Lullaby

The Sincerest Form of Flattery Challenge

Lullaby

By Distracted

Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters belong to whoever owns the franchise these days. They aren’t mine
Genre: Sincerest Form of Flattery Challenge, drama
Summary: With apologies to JadziaKathryn, who got there first. I had to do them all. I just had to. : )

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Trip, his chin resting upon both forearms, closed his eyes as warm hands pressed, probed and prodded his bare back. He clenched his teeth as the hands kneaded the corded knots between his shoulder blades.

-- Easy, T’Pol! You’re killin’ me, he groused.

--You’re angry. It’s making you tense, she replied. Her voice was flat and cold to his ears.

-- What do you expect, when you come to fetch me in Engineering every time I’m late for a session like I’m a kid late for class? he replied in an annoyed tone, shielding the hurt her apparent indifference caused him.

-- Your shift was over, Commander. You need to sleep to function, T’Pol countered blandly.

-- Hell... Sleep’s overrated, he grumbled.

Her fingers dug in mercilessly. He focused his attention on the worn edge of the mattress, and tried to slow his breathing. Pain, both of the body and of the soul, fretted his heart. She’d come to him in a dream the night before and for so many other nights, not his torturer of the moment but another, dead now but still haunting him, her blonde locks seared by radiation, and the faint odor of burnt meat about her. Beyond the frayed edge of the mattress cover, the flame of the meditation candle flickered, its smoke shadows curling sinuously on the opposite wall as she must have curled while screaming and melting to charred bone and ash in the beam that split the Earth and destroyed his innocence.

From pinpoint flickerings at the window, his eyes were drawn to ebony blackness, sucking him deeper, and deeper still into nothingness. Oblivion called him, the void of emotion, the absence of pain. He longed for it with an intensity he’d never before experienced. Nonexistence became his goal.

-- Turn over and sit up, said T’Pol. He opened his eyes. She’d spoiled it again.

-- Why do you always do that? he grumbled, all the while doing as she asked. He faced her, sitting. She eyed him with a raised brow, evidently waiting for him to explain himself before continuing.

-- Just when I get relaxed, you always make me sit up, and then I hafta start all over, he said, resigned.

-- Were you relaxed? she challenged. You still seemed rather tense to me.

He rolled his eyes.

She reached out strong, slender fingers, extending them along his jaw line. He closed his eyes and exhaled heavily.

-- Breathe, she told him. Rather redundantly, he thought.

Her fingers trailed beneath his chin to that ticklish spot that Lizzie could always find...

Pain shut the memory down, slamming it closed in his mind’s eye. Only the occasional small trickle escaped: breezes stirred by the movement of the porch swing, cicada song, blonde tresses streaming backwards and tickling his nose as he pushed. Honeysuckle, its sweetness a tiny dewdrop on the tongue. One for you and one for me.

Fingers pressed, refusing to release him. He felt his pulse beating in his ears, his cheeks feverish and warm in the heat of the room. Pressure built in his chest, the intensity of it like a fiery balloon on the verge of bursting. He gasped, breathing deeply, helplessly. His eyes opened, and something gave way inside him. His eyes met hers. Tears began to flow.

-- Lie down, she told him, as if there were nothing amiss. Once again, he obeyed.

He lay face down again and rested his dripping chin on both forearms. He closed his eyes, but the tears continued. Pain flowed with them, filling his heart, and then his entire chest, the current carrying memories to soothe the rawness in his soul.

Her hands returned to his back, pressing without pain now, without the need for combating a tension which was no longer present. She stroked him with warm, smooth, soft, strong fingers. He exhaled again and went limp, finally.

-- ‘Night, Lizzie, he whispered faintly, on the verge of sleep. Sleep tight.

End

If you want to know which author Distracted was imitating, check out the "Sincerest Form of Flattery" Challenge: Author List

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I posted a thread on the fanfiction forum for comments. Here it is. Tell me what you think of this last story in the series.

http://houseoftucker.com/bboard/viewtopic.php?t=5724

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