0300, the Midnight of the Soul

Posted on Sun Apr 3rd, 2016 @ 10:14pm by Captain Charybdis MacGregor

0 words; about a 1 minute read

Mission: Taking Chances
Location: USS Bonne Chance, Deck Five, Captain O'Conner's Quarters
Timeline: 2265
Tags: Patrick,1stlove,flashback

Awakening from one of her recurring nightmares... it was a close tie for the worst, if not THE worst... Charybdis tried not to award them individual rankings based on waking up screaming, waking up in a fevered sweat, waking up still absolutely terrified, or waking up not knowing where or who she was.

But it was the one where she got to relive the worst day of her life, so it definitely ranked very high in her list of Dreams I Wish I Could Forget.

Her heart rate, far from being the verge of cardiac arrest where she usually found herself, was a slow sluggish thumping in her chest that actually worried her as it was beating so slowly. She knew it slowed down at rest but the rate it was beating was...

In time with Patrick's... his was fast, but hers had slowed to match it. She could hear his heart relatively racing in his chest, fast but strong and steady, in time with her own.

He seemed to be asleep, so she lay still and did not move so as not to disturb him. As soon as she stirred in the morning he always seemed wide awake, thus she believed him when he said that he slept lightly. In truth, she believed everything that he said, as hard as it was for her to accept. But then, he had yet to ever deceive her. So she lay still with her eyes closed, and focused on calming herself.

She was having nightmares again. And apparently she was sharing them with Patrick, which she would very much like not to be doing, but somehow, for some reason she was now doing just that. This was never supposed to be possible... but then, she was never supposed to like being in Starfleet, take pride in being a part of a crew and fall in love with a handsome starship captain.

Smiling she stroked his chest and kissed the skin beneath her cheek before she remembered she was supposed to be pretending to be asleep, but he did not stir and his breathing did not change.

If only Suval had stayed on board, she would have remained what she had been created to be, and she would be passing Starfleet technical manuals to the Empire. Hell, she might have turned the whole ship over... no, that would still not have happened, because of Siivas. He had saved her, and she still would not have been able to betray him like that. Funny how that had worked out.

Patrick had confronted her and she had admitted the truth... it had felt good in a way, to admit it to someone after all of these years. But secrets were never tidy to contain, and she knew it was only a matter of time before something else popped up. Hopefully she was only transmitting her dreams to Patrick... if she was broadcasting them to the immediate area the rest of the senior staff were all on the other side of a bulkhead or two. Her own quarters were less than five meters from where she lay.

Thank Janus telepathy was a rare ability in the galaxy.

He was willing to protect her, but there was liable to come a point where he would be unable to protect her... or himself. She had to figure out a plan.. some way to exonerate him if she was exposed. Could she claim mind control? Maybe she did have some sort of control over him... he certainly was risking everything for her. That caused her to question the validity of his feelings for her and that just made her heart ache.

Stupid dreams. Stupid telepathy. Stupid mind melding. She supposed this was irony... Charybdis' revenge from beyond the grave. She had never wished ill on her namesake, the Vulcan victim who was torn apart and stitched into her own mind as a pastiche of memories, knowledge and sensation... and dance.

When she danced... not the easy swinging and mindless gyrations of club dancing, but the formalized steps of dance, that was when she got forcibly reminded that Charybdis was still inside her, and that in her own way she too had dreams... dreams that would never be realized because her mind and her body were no longer whole and she had been blended into Scylla to create the Charybdis that returned to Vulcan.

Most certainly she had never wanted what had happened, and in truth, she wished very much she'd had a choice, because she never would have acquiesced to such a thing. Her own mind had been a stranger to her so often since that night, and she often did not know why she thought certain things, preferred certain things or acted in certain ways. Was it her, was it Charybdis, was it somewhere in between? Or was she moving away from any of those choices trying to establish her own identity?

And now here she was, Charybdis' telepathy suddenly springing to life on her after eleven years dormant, as soon as her life was good and she was happy for the very first time in her adult life. If this had not happened she could have just merrily kept pretending to be an outcast Vulcan and lived out her happy life and been an outstanding Starfleet officer and perhaps one day shoved a photon torpedo up General Rikal's lye-tightened sphincter.

That thought made her giggle, and she realized with a start that she was capable of considering such a thing.

Obedience. Rakal had drilled obedience into her for half her life, and she had obeyed, without question so very often. She remembered poor Subcommander Tarsis, and she remembered the disruptor she had held to her own breast. She had been a different person then... Hades, she had not been a person at all at that point, more like a very confused and wounded automaton. A construct who had no real identity, just whatever instructions it was given.

She'd certainly had nothing to live for back then. She remembered secretly yearning for the order to pull the trigger, to end it all and embrace sweet oblivion. She remembered being nothing but chaos and broken glass and hurt inside, an obedient puppet on the outside. Then on Vulcan only the dream of escape had kept her alive, and of revenge on the sadistic Sebel.

But she was stronger now, far stronger than she had been then, stronger than she had ever been in her life. And she had friends, people who liked her for who she really was... and she really was this person. Yes, she was pretending to be what she was not... but she was not pretending to be anyone other than who she truly was. She was a Starfleet officer, seeking new life and new civilizations. She was a Science officer, penetrating the mysteries of the universe and paving the way for future generations. She was senior staff, helping lead and shape the crew of the USS Bonne Chance and its destiny.

A woman, fulsome and desirable, who had the love of a good man... a very good man.

That brought her back to her dilemma of how to protect him. She wished she could ask Siivas, or Yuna of Fiona or even Ak'Ahar... she had friends now, and she realized that was what one did when one had friends. One asked them for help and advice for one's problems... but this was not something that she could share with any of them.

"Hello shipmates, I was created to be a Romulan spy but I love you all so much I have had a change of heart so please ignore the centuries-old feud between our people and the fact that I have lied to you all..." Well, not lied, really, seeing as she couldn't recall ever actually claiming to be a Vulcan... misled, certainly... but that was just semantics. She was an infiltrator and a spy, and she would be tried for treason and certainly convicted. And if she was not careful she was going to take Patrick down with her.

The solution was simple... if she died before anyone found out, then he would be safe, and they would never know of her treachery and betrayal. Her friends would be safe from reproach, and they could remain blissfully ignorant of her true nature. But she very much wanted to live. If she could be with him only for another week, another day, another hour, she wanted it... she knew it was selfish and that every minute with her endangered him. That intuition that had warned her initially was still quietly reminding her that she was in danger, and by that virtue that she was endangering him.

Intelligence was providing no answers, and she knew that there had to be a solution... another option other than self-destruction and optimistically hoping for the best. She wished she could think of it... because something told her that the clock was ticking, and her time was running out.

A single tear rolled down his chest as she drifted back off to sleep... completely unaware that her faulty and uncontrolled telepathy was still quite active, and that he... and others... were hearing every word.

 

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