[identity profile] soubi-smalls.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] remix_redux
Title: Look But Don’t Touch (the Tacent, Satis Laudant remix)
Author: [livejournal.com profile] akire_yta
Summary: They've tried drugging her into oblivion, but Hoshi still understands too much.
Rating: pg
Fandom: ST: Enterprise
Warnings: (if applicable)
Spoilers: (if applicable) both remix and original story are AU Futurefics.
Title, Author and URL of original story: Look But Don’t Touch by Gaia
Notes: This remix had a very difficult birth. Many thanks to [livejournal.com profile] cedara for the beta reading, and [livejournal.com profile] scifijunkie, [livejournal.com profile] hannahrorlove and [livejournal.com profile] lasergirl69 for various handholding sessions :)
~#~



Sleep is as elusive as thought, each chasing the other round and round and round my head. Can’t sleep for thinking; can’t think for sleeping. Too much of both, not enough of either.

It all spirals back down to that place. That horrible, awful place. So far away now, yet always with me. I’ll never be rid of it.

All the words in my head, and I still can’t describe it.

The sickbay is quiet now, as quiet as it ever gets, the constant susurration of small noises never abating, but easing somewhat in the aftermath of Trip’s treatment and discharge.

I think it was Trip. Phlox’s drugs had me in their tightest grip, the scene little more than a kalidascope of images flashed onto my memory. The faint odour of sweat and exhaustion and, strangely, roasted meat. A quiet sob, quieter words of comfort. The sound of another body breathing.

He’s not here now. He must have been allowed to go, or he might have just left. Just Matt and I, me and Matt, spiralling in counterbalance with each other, up or down, down or up.

Did Phlox give me more drugs? I can’t remember. Taken so many, lost track long ago. My neck itches a little, like a mosquito bite. I want to scratch it, but I don’t want to touch it, scared of what I could find. The thought makes me panic, then slips away again.

Where was I? Matt. Matt on a biobed. Matt babbling in Latin. Lucy on a Matt with chemicals. Whoops!

“Hoshi? Who’s Lucy?”

Did I say that out loud? The sounds in my head and the sounds in my ears keep melting into one another. I roll onto my side with a smile. I think I’m smiling. “Malcolm.”

“Are you okay?” Malcolm looks drawn, tense, oh so tired. “Shall I fetch Phlox?”

“I think I had another dose.” My voice seems flat, far away.

He relaxes slightly, smiles, brushes his fingers across my temples, tangling lightly in my hair. “The good stuff too, I see.”

“Is it breakfast?” A memory wiggles its way up to the surface. “I promised Matt breakfast.”

“Matt?”

I try to nod and nearly fall off the bed. “Breakfast. With rhinoceri. I think.”

“Rhinoceri?” He laughs, an odd little laugh, tinged with bitterness and sadness. I thwap his arm. The rhinoceri don’t deserve to be laughed at.

Why am I thinking of rhinoceri? The drugs make it so hard to think, and I know that’s for the best right now, but Malcolm looks like he needs someone to talk to, and I…I…

He seems so very far away as he pulls the blanket up over my shoulders. “Go back to sleep, Hoshi. I’ll deal with it.”

His lips brush my forehead, and then he is gone.

I let go and drift, thoughts circling each other once more. I want to go talk to Matt, but Malcolm has tucked me in tight. Like my father used to.

My father. Family. I wonder if they know what we did here? I wonder if they’re safe.

Soft conversation floats over from the direction of Matt’s bed. If I focused, I could probably make out the words, but somehow I can’t seem to find the energy. Instead, I burrow further into the warmth of the blanket and let the tones wash over me.

Malcolm sounds warm, like the blankets he settled over me. Matt’s voice is a quieter counterpoint, rich and deep. They sound good together, are good together, despite the arguments, the combined reputation for violence.

I shiver a little under the blankets and let my thoughts wander again. They circle around and around the two men on the other side of the room. It’s better than my memories, my nightmares, so I give myself over to the speculation.

Tacitum vivit sub pectore vulnus.

The words float up out of the sea of my subconscious, rendered in the quiet voice of my old tutor. A wound unuttered lives deep within the breast. They argue, yes, but they leave each other wounds that heal. Like Phlox, letting his menagerie bite and suck to take out the poison so that the body can recover.

Trip’s quiet sobs echo through my mind, displacing the dry clinical latin words and phrases, and I squeeze my eyes shut until Malcolm’s chuckles displace the memory again.

Pax paritur bello. Is this what this is? The words roll around my head, my mouth, are on the tip of my tongue. Peace is produced by war. I once thought it meant the calm before the storm. Now, it will forever be associated with this exhaustion, this weariness that is creeping back as the haze of the drugs recedes again.

The disassociation of the drugs slips through my fingers, and as before I hate to feel it go. As before, my grief swells to take its place.

Pax regis. There will be no peace, no true peace, without our king, our friend, our Captain. How can we be expected to go on? He would never leave us behind, did not leave me behind. We can do no less than the same…

“Yes, sir.” Matt’s voice is like a magnet, pulling me out of the spiral of words and recriminations circling my mind. A rustle of noise, footsteps. My eyes snap shut, mere slits beneath the lashes, poised to observe Malcolm as he pauses, turns, looks back.

Tacent, satis laudant.

They are military men, formed by duty, not the pursuit of glory. Yet I wish they could know how much we owe them.

Sleep steals over me, and I succumb. Malcolm said he would take care of it. Everything will be alright.

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