I can't," the doc states but his eyes are all about claiming.
***
Chris sees the therapist once more, but it still doesn't feel as if anything is changing for the better. Instead, it's like he's surfing the wrong wave, the one that pulls him out into the ocean, and his feet are glued to the board and he just can't leap. The nightmares return every night, and he stalls sleep now, staying up restlessly for as long as he can manage.
But he says nothing of that when Nat visits him.
"It's so good to see you." She sits next to him on the terrace, coffee and cake on the table. "Sorry I couldn't come faster, our trip developed a few unplanned detours." She looks a little worn down herself but he doesn't ask, feeling utterly unable to offer any supportive words. Instead he says, "No problem. I've got three babysitters already, that's more than I can manage." A poor joke.
She takes his hand gently. "We’re having a family gathering at Tom's farm next weekend. Everyone would be happy to see you all."
He thinks about it for a moment — remembering the gatherings of the past, the long ride, the many people, imagines them asking him about his whereabouts, imagines the faces of his lovers when they politely lie about how they really feel about all this.
He curls away from her touch. "I can't. Sorry, Nat, I really can't."
There's pained understanding in her eyes. "It's okay, Chris. It's okay. Maybe next time."
"Maybe, yes."
After a short silence, they resume talking, chat about this and that but it's as if their worlds are out of tune, and he knows it's all his fault.
Strangely, it's Jim who accepts the invitation on his and Dael's behalf, when Nat asks them on the way out.
"Didn't know he liked those family meet-ups that much," Chris wonders as they see them off on Saturday.
Leonard just shrugs, but there's a thoughtful expression in his eyes too.
"At least this way, we've got the day all to ourselves," Chris says.
"Can't imagine what we could do with it." The thoughtful expression quickly changes into a twinkle, as one of the doc's hands drifts onto Chris' hip bone.
***
Chris stretches out on the bed. They've been having sex for an hour, maybe, and the first physical urges have been pacified, the feeling of relaxation already receding under the tingle of new pressure building. It's been good, but there's something missing.
"Stop being so nice," he says.
"Uh?" Leonard frowns.
"Stop treating me like a child. Stop treating me like something fragile that needs protection all of the time."
They stare at each other.
"And don't tell me I really need protection all of the time."
The doc snorts. "On a scale of 0 to 10, what do you think about your own state?"
"Right now, it's…6." It's just the two of them, in bed, the world is small and definite and secure. His last medication has been a few hours ago, he feels awake and lively.
"And that means…?"
"Be less gentle. Just for once." Once upon a time, they'd fight and push and tie each other up. There'd been pain, the good kind.
"I can't, Chris. Sorry about that." Leonard mutters and leaves the bed, going for a shower.
Chris turns in bed, his body suddenly hurting and cold. There are books on his nightstand. There’s a poem he knows, and he starts reading the lines, rolling the alien sounds in his mind.
They spend the rest of the day in silence.
***
Dael's room, despite still making him feeling a bit like an alien in it, becomes his new hiding place. He likes watching her painting, and while he's absolutely no art connoisseur, he can't shake the feeling that her paintings have gained new depths lately.
Not all of them are cornflowers or beaches, though; there's also a decidedly darker current in the newest ones, but she evades his few questions. She makes up for her walling-off by being especially caring, shielding him from wielded hypos and threats to get for once and for all dragged to SFM for the check-up he needs, and still fears to his core.
The doc never enters this room, sends Jim as his messenger instead — or maybe Jim comes on his own behalf sometimes, trying to make Dael join him for a night out.
Chris doesn't mind when she declines and stays home with him instead.
***
The therapist wants him to speak about his fears.
Or write.
There's a fifty percent chance that he'll recover fully. He'd extrapolated the number from data in the Nets and asked for the therapist's professional opinion.
Of course the man had lied, but he knows better.
5 -5 -5 -5 -5
Five years. Fifty percent.
He cuts each of the Klingon peb'ot that Dael had bought in two times five pieces.
Dael estimates five times five minutes of cooking.
"You could paint them, you know," she says out of the blue. "The things you fear."
He puts the knife aside. "How do you paint insanity?"
She looks so small, all of a sudden, past terror around her like an aura. "For me, it was not-painting. Scratching all colors off the walls…" She curls her fingers.
He wants to hold her but she shakes her head. "I need a timeout for a moment," she says and rushes out.
He can hear her crying and knows it's not real, it's only in his head, she never cries, she's been fixed by Vulcan healers, her broken pieces all neat and shiny.
He resumes cutting the vegetables, the knife heavy in his hand, the fruit bleeding under its onslaught.
***
It's become second nature to him to wait briefly behind doors, listening first to what is said in the room. It's just precaution, he tells himself. Just the need to know, to find out what they wouldn't say to his face. Like this discussion between the doc and Dael.
"You expected a miracle."
He's careful to keep out of their sight, outside the living room.
"It will take time. Maybe he'd be better off in a full-time institution once we're gone, at least for a while."
"No."
"It's great how you stand with him, but I'm not sure it's the best solution for you. He never wanted to stand in the way of your life and career and if you marry him, that will happen, Dael."
Just five years. It's not too much to ask for, right?
There's silence, silence.
"You want to give up your own life for him, just be his caretaker?"
The doc is jealous. That's all there is. The doc won't be satisfied until Dael and he are separated.
"That's not your problem, Leonard." Dael is angry. "You'll take Jim and leave him, that's what you always do. Stop pretending that this is really about me, you don't care shit about me. I don't need your advice."
"I care more about you than you like, and I don't want to see you fall apart over him when we're away. Jim doesn't want to see that either, and he shares my opinion that staying with Chris won't be good for you."
"You won't be here anyway. So just. Shut. Up." There's movement, and he ducks into his bedroom, hiding from her as she rushes out.
"See, you knew it would never work," Alain says from his seated position on the bed.
"You're not here," Chris says firmly. "You're not real." He blindly throws a shirt onto the bed, then opens his eyes to an empty room. A neat trick. The only good one the therapist has delivered so far.
So Jim also wants Dael to leave him.
Jim spoke about Esteban.
Maybe he'd never known the full truth, who had really taken part in the conspiracy against him.
***
They stop talking when he enters the kitchen the next morning.
Jim smiles. Chris doesn't like that smile. It's an unnatural smile.
Dael smiles too.
He nods and leaves, and they start talking again.
Enterprise. Esteban. Nogura.
She's in.
He feels sick, too sick to keep listening.
"Can I do something for you?" Dael asks when poking her head into the bedroom shortly afterwards.
Stop lying to me.
"No," he says tersely and turns away from her.
He tries reading every unlocked PADD he can find, checking all the computers.
There's nothing on them, of course. All information is top secret. He's not allowed to read it anymore.
They hide things from him.
The therapist asks about his relationships. He pretends all is fine.
He doesn't tell the man that Jim's going behind his back, probably all three of them are.
He only eats things he prepares himself. After all, Alain had drugged his food so it's to be expected they'll do so too.
"He's getting worse. I'm really concerned."
"Bones, you're painting it too black. Just because he gets a little obsessive about food doesn't mean a thing. Just yesterday he asked me about the Enterprise, which he hadn't done since his breakdown. Isn't that a good sign?"
He keeps listening behind doors until they notice and he needs to stop it.
"See, I told you it'll never work," Alain says, unmoved by a thrown shirt.
He needs more medication but he doesn't trust the doc anymore.
The doc wants him in an institution.
Just three weeks until they leave. He can pretend that long.
He never speaks about the partnership ceremony anymore.
***
They arrange a beam-out to the farm.
"Ashaire is getting really bored, you need to look after him," Jim teases him.
But Chris doesn't want to leave the apartment. God knows where they'd beam him to. If he vanished, nobody would look for him. He'd just be gone. It's not as if anyone cares. John never phones anymore. Nat never phones anymore.
"We had another dinner invitation," Dael reminds him.
"You know John lied about me," Alain says into his ear. "Maybe he didn't pull the trigger but he knows what really happened to me."
Chris' life takes places between bedroom, bath and terrace. He barely sleeps, torn between nightmares and the fear of what they will do if he closes his eyes.
On a scale between 0 and 10…
…
On a scale…
***
He knows he's lost it not because he remembers any of it, but because Jim has a black eye and looks terrified, Leonard manages to look angry, helpless and sad at the same time, and Dael is nowhere to be seen.
Things blur after the hypo but when he wakes up, it's to an empty bed. Leonard sits in the corner, far away, guarding his sleep… guarding him.
"Shit, Chris," the doc says. "Shit."
***
Part 3/3 on DW or Part 3/3 on LJ
The silence is unusual and deep, almost suffocating, and it surprises Chris to find that he's really gotten so used to having company, someone within reach at all times.
Shaking his head, he gets up into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Seems he really needs to book a nurse service, should he ever end up alone again. He doesn't like to go there in his head, doesn't want to think about Dael leaving for a mission or her career (which seems to be on hold, and he needs to ask her about it), but vows or not she'd still able to do whatever she wants with her future, and should never feel obligated to pamper him all the time.
The machine's slight noise dies with a gurgle, the smell of his preferred coffee brightening his mood. But the second the machine quiets, the eerie feeling intensifies again; and worse, there's suddenly an additional thought, the feeling that he's not alone here, that someone is watching him, tracking his activities. His breathing quickens as he turns his head to look into the illuminated corridor, then trains his eyes onto the ceiling to run his gaze over the corners. Of course there are no cameras. Of course there's nobody here.
"Fuck it," he mutters and grabs the coffee to walk straight into the corridor. "See," he says to himself, "there's nobody here. They're all out, and the doc will be back in an hour and I'll sit down on the couch now and wait for him."
The doorbell rings, cutting through his attempt at rationalizing. He jerks so hard, hot coffee spills over his hand but he doesn't feel a thing.
The bell shouldn't ring. Nobody should visit. Nobody has a reason to come for him tonight. It must be his imagination.
But then the doorbell rings again, violently noisy to his ears, and there is someone out there and he just can't move.
The third, sharp attack finally snaps him out of the panicked freeze. It's just a doorbell. It's just a visitor. He could look to see who it is.
With shaky steps, he pushes the button for the outside camera.
There's Mori Illyon, dressed in civilian attire.
Mori… She'd been a friend once.
He opens the door.
"Hello, Chris," she says, a strange smile on her face. "It's so good to see you. Can I come in?"
"No." The word slips out before he can even think about it. "No, you can't."
"I just wanted to talk to you," she says, putting one hand on the door frame.
"Outside. In ten minutes," Chris manages to say. He's relieved when she nods and turns, because he's not sure he would've been able to stop her from entering. When the door closes, he notices that he'd spilled half the coffee, his hands still shaking hard.
Fuck.
She'd been an old Academy friend of his, true, and their last contact had been about Asimov, he remembers vaguely. But today she's Head of Ship Operations, appointed by a man who, in the rare moments he dares to think about him at all, has become The Goddamn Fucking Old Bastard. The man he doesn't want to meet ever again because he wouldn't trust his reaction.
With effort Chris puts the cup away, wiping the spots on the floor with his t-shirt because it's the only thing he's got handy right now. Then he goes to dress, jeans, shirt and sneakers, and stands in front of the closed apartment door for at least ten more minutes.
He doesn't have to go down. He could ask the doorkeeper to not let her in a second time. He could…
She'd be back, he realizes. This hasn't happened by chance, it's been perfect timing. Just when he's alone… So maybe someone is tracking him after all, knows where he is, whether he's alone or not. He shivers.
Taking his communicator, he thinks about calling the doc, but that would only prove he can't manage on his own for even an hour. He puts it back in his pocket.
Fuck Mori. Fuck Starfleet.
Using his suddenly flaring anger like a shield, he walks out and down the staircase.
"Chris," she greets him when he joins here in front of the apartment house. "Already wondered if you'd forgotten about me."
He couldn't remember her voice ever having sounded so false and insincere. "Let's take a walk," he mutters, steering away from the direction of the park with the duck pond which to him belongs to his tribe.
"What do you want?" he asks harshly.
She tries putting a hand on his arm, but he pulls away. Raising her hand in a quiet apology, she takes a step away from him. "Chris, hey, it's me, your friend Mori. I just wanted to know how you are."
"We aren't friends any longer," he states reflexively, although it sounds a little overly dramatic even to his own ears. "Not since…" He shakes his head.
Mori sighs. "What should I have done? Said no to the old man's offer?"
"If you had been smart, yes."
She shrugs, a silent just because you went overboard doesn't mean we'd all do that.
"Leave me alone. I've got no business anymore with Starfleet."
"Then why don't you resign?" she asks bluntly. "You could do that any time. Hell, many people are waiting for you to do it."
"I'm still on medical leave. I don't have to decide anything."
She laughs, shoving her hands in the pockets of her jeans. "I know you. Starfleet is your life. You never even knew what to do with a decent shoreleave. You don't hate the 'fleet, you hate the people who did that to you, and that Nogura didn't do anything against it. But that doesn't mean you hate Starfleet, because that would mean hating Kirk and McCoy for still being in it. I know people who do that, they write flaming mails and distribute propaganda vids. You don't hate the 'fleet any more than I do."
She looks up, meeting his wary gaze. "And that's why you don't resign, Chris, and never will."
"You're wrong," he says tonelessly.
"Oh, I am? Let's see." She whips out a small PADD. "Here, I saved you the pain of filling in your details. You only have to sign."
He mutely stares at the resignation form that appears on the screen; he knows it, having it filled out once in a while over the last decades in a moment of flaring anger or bone-deep frustration. He only had to sign to get out of the 'fleet, full honors, full pension. He'd be a free man.
His hands don't move.
At last, he turns away, defeated. "What do you want, Mori?" he asks again, curling his fingers against the onset of trembling.
She puts the PADD away and manages not to sound triumphant as she says, "I want you to come back to the Admiralty."
"What for?"
"For the Borg task force."
"You're kidding. And I know it's been dismantled."
"Parts of it are still active. We badly need someone for the science team."
"There are better people than me."
"We tried, but the scientists hated them all. They keep asking for you."
"I'm a security risk. I'm out of order." He waves at his head.
"We'll see to that."
"I sleep twelve hours a day just to stay functional. I'm useless in an office job."
"We don't care where and how much you work, as long as you keep the specialists happy. Analysis showed that you only spent about fifteen hours a week with them and their information. You would be able to work these hours, wouldn't you?"
He laughs darkly. "Sometimes I think I'm crazy, but listening to you, I know where the real crazies are." But along with his impulsive reaction, there's suddenly a strange blossom of hope.
"Just give it a thought. I don't want to pressure you. Can't deny that quite a few officers would be relieved to see you gone from their ranks for good, but I'm not among them. We've got an important task at hand and you're the man who can do it."
She almost touches his arm. "We need you, Chris, and you need us."
"I hate Nogura. I hate Esteban. Can you make sure that I'll never see them again in my life?" he asks. "Because I might try to kill them."
"Maybe I could. Please. All I want is that you give it some serious thought. Talk with your family, get their opinion. I'm sure they'll see the positive aspects of this."
"I doubt that."
Mori nudges his arm, and this time he's too worn-out to pull away. "Chris — I could use some more allies in the HQ."
"I'm touched," is his stiff response. "You must be in a pretty weak position if you need a nutcase like me for support."
"That's how you see yourself?" she asks with a probing gaze.
"Not on good days," Chris says. "Mori…"
"Take your time. I'll ask you again in a few days." She lightly hugs him, clay arms around his numb body, a waxen cheek touching his. "No matter your decision, I'm so glad you're on the way to recovery. Have a good time and give my best to your folks." When she leaves him, he looks after her in frozen indecision until the cool night drives him home.
***
The doc finds him on the couch, curled in a blanket and uselessly trying to get his shaking hands under control.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
"Just all a bit too much, I guess," Chris mutters, unwilling to relate Mori's surprise visit which would only trouble his tribe. He sighs in relief as a hypo is pressed against his neck, relaxation setting in seconds later.
"So all good when we leave you alone?" Leonard says more than a little annoyed. "Can't go away for an hour without you getting worked up. Dammit, Chris. You don't know your own limits right now." There's exasperated silence for a moment, before his lover continues, "Did you phone any of the therapists I recommended to you?"
"Not yet," Chris admits.
"If you think you'll get over your current issues just from sitting them out, then -"
"I don't, doc. I'm just not sure they can help me either."
Leonard rolls his eyes. "You don't know if you won't even try." He snatches his PADD, opening the list before pushing the device at Chris. "Choose three for an appointment. Talk to them. Make your choice, or try out the next ones."
"Choose for me," Chris says blankly. "I just… fuck."
"If I make an appointment, will you go?"
"Yes."
"Okay. I'll pick my personal favorite, and we'll get you there. If you want me to, I'll come with you. I can wait outside, or even come in."
Chris nods tiredly. "That might be good." The way he's right now he's fucking useless for his tribe, and he needs to do something about it very, very quickly. They all deserve better, especially Dael.
Leonard seems to have read his mind. "You've got an awesome young woman wanting to be your wife." Chris draws a face. "And stop hating that word, that's what people call it. You've got an awesome woman ready to stick to you in good and bad times, and god knows she's had her share of bad times with you already. So if you're half the man I think you are, you’ll get up and do anything to get better, if not for yourself, then for her."
"I’ll try, doc. But it's pretty steep." Chris looks away. "Sometimes I'm not sure I'll make it." Actually, the fear of failure is a regular companion since the moment he'd decided to go home.
"You either make it… or if not, fuck hell, then go and kill yourself for good because what you did was the worst thing you could do to us… dammit." Leonard turns away, wiping one hand over his face as if it could stop the sobs that come out of it.
Chris shudders from the blow of these words, the incredible, undisguised pain in the doc's voice. He's never seen his lover suffer like that. "I'll manage, Leonard. I promise." He reaches out, relieved when his lover catches his hand. "I'll do it. For us all."
***
Jim and Dael return only half an hour later, and Chris feels sorry for them, both for their obviously unsuccessful outing as well as for noticing his fragile state, still curled on the couch with a cup of Dael's favorite tea in his hand. The idea of sex had gone out of the door by his kind-of breakdown and Leonard's persistently unhappy gaze. On the beach, Leonard had never pushed like that. Here in the city, it starts to feel like subtle but relentless pressure, and Chris doesn't quite know whether he'll bend or break under it.
The doc and Jim vanish for presumably a shower, possibly sex, while Dael joins him, slipping onto the couch next to him in her full party outfit, all dark leather and bright blue makeup, her hair wildly styled. Lowering the PADD with the information about the psychiatrist of Leonard's choosing, he pulls her into a kiss.
She smells of something similar to incense and a bit of leather, and he sniffs along her chin. There's also a trace of Jim's preferred shower gel, and he licks along the trace, gently biting her earlobe. It feels good beneath his teeth, sweet flesh, soft and a tingle of her sweat behind it. One of her hands runs over his chest and up to his neck, deepening their kiss. They keep going for a while before he pulls away with a sigh, his back slightly aching from the position. Still an arm around her shoulder, they settle more comfortably next to each other, her legs pressing against his through the blanket.
Dael's gaze drifts to the PADD, and he gives it over to her.
"So you chose a therapist?" she asks.
"The doc picked one for me, because I asked him to." He sighs. "I need one, doesn't really matter who. There isn't a quick fix, the doc likes to say."
She puts the PADD aside. "I'm not sure he's right."
Chris strokes her shoulder in silence.
"You could see a Vulcan healer."
"Could I?" He looks at her in surprise. "I often got the impression that you didn't like your stay on New Vulcan. That they couldn't help you the way you needed it."
"It's complicated. Some of them did a lot of good for me, but I knew that many Vulcans didn't want us to stay there. There was so much anger and hate directed at Raol and me, I started to hate them back. It was illogical and… ungrateful." Deal leans her head against his shoulder. "The healers had a hard time with me and almost gave up; only one persisted. Without her intervention, I would probably have turned insane." She falls silent.
"What's the price you had to pay?" he asks. Because everything comes at a price.
Dael smiles sadly. "From my point of view — none, because it was either that or not having anything resembling a normal life for years, maybe never. But I understand what you mean." She takes one of the drawing pads that started to populate the apartment, flipping it open to get a new sheet of paper, then takes a black pen.
"Imagine this would be the emotional range of a human —" She draws a horizontal line, then a sinusoidal curve that crosses that line. "The line is your baseline, the curve are the variations you can feel. Happiness, sadness… depression." She points at one especially low inflection point.
"What she did, is this." She draws two more horizontal lines, one above, one below the baseline.
"She cut off the maxima," Chris says.
"Exactly." Dael takes a slow breath. "I've heard it's not much different from what they do with medication but that never worked well for me." Lost in thought, her finger drifts along one cut-off maximum.
"It doesn't mean I don't feel anything, I just… can't feel it completely. I can remember what it’s like to feel so much joy that one's heart wants to burst, but I cannot experience that anymore. However, I also can't feel anymore how it is to lose all hope." She casts Chris a glance. "They didn't think I'd make it. They thought Raol… but they didn't consider that the baseline is set within the individual. They can't shift that one. Only you can do that for yourself."
"And how does your baseline look like?" Chris asks.
"Before we met, it was here." The pen's tip comes to rest at the baseline she's drawn. "After that…" It moves strongly upwards, quite to the maxima, and she looks at him with a small smile. "You changed so much for me. You don't even know how much."
Chris softly caresses her neckline. "Same here." Then he asks, eyes back to the drawing, "Wouldn't it be possible just to dampen the negative feelings?"
"Maybe someone could do that, but they can't. They're Vulcans. They don't think that there are good and bad emotions — all emotions experienced in excess are dangerous." She draws small circles with the pen. "Considering that all mood medication has similar effects, they probably have a point." She looks up at him. "Please don't tell Jim. He sometimes tries so hard to make me overwhelmingly happy, and I don't have the heart to tell him that it won't work like he thinks. That I'll never feel as intensely as he wants me to."
He pulls her close, holding her in a quiet promise. His eyes still on her drawing, he starts wondering about what else Vulcan healers could do. "What about your memories?"
She stiffens. "What about them?"
"Do you remember everything that happened? Was there anything you wanted to forget? Could they take that away from you, at your request?"
She shakes her head, but there's something odd all of a sudden, an insecurity in her eyes as if she's not sure herself.
"There was a ritual… k'sh'nin, Lady T'Pelei called it… it took the edge off, made things easier."
"The edge off…" He combs through her hair in thoughts, ruining her perfect wave to create the chaos he likes so much. "Guess I'll try the traditional method first," he says at last. "It's taken me so long to allow my feelings, I'd rather not cut them off right away."
Dael nods, head slightly bowed. "I understand. I just didn't have a choice."
He frowns at how much she makes it sound like an apology, wonders if she feels disabled at times — it might be, considering that she doesn't want Jim to know.
"Thank you for telling me about it. It's good to know there are alternatives for me, even if I might never need them. And I love to learn more about your past. To me, you are perfect, just the way you are."
He kisses her forehead, and is relieved to feel her relaxing in his embrace.
***
The therapist the doc delivers him to is younger than Chris, and of an almost Greek beauty. His name is Ralph… Ralph something. He can't remember the fairly complicated East-European family name.
He'd thought the gap between reality and whatever is going on in his head is deep, but in fact, it's wide, wide as the polished wood that stretches between them, shimmering mahogany. Chris manages to say not a single word through the first ten minutes, only clamps his hands around the arms of the chair, trying to breathe. He hadn't thought it would be so damn hard.
"Walk with me," the man says and they step out into a small garden together. At least, fresh air.
"Why did you come?" Ralph asks, repeating the question from the very beginning, and Chris curls his hands, searching for words. He must try, for them. For Dael and Jim and Leonard, for the time that's ticking away for the four of them. It's five weeks until the Enterprise leaves, possibly five years until his implant might fail — too little time for them.
"I need to be able to live a normal life again. Or at least, be able to live with the others without alienating them."
Chris knows he does that. He tends to be just a little bit out of tune with the others, unable to adjust to more than one person at any given moment, his thoughts and focus always ready to shift and move on like an elusive ghost. The four of them had sex a few times together, and he likes these focal, beautiful moments but then his mind disintegrates and things go blurry, and sometimes he leaves and spends an hour on the terrace, staring holes into the dark floor because moving would mean thinking would mean facing things.
Or maybe he thinks that because Leonard thinks that.
"Why don't you start by telling me a little about your tribe, as you call them?"
For the first few minutes, Chris stumbles over every word, disjoint adjectives hunting fleeting verbs; but then it all spills out like a story he'd always wanted to tell. It's only when he walks out of the building afterwards that he realizes the magnitude of things he'd just shared, a bout of nausea tightening his throat. He barely speaks with Leonard who's been waiting for him, barely remembers the ride in the cab home until he can curl around Dael, hiding from Leonard's questions in her shadow.
It's a bit unfair, to all of them.
***
"Did you kill Alain?"
Until a second ago, there'd been the normal layers of sound of six people around a dining table, forks clinking on dishes, chewing mouths, easy conversation.
"Did you, John?" Chris asks again.
The noise dies, all gazes moving to him. John, Jim, the doc, Dael, Eric. Wide eyes, pained eyes, slightly angry eyes.
Chris realizes his mistake. This is supposed to be a friendly dinner invitation, nothing else. John's been good. Has been on his side. He's got no right to ask.
"You've got every right," John says, seriously. "Let's talk about it after dinner, shall we?"
"Sure," he says. The noises return, more subdued.
When they walk away, he can feel the eyes of his tribe on his back. John pulls him into the bedroom.
"Chris…" John sighs. "Come here." His friend draws him into a strong embrace, then kisses him.
He kisses back. It's a comfortable touch.
"I didn't kill him, I promise. Can't blame you for thinking it, though. I might have, if I had found him." John gives him a crooked smile.
Chris nods.
"How are you doing?" John asks. "The real answer, not the dinner table bullshit."
"I'm doing okay."
"Chris."
He looks away. "Could be worse, I guess. Started seeing a therapist but I doubt it will help."
John massages his shoulder, easing his tense muscles. "You really want to marry Dael?"
"Only thing I want more is to have the four of us here on Earth," Chris says, though it's not completely true at the moment. He doesn't know how to deal with Leonard who wants more than he can give right now, but at the same moment insists that Jim not be tied to Earth now that his career is moving forward. He'll be sad to see them leave but Dael will be here with him and she's become home. Five years isn't long enough to see the end of Jim's career anyway.
There's reality and there are dreams and sometimes he knows which is which.
John's hand wanders up his neck. "She's a good girl."
"I need to get sane again."
John turns away, pouring a drink for them. "Last time I saw you," he says as he turns back, glasses in hand, "you did your best to ignore me and everyone around you. I'd say you've come a long way already."
Chris takes the offered drink. "Every achievement is fragile," he says. He had been better on the beach, had been able to talk sensibly with Iro in the end. And with Leonard.
Leonard…
"Hey, stay with me," John says, unsuccessfully trying to hide his concern behind a sarcastic smile. "My whiskey's too good not to savor it."
His cloverleaf is glad to leave shortly after.
***
Both Jim and the doc spend a lot of their time on the Enterprise refit, though they never talk about the details. At first, Chris thinks this has something to do with security advice they'd received, but then he finds Jim and Dael sitting in the kitchen talking about the ship. They immediately shut up on his arrival.
It's not paranoia when they're really out to get you, he remembers an old, ironic proverb.
He knows they're close. It looks gorgeous, the two of them together, quite different to what he has with each of them.
But he doesn't like this abrupt silence.
Next time he waits outside, and stops breathing when Jim talks about Esteban.
***
The next morning, the therapy session is on the beach and they sit there and Chris wants to speak about Esteban, but he just can't, the name stuck in his throat like a piece of iron bar. He'd told Mori he hated the man, but it's a strangely emotionless hate layered with a more solid angst and helplessness. Esteban has turned larger than life in his head, he knows that but can't help it — a demon out to get him.
That the night, in his first nightmare in a while, Chris is tied down by cloaked ghouls, his mouth forced open wide before a man with a white mask pushes a slick, large dick down his throat, again and again. He arches, choking and fighting in panicked agony. When he comes to, hands hold him down while he's still choking, everything hurting, tears running down his face.
"Chris, it's just a dream, breathe, Chris, it's not real."
"Set him free. Do it."
The hands leave him abruptly, and he rolls from the bed to the ground, coughing his lungs out.
"I can't do it," he whimpers when they put him back in bed later, two loads of tranquilizer in his bloodstream. "I can't." It's one thing to know you're broken, it's another to walk over your own broken pieces with naked feet.
Dael caresses his face. "We'll help you through," she says softly, and he can imagine her taking care of her brother like this, holding the boy through the nightmares that had to haunt him. "We're here for you."
Behind her, his men look concerned.
Raol killed himself. Her care wasn't enough.
It's no good.
***
There are only two states of the doc right now; either he's solely absorbed into Jim's orbit, or he's in a strange kind of competition for Chris with Dael. Chris is so tired of it.
"I don't want the two of you to fight over me," he says as he corners the doc later that day, stopping him from following Jim and Dael into the kitchen.
"I don't. I know when I've got to step back," Leonard says stiffly. "And I guess it's better, considering that you don't seem to be working very hard on getting better."
There's accusation and frustration, out in the open. The gap is wide and it's a four letter name.
Chris lowers his head. "I try. But I'm still not sure I'll make it." His chest hurts. The room darkens.
Leonard's hand is warm on his cheek. "Dammit, Chris, you've come this far, don't give up now just because it takes a little time."
"We don't have that time. There've got to be other solutions."
Leonard sighs. "The human brain isn't a piece of machinery."
"Mine is." He slips his hands under the hem of Leonard's shirt. The need to touch his elusive lover is overwhelming, leaving everyone else out. "Because of you."
"If it were so easy to fix you, I'd put every damn implant in your head that I could," Leonard mutters but doesn't push him away. "It's all in your hands now, Chris."
"Need you, doc. Please." He tugs him towards his bedroom, and his lover follows with a last gaze at the kitchen door.
Seems Leonard wants him too, judging from the haste the doc gets him naked and then grabs the lube, only superficially preparing them. In a moment like this with only the two of them, Chris can't help the feeling he'd had when he'd made the recording, that terrible piece that should've never left the planet.
"You still can have all of me," he whispers as the doc pushes in hard, clamping his legs around strong hips.
"No, I can't," the doc states but his eyes are all about claiming.
***
Chris sees the therapist once more, but it still doesn't feel as if anything is changing for the better. Instead, it's like he's surfing the wrong wave, the one that pulls him out into the ocean, and his feet are glued to the board and he just can't leap. The nightmares return every night, and he stalls sleep now, staying up restlessly for as long as he can manage.
But he says nothing of that when Nat visits him.
"It's so good to see you." She sits next to him on the terrace, coffee and cake on the table. "Sorry I couldn't come faster, our trip developed a few unplanned detours." She looks a little worn down herself but he doesn't ask, feeling utterly unable to offer any supportive words. Instead he says, "No problem. I've got three babysitters already, that's more than I can manage." A poor joke.
She takes his hand gently. "We’re having a family gathering at Tom's farm next weekend. Everyone would be happy to see you all."
He thinks about it for a moment — remembering the gatherings of the past, the long ride, the many people, imagines them asking him about his whereabouts, imagines the faces of his lovers when they politely lie about how they really feel about all this.
He curls away from her touch. "I can't. Sorry, Nat, I really can't."
There's pained understanding in her eyes. "It's okay, Chris. It's okay. Maybe next time."
"Maybe, yes."
After a short silence, they resume talking, chat about this and that but it's as if their worlds are out of tune, and he knows it's all his fault.
Strangely, it's Jim who accepts the invitation on his and Dael's behalf, when Nat asks them on the way out.
"Didn't know he liked those family meet-ups that much," Chris wonders as they see them off on Saturday.
Leonard just shrugs, but there's a thoughtful expression in his eyes too.
"At least this way, we've got the day all to ourselves," Chris says.
"Can't imagine what we could do with it." The thoughtful expression quickly changes into a twinkle, as one of the doc's hands drifts onto Chris' hip bone.
***
Chris stretches out on the bed. They've been having sex for an hour, maybe, and the first physical urges have been pacified, the feeling of relaxation already receding under the tingle of new pressure building. It's been good, but there's something missing.
"Stop being so nice," he says.
"Uh?" Leonard frowns.
"Stop treating me like a child. Stop treating me like something fragile that needs protection all of the time."
They stare at each other.
"And don't tell me I really need protection all of the time."
The doc snorts. "On a scale of 0 to 10, what do you think about your own state?"
"Right now, it's…6." It's just the two of them, in bed, the world is small and definite and secure. His last medication has been a few hours ago, he feels awake and lively.
"And that means…?"
"Be less gentle. Just for once." Once upon a time, they'd fight and push and tie each other up. There'd been pain, the good kind.
"I can't, Chris. Sorry about that." Leonard mutters and leaves the bed, going for a shower.
Chris turns in bed, his body suddenly hurting and cold. There are books on his nightstand. There’s a poem he knows, and he starts reading the lines, rolling the alien sounds in his mind.
They spend the rest of the day in silence.
***
Dael's room, despite still making him feeling a bit like an alien in it, becomes his new hiding place. He likes watching her painting, and while he's absolutely no art connoisseur, he can't shake the feeling that her paintings have gained new depths lately.
Not all of them are cornflowers or beaches, though; there's also a decidedly darker current in the newest ones, but she evades his few questions. She makes up for her walling-off by being especially caring, shielding him from wielded hypos and threats to get for once and for all dragged to SFM for the check-up he needs, and still fears to his core.
The doc never enters this room, sends Jim as his messenger instead — or maybe Jim comes on his own behalf sometimes, trying to make Dael join him for a night out.
Chris doesn't mind when she declines and stays home with him instead.
***
The therapist wants him to speak about his fears.
Or write.
There's a fifty percent chance that he'll recover fully. He'd extrapolated the number from data in the Nets and asked for the therapist's professional opinion.
Of course the man had lied, but he knows better.
5 -5 -5 -5 -5
Five years. Fifty percent.
He cuts each of the Klingon peb'ot that Dael had bought in two times five pieces.
Dael estimates five times five minutes of cooking.
"You could paint them, you know," she says out of the blue. "The things you fear."
He puts the knife aside. "How do you paint insanity?"
She looks so small, all of a sudden, past terror around her like an aura. "For me, it was not-painting. Scratching all colors off the walls…" She curls her fingers.
He wants to hold her but she shakes her head. "I need a timeout for a moment," she says and rushes out.
He can hear her crying and knows it's not real, it's only in his head, she never cries, she's been fixed by Vulcan healers, her broken pieces all neat and shiny.
He resumes cutting the vegetables, the knife heavy in his hand, the fruit bleeding under its onslaught.
***
It's become second nature to him to wait briefly behind doors, listening first to what is said in the room. It's just precaution, he tells himself. Just the need to know, to find out what they wouldn't say to his face. Like this discussion between the doc and Dael.
"You expected a miracle."
He's careful to keep out of their sight, outside the living room.
"It will take time. Maybe he'd be better off in a full-time institution once we're gone, at least for a while."
"No."
"It's great how you stand with him, but I'm not sure it's the best solution for you. He never wanted to stand in the way of your life and career and if you marry him, that will happen, Dael."
Just five years. It's not too much to ask for, right?
There's silence, silence.
"You want to give up your own life for him, just be his caretaker?"
The doc is jealous. That's all there is. The doc won't be satisfied until Dael and he are separated.
"That's not your problem, Leonard." Dael is angry. "You'll take Jim and leave him, that's what you always do. Stop pretending that this is really about me, you don't care shit about me. I don't need your advice."
"I care more about you than you like, and I don't want to see you fall apart over him when we're away. Jim doesn't want to see that either, and he shares my opinion that staying with Chris won't be good for you."
"You won't be here anyway. So just. Shut. Up." There's movement, and he ducks into his bedroom, hiding from her as she rushes out.
"See, you knew it would never work," Alain says from his seated position on the bed.
"You're not here," Chris says firmly. "You're not real." He blindly throws a shirt onto the bed, then opens his eyes to an empty room. A neat trick. The only good one the therapist has delivered so far.
So Jim also wants Dael to leave him.
Jim spoke about Esteban.
Maybe he'd never known the full truth, who had really taken part in the conspiracy against him.
***
They stop talking when he enters the kitchen the next morning.
Jim smiles. Chris doesn't like that smile. It's an unnatural smile.
Dael smiles too.
He nods and leaves, and they start talking again.
Enterprise. Esteban. Nogura.
She's in.
He feels sick, too sick to keep listening.
"Can I do something for you?" Dael asks when poking her head into the bedroom shortly afterwards.
Stop lying to me.
"No," he says tersely and turns away from her.
He tries reading every unlocked PADD he can find, checking all the computers.
There's nothing on them, of course. All information is top secret. He's not allowed to read it anymore.
They hide things from him.
The therapist asks about his relationships. He pretends all is fine.
He doesn't tell the man that Jim's going behind his back, probably all three of them are.
He only eats things he prepares himself. After all, Alain had drugged his food so it's to be expected they'll do so too.
"He's getting worse. I'm really concerned."
"Bones, you're painting it too black. Just because he gets a little obsessive about food doesn't mean a thing. Just yesterday he asked me about the Enterprise, which he hadn't done since his breakdown. Isn't that a good sign?"
He keeps listening behind doors until they notice and he needs to stop it.
"See, I told you it'll never work," Alain says, unmoved by a thrown shirt.
He needs more medication but he doesn't trust the doc anymore.
The doc wants him in an institution.
Just three weeks until they leave. He can pretend that long.
He never speaks about the partnership ceremony anymore.
***
They arrange a beam-out to the farm.
"Ashaire is getting really bored, you need to look after him," Jim teases him.
But Chris doesn't want to leave the apartment. God knows where they'd beam him to. If he vanished, nobody would look for him. He'd just be gone. It's not as if anyone cares. John never phones anymore. Nat never phones anymore.
"We had another dinner invitation," Dael reminds him.
"You know John lied about me," Alain says into his ear. "Maybe he didn't pull the trigger but he knows what really happened to me."
Chris' life takes places between bedroom, bath and terrace. He barely sleeps, torn between nightmares and the fear of what they will do if he closes his eyes.
On a scale between 0 and 10…
…
On a scale…
***
He knows he's lost it not because he remembers any of it, but because Jim has a black eye and looks terrified, Leonard manages to look angry, helpless and sad at the same time, and Dael is nowhere to be seen.
Things blur after the hypo but when he wakes up, it's to an empty bed. Leonard sits in the corner, far away, guarding his sleep… guarding him.
"Shit, Chris," the doc says. "Shit."
***
Part 3/3 on DW or Part 3/3 on LJ
