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***
Title: In Silence
Author: Acidqueen <a.q @ gmx.de>
Series: TOS
Pairing:
Spock/McCoy
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Words are not everything.
Author's Note: This is the sequel to my
story "In the
Closet", which is a sequel to "In the Dark". It is
recommended to read them first.
Disclaimer:
Paramount/Viacom owns Star Trek, I own my
brain. No infringement is intended, and no money is being
made.
Archive:
The SpockMcCoyDen, my own website at
http://www.syredronning.de , ASCEM, all others ask,
please.
Acknowledgement: Thanks to JB for beta'ing! All remaining
errors
are mine.
***
So here we are again, on neutral ground this time; the
lights medium, the universe open to
us both through the
large window. I was already here when he entered; however,
he did not leave but sat down on the
couch. And I watch my
face and him, mirrored in the glass.
There is a famous Romulan proverb that fate always knocks
on
your door three times, but never a fourth one.
I do not need to count to make my decision.
*
Probably
it's been inevitable that we'd meet again right
here on the spot. We’d been in this room with Jim only two
days
ago - now we're on our own. We've quietly
acknowledged the other by nodding, but nothing else. I sit
on the couch and
watch him. I've come to terms with him
and the feelings I've had for him. There's still a bit of
sadness connected with
it...I wish there'd been a better
moment for us. But it's not been the right time. Probably
there will never be the
right time, and I can live with
that now.
This simple feeling...no, there'd never been a _simple_
feeling between
us.
I wasn't hurt by the scene. If anything, I was happy to
hear those words from a man who finally, really has
acknowledged
this side of his. Not like the man in that
cubicle that day, where there were raw emotions pouring
out like overheated
magma, uncontrolled and dangerous.
He sits down opposite to me. And then he reaches out,
places his open palm exactly
in the middle between us. He
offers, but the choice is mine. His face is stoic, eyes
guarded. I don't know if it's a
good idea, but talking
hasn't worked in the past. Maybe it's time for this. I
reach out, too, and connect.
*
I
bleed; I am bleeding into him. It is not what I intended
to do, but for once I have learned to give in to hunches.
And
so I do.
It is most remarkable.
And the easier thing right now, because I am only sending,
not receiving.
I am creating imbalance. Again. I should
know better...
*
These feelings...Lord, so many layers. So many
memories. I
wonder if Jim felt the same. I wonder if I could share
Spock with anyone. If Spock could share himself with
more
than one. His hand is so warm, so dry; it feels slightly
unreal. But every nerve ending seems to find its
counterpart,
and the frizzling electric energy sweeps
through me. I'm heating up, inside out. My lungs are
fighting hard, telling
me to stop my erratic breathing and
get back to normal.
Normal was yesterday.
Normal was never.
*
Not
I offer, but in truth he does, embracing my
experiences and images without reluctance or redemption.
I watch his
face, emotions mirroring in it like Terran
clouds on oceans, their true nature blurred by the wind
and the waves. He
is a miracle and a secret, ever-changing
and constant alike. I have watched his ways for years, and
yet, what do I really
know?
I want to explore him, feel him. Talk to him, sit with him
in silence; learn all the things about him I never
dared
to ask.
Unexpectedly, he pulls away. It brings about a sudden
sting of fear.
*
I can't remember
that I've closed my eyes, but I'm opening
them now as if for the first time. Our hands are still
connected. Spock sits
straight, his face strikingly
frozen. It helps me to ground myself. I don't know if he
was in for this bargain, if he
knows how much of my well-
resolved feelings he'd fired up again. How did I ever
manage to reach the point of forgetting
him? Only by total
self-illusion.
My palm burns. If it could, my hand would crawl into his
skin, merge with his
flesh. Send tendrils along his arm,
taste his blood. Eventually reach his heart, where it
would settle down, cherishing
this treasure. My lids drop
again as the picture grows, gets tangible. I cradle him,
some inner self of him; bury my
soul's face in his neck,
inhale his aura. He's everywhere around and in me. I'm
bathing in his being, and now it's me
who's cradled.
I melt into a blazing sea.
*
He did not leave; he did not shut me out. He only took a
little
breathe of reality, searched some solid ground in
the middle of...
I do not know how to call this.
Stripped
of rationalizations, only images of states
remain. A cool summer's breeze in an alien forest. Grey
clouds on blue sky,
sending water on dry sands.
I lay down in the pouring rain until I am soaked. I sit
and watch the sky, double suns
spending warmth. Whatever I
do, when I turn my head he is by my side, smiling.
There will rarely be calm weather
with us. But there is no
other way I would rather want it to be.
*
I get up. Or, at least, I suddenly find
myself standing,
leaning against him. Our heights almost match; it's
symmetrical when we reach out, stroking each other's
temple
down to the chin. I break the synchronicity and
touch his lips. I could lean forward and kiss them. I
could lick them
and taste them - taste him. Any second, I
will do so...when I can stop adoring him. A myriad of
feelings, and still...
Maybe
it's simple in the end.
***
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