The PKSP Archive - No Protection by envoy --- This story comes in three parts, not because its length requires it but, because each section deals with a different time. This section deals with the time prior to events in 'resurgence'. Thus it carries a weirdness warning. Thanks to Amirin for inspiring me to take this route. --- Strangeness muted images flickering before me female klingon familiar yet strange that I should know what is said She turns, achingly slow, to smile open a mouth that cannot speak. She smiles so beautiful with her sudden blonde hair. So gentle. Words come to my mind "Make yourself useful,". descends. I have never known anyone like you; will never know anyone like me; you will never know you will never know what I have done. one oneoneoneoneoneoneoneoneoneoneoneoneoneoneoneoneoneoneone me moving rising ascending no longer see what is before me feel joined feel gentle lips, dry & anxious, and know without sight who who? voice tumbling and twisting, spreading like fast fire :it's alright it's alright if you don't it's alright Harry? who? alight ice fire to shatter molten skins shatter m e me? falling and stumbling and screeching whispers so distant now so fragile now pain so gentle searing blood through flesh deprived heart faltering feinting building so close now it's alright one now unknown voices Sansara-halahala rolling & tumbling moha-santyai in blinding light Sandarsita-svatma in blind site sukhavabodhe Silence opens my eyes Standing with eyes for only this. Waiting with tempered patience for this, smiles a little and then I am looking at what is seen; me and not me. The gaze slides to something other- a still and hidden body. The arm reaches out but I am denied. A single finger is raised one and touched to fading lips one with a lulling sigh. me And strangeness descends. ---- end (1/3) --- no protection (2/3) --- Darkness is snatched away as the capsule is opened.I remain still within, waiting for them to come to me. Faces peer in. Gasps and sighs and exclamations follow. Crowding faces peer at me. Hurried words, rushed discussions and half-uttered oaths flow away from me. They disappear, but they are not gone- I have not gone. There is nothing to fear. Safe again. Two faces echo before me, stirring dormant and fearful-yet memories. Images and situations shuffle to the frontline of memory; she expects and demands; he would have all believe he expects nothing. But he hopes and wants for something long lost. "Three to beam to sickbay,". My world shudders apart, crying for and seeking out its scattered pieces, but swift it reassembles to another self, in a different place. A familiar tingle in my skin causes my lips to stretch into a smile; oscillating sensation like tickling pins. But going on longer than remembered- too long, and building to a burn as minute cells fail to overcome the severing. Cease. Cells consolidate into broken skin. The Doctor- is real, but not as real as could be- approaches with a tricordor. Yes. Tricordor to check vital functions and to identify. Doubting silence; hasty consolation. Acceptance. A female voice speaks: "Name and rank,". I answer: "Kim, Harry. Ensign,". Silence. "Tuvok, meet me in Sickbay with a security team,". ~ ~ ~ Who are you? Where have you been? What do you know? Who are you? Who do you know? What do you want? What do you know? Who do you know? Who are you? Where have you been? Where have you been? Where have you been? Who are you? Who are you? Where have you been? What do you know? Who are you? Who do you know? What do you want? What do you know? Who do you know? Who are you? Where have you been? Where have you been? Where have you been? Who are you? Who are you? Where have you been? What do you know? Who are you? Who do you know? What do you want? What do you know? Who do you know? Who are you? Where have you been? Where have you been? Where have you been? Who are you? ~ ~ ~ The same questions asked repetitively and answered in a myriad of ways, no one of which said less than the one before or more than the one after. None of which alleviates the suspicion and the fear. All eyes and questions, but lacking something someone who kisses me so gently, Blue eyes with slow&careful glinting with laughter, Who? words questions me, but hollow & broken assures me. by something. Voice addresses me: "Is there anything you need?" --- end (2/3) --- no protection (3/3) --- "Harry,". That voice. It tugs at me, pulls me this way and that, pointing me towards something I have yet to recall. It fills me with that strange foreboding sensation of facing unknowns. That voice. The voice muttering over and over that it's alright, alright if I don't feel the same. It will be alright. I turn to face it swiftly, eager to discover what it will reveal. Blue eyes. It is him; he is the missing one. the missed one. To touch him. We embrace. And the memories revive themselves, remind themselves of who, of what, of when. Of why. And why not. I grasp tighter as they bombard me and hold on until it has passed. I release him slowly and savour him. He looks upon me with cold eyes. "Tom?" I query, the name foreign and awkward to my tongue, as I search for some indication that he knows me. He does not answer. He stares at me with disgust. Am I wrong? Are my memories mistaken? The shock in his face, it reminds me of- his lips mutate to a sneer. He is disgusted with me he disdains me or what I now am to him. An unnecessary reminder of what has long passed past but still it must mean something to him; I must mean something to him if the fear in his eyes has any importance. I make to break the impasse. "Tom, don't you have anything to say?" Hating, suspicious silence; inauspicious intent. "Tom, it's me- Harry," I reassure him, reaching out with a hand to prove it is so- that I am real and not a cruel joke- and to remind him of this flesh, flesh he once- "No!" he flashes "Harry is dead,". He stumbles away from me with hatred. I follow him. "Tom, it's me," I state calmly, belying the escalating bewilderment in my heart "Please believe that,". He pauses, so still and sudden, and look so intently that I know he cannot deny me. But he laughs- harsh and hollow thing, bitter empty emotion to tear through me. And then he speaks with words as sharp as glass: "I can believe that. But believing doesn't make something true,". Only knowledge can be true and he does not know and he cannot believe; not Tom, not now and not this. He comes before me, assured in his life, demanding that I answer. And I will. "Only someone who is Harry can know that on the day of the accident I was supposed to give you an answer to a question,". He stops and stills again. I can feel the cascade tumble from his mind to his heart; I can hear the realisation sucker breath from his lungs; I know the startled, half-temptation in his eyes; I know him. "What question?" "Of whether you and I could be together,". He looks away. "Yes. I never did get an answer,". "Would you like one?" He avoids me; his gaze flutters from one thing to the next, but never does it land on me. "I ," bows his head "I don't think we should discuss that now,". ~ ~ ~ No, there is plenty of time for that. Best to concentrate on getting back to normal before anything else. Yes. Yes. No. There is no normal to return to. So why return? Why here? To be treated with ill-disguised distrust? To be examined and documented as a medical curiosity? To be discontent with what I am and what I have? A return to before? A return to the beginning. A chance reprise to be a different person in the same body. To be different and want different, and not be afraid. --- The End