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terresdebrume · 5 years ago

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The Witcher - Favorite reads masterpost

Like much of Tumblr, I have recently fallen down the delicious rabbit hole of the saga of Henry Cavill’s abs in form-fitting leather, aka the tv adaptation of The Witcher. As always, that means semi-obsessive fic reading which in turn means recs! So, here’s a non-exhaustive, always evolving list of my favorite Witcher fic.

As of right now it’s...well, almost exclusively geraskier, because shipping is my primary reason for reading fics and also the Witcher (TV) tag is one of the most uniformly slashy ones I’ve ever seen, but there will be other kind of fics too. Hope you’ll enjoy :)

Tagging @nyliekeo because I’ve been saying I’d give you a rec list for a while and I’m finally (beginning to) deliver. Other stories will be added as I catch up with my reading and/or discover new ones.

Now with a Volume 2

Last updated Feb. 20th 2020.

Non Geraskier fics

Nighttime Conversations - Starfleet_Command_Unite_Bi

Specs: 731 words - Eist/Calanthe - Teen & Up Summary: Eist and Calanthe have a mostly serious conversation. Set about a year after they get married.

what changed? - TheSoliloquy

Specs: 1939 words - Eist/Calanthe - Teen & Up Summary: Eist is a man born to belief and faith. Skelligens put stock in destiny... Perhaps they shouldn't. Or: Eist and his relationship with the Lioness of Cintra and her cubs.

Three times (and a half) - karadeniz

Specs: 4 450 words - General Audiences - Happy family dynamics Summary: The annals of Cintra are not that interesting, so Eist and Ciri push the definition of a history lesson a little.

You know The Princess Bride movie? Yeah, it's a little bit like that.

Capable - periwinklepromise

Specs: 100 words - General Audiences - Drabble Summary: Renfri is capable of many things

Between Roaches - RabidRabbit

Specs: 1 522 words - Geralt & Roach - General audiences - Sad going to hopeful Summary: Witchers live far, far longer lives than their mounts. So how does one deal with having to find another Roach when the loss of the previous one left a great gaping hole in the heart many people didn't believe Geralt had?

A Quiet Night - 2spaces_lesbo1

Specs: 1 214 words - Geralt & Ciri - General audiences - Fluff Summary: They have a still moment together.

you’ll be alright (no one can hurt you now) - hopeless_hope

Specs: 1 347 words - Teen & Up audiences - Grief/Mourning, soft dad Geralt Summary: “Hey,” he says, making sure he has her full attention. Ciri looks at him, and the amount of hope in her eyes scares him, though he’d never admit it. He pitches his voice low and soothing yet firm. “No one is going to hurt you while I’m here. And I won’t be leaving you.” She gives him a twisted smile. “They all say that,” she says bitterly, and Geralt spares himself a second to remind himself of what Ciri has lost. Her parents. Her grandparents. Her home. Geralt is all she has left. - In which Ciri has a nightmare and Geralt does his best to comfort her.

Geraskier fics

Limpid As Dammit - Gigi_Sainclair

Specs: 3 100 words - Teen & Up Summary: "The first time, Jaskier does it out of kindness, to avoid hurt feelings."

Becoming a hero - charlock221

Specs: 4 181 words - Teen & Up - Graphic depiction of violence Summary: Jaskier found that being a damsel in distress was only fun when the peril was very, very mild.Being a damsel in distress was definitely not fun when the peril was four thugs threatening him and he hadn’t spoken to his usual rescuer in several months.He just wasn’t sure he had what it took to become the hero.

The Ballad of Pots and Pans - 6th_magnitude

Specs: 1 880 words - Mature - Friends to lovers Summary: Geralt knows Jaskier is a bard - but until now, he’s never properly listened to his songs.

Astra Inclinant - JustGettingBy

Specs: 11 790 words - Explicit - AU Summary: When Jaskier is seven, he first hears the myths of the Witchers--those foul, half-human beasts.When Jaskier is twenty-one, he meets Geralt.He falls in love with him not long after.

kamilica - yogurtgun

Specs: 3 295 words - Explicit - Service Top Jaskier Summary: Jaskier rubs chamomile oil on Geralt's lovely bottom.

your very best friend, in the whole wide world - sargarepa

Specs: 5 996 words - General audiences - Soft!Geraskier - Touch-starved!Geralt Summary: Geralt of Rivia has spent a strange amount of time feverishly obsessing over the way Jaskier can just casually touch him, like it's nothing, like he's not an aberration capable of breaking Jaskier in half with a sneeze. Jaskier saw Geralt slice through monsters like pudding, covered in guts and grime and his own sweat and blood, but there he was, leaning against him and tuning his lute. Geralt doesn't know how to classify the feeling gripping him every time it happens, but he knows he doesn't want it to stop.

the world will follow after - friendlyghost

Specs: 8 827 words - Explicit - Dopplers - Scent kink Summary: The thing about dopplers is that while they know their target’s mind, they aren’t all that skilled in actually impersonating them. It’s easy to look like the baker’s wife and to know that she’s having an affair with the laundress down the road. It’s much harder to know not to kiss the laundress in front of the baker.In which a doppler impersonates Jaskier, Geralt realizes some things, and then they (Geralt and the real Jaskier) have sex. In that order.

His Touch - Sevent

Specs: 6 203 words - Mature - Touch starved! Geralt Summary: Jaskier is an affectionate man. It drives Geralt mad, but in more ways than he knows how to put into words.

Masterwork - phnelt

Specs: 1 461 words - Teen & Up - Master Bard!Jaskier Summary: “Master Jaskier, please meet your apprentice. Valdemar, do try to contain yourself.” Master Juhani looked at Jaskier’s expression and coughed. “Surely you remember the duties of a Master, Jaskier.”

let us shake the abacus - Ark

Specs: 3 062 words - Explicit - Denial (of feelings) Summary: "This is a bad idea," says Geralt."Terrible idea," Jaskier agrees. He kisses up Geralt’s neck, his tongue wicked on Geralt’s ear. "Really bad."

What Pleases You - jesstiel (jseca)

Specs: 5 725 words - Not rated - Geralt & Jaskier do go to the coast. Summary: “Well, it’s just – we were on the brink of finding a dragon. You had Yennefer in your grasp – or perhaps you in hers, it’s difficult to tell, sometimes. Adventure, peril, romance! And.. you walked away.”

“You asked me to,” Geralt says, like it's that easy.

Now With Chapter 2: They Actually Get To The Coast.

Companionship - ArliaDevi

Specs: 4 104 words - Teen & Up - Found family Summary: In which Ciri suspects but cannot confirm.

Or, Geralt and Jaskier get domestic. Well, as domestic as they can.

it steals all my reason - theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes

Specs: 1 382 words - General Audiences - Pneumonia Summary: The worst thing, Geralt thinks, is the quiet. There is no singing, just the heavy labour of breaths hard-won.

Sinister as Silence - MountainRose

Specs: 1 783 words - Teen & Up - Monster of the week Summary: Jaskier goes quiet for one second, and it's enough for Geralt to have a heart attack.

When the Morning Light Shines In - QueenForADay

Specs: 2 760 words - General Audiences - Morning After, Lazy mornings Summary: Jaskier can’t think of any point in their travels together where he has woken up before the other man. In mornings where they were surrounded by trees, or half-way up a stupid, fucking mountain because of a stupid, fucking quest posed to them by some stupid, fucking man, he’ll always wake to the sound of Geralt moving around: whether it’s rolling up his own tent, or taking his blades to a whetstone, or fixing the last of Roach’s gear. He remembers Geralt telling him about not being able to sleep. Until then, he supposed, Witchers might not have needed it. Then again, until he met Geralt, he can’t say for certain that he knew exactly what a Witcher did and didn’t need. He can’t think of any point in their travels together where he has woken up before the other man – except for now.

The Knack of Acting Normal - KeriArentikai

Specs: 4 407 words - Teen & Up - Geralt is bad at feelings, but he gets better Summary: It's been almost two years since the last time he's seen him. Jaskier looks the same to Geralt. Maybe a little older, he supposes. Happier, certainly, than when he turned away on the rocks. [Geralt is sad. Jaskier is sad. And then after a while they are both happy.]

Weak, My Love, and I Am Wanting - TabbyCat33098

Specs: 2 443 words -Teen & Up - Getting together Summary: Jaskier has written a lot of ballads about some woman who has stolen his heart. The thing is, he's been on the road with Geralt for the past month. He hasn't had any time to court a woman, much less have his heart broken by her. So who is this woman? The answer may shock you. // “There’s no lady,” Geralt says. Jaskier trails off. “Well, of course not,” he says instead. “I imagine a woman would take grave offense to the frequency with which we give our patronage to brothels, not to mention your unseemly habit of bathing in monster blood and other revolting gunk.” He wrinkles his nose. “Perhaps I should write an ode to your masterful powers of observation next.” “But you were talking about a woman tonight,” Geralt continues, ignoring Jaskier entirely.

there’s not a word yet for old friends who’ve just met - theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes

Specs: 2 469 words - Teen & Up - Not really a character death Summary: “I wonder,” says Dandelion, lounging under a tree- his lute is in his lap. Geralt is cleaning his sword and stealing glances at him every few moments. “I wonder why it is some people feel so familiar. I could swear I’d never met you, Geralt, but you’re- maybe it’s just from those old songs.” He strums a chord, and when he starts on Toss a Coin Geralt grits out a “stop it” before he can even think.

Where the Field Meets the Forest - karcheri

Specs: 782 words - General Audiences - Flowers meanings Summary: Jaskier has been putting flowers into Geralt's hair. He catches on.

Speechless - Silverynight

Specs: 1 371 words - Teen & Up - Emotional repression Summary: The first time Jaskier wakes up next to Geralt he tells himself it’s an accident, even though he knows it doesn’t make any sense. Of course he’s attracted to his friend (the witcher would never admit they’re friends because he’s an idiot, but they are friends) he’s been attracted to men before, however… He’s never actually slept with one before, only women. Perhaps that’s the reason why he hasn’t said anything since he woke up. He’s still trying to think about what happened. Not that he didn’t enjoy it, quite the opposite in fact, it’s just… Jaskier thought he’d never sleep with a man.

a broken pot can still hold water - MarionetteFtHJM

Specs: 28 742 words - Explicit - Jaskier makes Geralt grovel a bit. Summary: Despite what his outward code of conduct would have you thinking, Jaskier knows when he is not wanted. He allows himself the exact amount of three days of wallowing in that small town before he packs his meager possessions and hits the road like nothing happened. In those three days he sings and dances for his food and drink, fucks the pretty barmaid and sleeps off the hangover before heading out in the morning of the fourth day. He travels alone for the first time in a while but it’s alright. Now, if only people would stop telling him that the Witcher asks about him - that'd be swell.

Surprise, Surprise - Laylabinx

Specs: 1 732 words - Mature - Graphic depiction of violence Summary: Even in the dim light, he can see that Jaskier is absolutely covered in blood. His clothes are splattered with it, his face is streaked, there’s even blood in his hair. His arms are slick and saturated up to the elbow and the sharp, polished blade Geralt had given him before he went into the cave is still gripped tightly in one fist like he can’t let it go. His knees are drawn up to his chest like he’s trying to make himself very small and aside from his quiet, hitched breathing he doesn’t move at all.Jaskier blinks at him and his expression crumples just slightly as he stifles back a sob. “I killed them.” (Or Jaskier is forced to kill in self-defense and does not handle it well. Geralt helps him pick up the pieces.)

Opulence - QueenForADay

Specs: 7 237 words - Explicit - Praise kink, some plot. Summary: In private, and sheltered from the wandering eyes of stablehands, Jaskier presses a light kiss to Geralt’s neck. “Please?” he mumbles against the skin, smirking as he trails his nose along a tendon there. “For me?” Geralt turns, catching Jaskier’s lips in a kiss that, if he wasn’t completely aware of how discreet they have to be, would become so much more. Jaskier still doesn’t move his hands though; one on the small of Geralt’s back, and the other holding on to a forearm. When he pulls away, Jaskier tries to follow, but a barked order from one of the grooms to a nearby stableboy makes him pull away. “Siren,” Geralt sighs. He would follow Jaskier anywhere. The bard knows that. He’s abused that fact. But the city they’re heading to has a reputation; draped in gold with springs of silver in the main square, it’s opulence at its finest. And Geralt is pretty sure that, although he’ll appreciate the comfy bed and the nice food, he’s going to fucking hate the rest of it.

Here’s a safe place (to lay your heart down) - Some_Dead_Guy

Specs: 1 439 words - Teen & Up - Hurt/Comfort Summary: “My mother used to do this for me, when I got headaches.” Jaskier murmurs, his voice quiet and soft, “I was a bit clumsy as a child, still am now I’m sure you’d say.” Jaskier chuckles and Geralt can feel the puff of his breath against his face, “I hit my head a lot, and this would make me feel better. Not sure how well it works on Witchers but–” “Works just fine.” Geralt mumbles, and his head splitting headache has dulled to a barely there throb under Jaskier’s fingers. Or, Geralt has a headache and his bard comes to the rescue.

I spoke your name (out loud to the room) - objectlesson

Specs: 1 151 words - Mature - Unrequited love Summary: You wish Jaskier would leave you the fuck alone, but he clings to you like ash after flames have laid waste to a village, like clotted crimson after you have killed something with your bare hands. However, you can scrub blood out from under your nails. Jaskier, so far, has proven to be far more indelible.

To Sleep Perchance To - Sospes

Specs: 16 955 - Mature - Graphic depiction of violence, torture, PTSD Summary: Jaskier gets kidnapped and tortured. Geralt comes to rescue him. Except it's not quite that simple.

Scales and Songs - TeenyTinyTony

Specs: 4 640 words - Teen & Up - Siren!Jaskier AU Summary: Geralt had known from the moment Jaskier introduced himself that the bard wasn't human, but he had seemed harmless enough and Geralt wasn't one to chase something that wasn't hurting anyone. It was easier not to mention it.

Starving on Scraps of Kindness - penguistifical

Specs: 4 388 words - Explicit - Orgasm delay/denial, not entirely human!Jaskier Summary: "It seems obvious in retrospect, but Geralt didn’t realize Jaskier’s true nature until the two of them encountered a succubus."

Benefits - ShastaFirecracker

Specs: 3 319 words - Explicit - Friends with benefits, coming untouched Summary: Whenever Jaskier's mouth isn't occupied, he talks. Low, easily, about anything. Sounds to soothe. And the thing is – unlike all the rest of the time, Jaskier is pretty sure that when he talks while he's chasing Geralt's pleasure, Geralt listens. It's a heady drug. And yes, Jaskier is becoming addicted.

Sleepsong - QueenForADay

Specs: 1 643 words - General audiences - Geralt wakes up from a nightmare, Jaskier helps. Summary: Some part of him wishes that people could see this – the man that they all fear so much, the Witcher, a hunter of the supernatural and evil, placated by his bard’s voice, melting into his arms. All he’s missing is hearing Geralt purr like a housecat. Every so often, Jaskier’s ears prick at the sound of a murmur of a hum leaving the other man, particularly when Jaskier presses a kiss to the crown of Geralt’s head, or runs his foot along the length of Geralt’s bared leg.

And at the same time, he would gladly pick up a sword and kill anyone who even thought of intruding on a moment like this.

When sorrow sang - Ailendolin

Specs: 11 184 words - Teen & Up audiences - Regret, pining Summary: Alone, with only his trusted lute as companion, Jaskier sat in front of a pitiful fire, strumming his instrument with almost absentminded fingers. His hands were trembling, something Geralt had never seen them do before, and that was startling enough to make him pause at the edge of the clearing, just out of sight. “I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting,” Jaskier sang softly, and his voice broke with so much sorrow Geralt could feel it in his very bones. After their fight it doesn't take long for Geralt to stumble upon Jaskier again. There's only one way down the mountain, after all. What he didn't expect was to catch him in an unguarded moment - one that changes everything for both of them.

Neither one prepared - Sevent

Specs: 10 050 words - Mature - Idiots who don’t know they’re in love, semi-slow burn Summary: Between the Djinn and the Dragon Hunt, Geralt and Jaskier share many encounters on the road. A collection of coincidences, through Jaskier's eyes.

look what you made me do - cicak

Specs: 6 569 words - Explicit - Farce with porn Summary: “Like that dandy has ever bedded a woman,” the woman at the next table scoffed. “All those sexy songs of his are about that Witcher.”

The Love of a Bard - SpaceSexual

Specs: 2 103 words - Teen & Up audiences Summary: "The pen is mightier than the sword - and so it would seem, is the lute." Jaskier's a bard, a truly exceptional model of his vocation. He writes songs that bring crowds to their feet and thinks his time spent with the Witcher has let him learn a step or two of his own. However, some dances require one step forward, and a few very rapid, fear-filled, paces back.

Priorities - Penguistifical

Specs: 2 590 words - Teen & Up - Geralt cares and so does Jaskier Summary: Geralt’s getting used to a certain bard's company, but he can’t help but notice that Jaskier takes better care of his lute than of himself.

Curiosities - Luddleston

Specs: 3 109 words - Teen & Up audiences - Banter, witcher biology Summary: "Geralt, let me ask you a question." "No." "Oh, come now. It's nothing ridiculous." Jaskier does his research, Geralt is tired of all the questions, and the questions get more and more personal along the way.

Woodash and iron and leather - LokelaniRose

Specs: 9 874 words - Explicit - Mutual admiration - Mutual pining Summary: Jaskier is the only person Geralt's ever been around who doesn't smell of fear. Russian Translation here Korean Translation here

lay (not) your heart against him - theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes

Specs: 1 368 words - Teen & Up audiences - Geralt of Rivia is bad at communicating, scenting Summary: He’s a brave man but the core of it is that he trusts Geralt to save him before anything ever gets too close. It’s- Well. Geralt thinks the last time someone trusted him as far as they could throw him was when he was still a child. Before Kaer Morhen, before anything. His world is a cruel, cutthroat one. He doesn’t know what to do with this unceasing, unspoken dedication. So he doesn’t mention it. Probably Jaskier doesn’t even realize what he’s doing.

The Ballad of the Bard and the Moon - Ravenheart

Specs: 2 605 words - Mature - It’s all about the YEARNING Summary: If the moon allowed it, Jaskier would call himself a worshipper for as long as he lived. And that, he guessed, was the problem. Because the moon could keep you company, but it couldn't worship back. It might give you direction, and you might even be blessed with its protection, but it would go its own way, whether you followed or stayed behind. Stubbornly determined to walk the night at its own pace, painting its own path. (Alternatively: Jaskier spends over 2k trying to figure out that he's in love with Geralt, and then he does something about it)

in restless dreams i walked alone (the sound of silence) - august_embers

Specs: 16 136 words - Not rated - Mental health issues, suicidal thoughts (but no actual suicide attempt), Jaskier is not okay sometimes Summary: "Geralt is able to scent the guilt on a lying man from ten feet away, to catch sight of half a pawprint in the undergrowth in the dead of night, to know when to lean back before the coming blade can cut through his throat. Much of it comes from his training at Kaer Morhen, where his instincts were honed and enhanced, but even more comes from his travels and experiences while walking the Path. Geralt notices things, because not noticing means death. He does not notice the lack of singing." Something is very wrong with Jaskier.

front row praises - The_Watchers_Crown

Specs: 25 098 words - Explicit - Porn with feelings Summary: The girl rolls her eyes at him. “If you’re just going to stand here ogling the witcher, maybe go and do it out of the way.” “Ogling.” Jaskier scoffs. “Who’s ogling?” She looks unimpressed. “Have you told him you want him to fuck you?”

Inspiration - CobaltCephalopod

Specs: 1 131 words - General audiences - Magic, musical instruments Summary: Between all the half-hummed melodies and scratched out words to be had over the course of decades, Geralt knows how Jaskier’s songs work and how they are made. He’s the subject of them, more often than not, and he can’t count the number of hours spent falling asleep to Jaskier’s strumming while he huddles closer to the dying fire to read what he’d scribbled so far. Or: I figured Filavandrel's lute probably has some kind of magic in it.

a fool by profession - besselfcn

Specs: 967 words - General audiences - Jaskier tells his problems to a horse Summary: “Make sure my horse gets a bath,” Jaskier mumbles, in a poor imitation of Geralt’s distressingly low register. “Who does he think he is, honestly? Man has one bloody popular song written after him and he thinks I’ll attend to his beck and call, is that it?” He gives pause for Roach to weigh in, if she’s inclined. She snorts.

i’ve never been there bu i know the way - theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes

Specs: 2 525 words - Mature - Basically jaskier starts being competent and Geralt is like. huh. Huh. Summary: On the left hand of the noble, however, is Jaskier. His charm is turned up to eleven, and Geralt could swear he’s batting his eyelashes, and his voice is all syrupy-sweet. He squints at his bard to no avail- Jaskier is very determinedly seducing this damn noble. And what’s worse is that it’s working. Somehow, improbably, Jaskier is charming him through shockingly well delivered compliments and subtle little flattering remarks. It’s such a far cry from the stuttering, irritating bard Geralt knows that he feels almost offended, like this has been purposefully hidden from him just to pull out at the most fucking inopportune time he could possibly find.

Tinseltown - LaurytheLatrador

Specs: 16 545 words - Mature - Alternate Universe - Hollywood Summary: Back when Jaskier was a small town busker he hooked up with Geralt, an MMA fighter gaining renown. Now Jaskier's a musician struggling to keep his head above water in Los Angeles, while his ex is one of the most famous actors in the world. He never expected their paths to cross again, but there wouldn't be any stories if life went the way we expect.

Where there’s a Witcher - ghostinthelibrary

Specs: 61 278 words - Mature - Alternate Universe - Modern setting Summary: Jaskier is a twentysomething recently unemployed journalist and amateur musician looking for his big break. So when he’s saved from the jaws of a wyvern by the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia, he comes up with a brilliant idea: he’ll follow the Witcher around and sing about their exploits. He’ll gain fame and fortune and Geralt will get a much needed image rehab. Everyone wins. Unless Jaskier goes and falls in love like an idiot.

The Witcher Wolf - im_fairly_witty

Specs: 11 448 words - Teen & Up audiences - Geralt accidentally becomes an emotional support animal Summary: It’s been two weeks since Geralt shouted Jaskier away from him on that mountain and Jaskier has been handling it like a champ by forlornly wandering alone in the wilderness with his lute. When he (literally) stumbles across an injured white wolf he decides to take a chance and see if he can help it, appreciating the irony of the situation but not quite realizing why it is that the wolf’s golden eyes look exactly like his Witcher’s... Inspired by @kayivy's lovely art on tumblr

home is nowhere, therefore you - Ark

Specs: 18 134 words - Explicit - Fairytales, love confessions Summary: "Right, well," Jaskier says, when he halts before Geralt. Up close, he looks much more nervous. There is sweat on his brow and his collar is damp with it, and his teeth keep catching on his lower lip. "True love's kiss. There's—ah—there's nothing to it." And he bends, the utter imbecile, and kisses Geralt full on the mouth.

Two Halves of a Whole - penguistifical

Specs: 3 450 words - Teen & Up audiences - Alternate Universe - Daemons Summary: Geralt doesn’t take much notice at first when the small brown bird alights on his table.

Second Refrain - Kenjiandco

Specs: 7 006 words - Explicit - Siren magic has unexpected effects on witchers Summary: It’s been...Gods, it’s been more than a year since their paths last crossed. Since Geralt emphatically un-crossed them, one could say, outside another cave high up on a windy mountain top. And here they are, trapped like a couple of treed cats in this little hole in a cliff face. No horse, no pack, no potions, no swords. Just a rapidly dwindling handful of dried meat, a useless hunting knife, a festering bite in his side that hurts much more than it should...and Jaskier, the surest omen that everything in his life is about completely stop making sense. Again. In which back-to-back encounters with a siren, a wyvern, and an old, old friend leave Geralt in need of a rescue. Just not the one he thought he needed.

is there a person more cherished - nowherebound

Specs: 629 words - General audiences - Just Geralt and Jaskier loving each other very much Summary: Geralt is the most fond of him. Fond, fond, fond… fond of his chestnut hair and sloped eyebrows, smoothed back by two gentle thumbs; honest eyes and sweet voice, bathing him in praise; slender waist and soft belly, perfect for resting his head on; petite hands, fingertips calloused from lute strings. How pretty, how divine, how lovely that Geralt is the one who gets to hold him, to love him. Yes, he is the most fond.

Food of love - tanktrilby

Specs: 22 485 words - Teen & Up audiences - Magical bard Jaskier, Renfri lives Summary: I brought a dead princess back to life through the power of song is the kind of thing that would have got an eyebrow raise even from the stone-faced Geralt of Rivia, so it's a good thing he and Geralt will probably never see each other again. (or: the one where Jaskier channels magic through his songs, and it almost never goes as expected.)

You Suffer Alone, Not Anymore - Sevent

Specs: 2 719 words - Teen & Up - Roach is an emotional support horse Summary: There's much Geralt is willing to put up with. The trials and tribulations of his witcher youth prepared him for a lifetime of cruelty and scorn. No one ever prepared him for kindness.

Guide - TenSpencerRiedPlease

Specs: 2 740 words - Not Rated - Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides, Protective Jaskier Summary: “Oh for the love of god Geralt, could you cooperate for like five minutes?” Jaskier asks as he pushes Geralt to sit on the ground. He doesn’t look impressed about it but if his ass wasn’t constantly going into some type of zone out or sensory overload this wouldn’t be an issue. They’ve already had to mute all the colors on the TV, it never plays very loud, he’s only just gotten used to sun light of all things and he can sit on the ground because Jaskier has long ago discovered that if he’s touching Geralt he doesn’t lose his focus in another sense so much. Geralt glares at him the whole way down but he does go.

#The Witcher #Geralt of Rivia #Geraskier #Jaskier #Fic Rec #Witcher fics #Matt reads #50n #60n #80n #100n #Masterpost

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beatrice-otter · 5 years ago

Text

That Tender Light

Title: That Tender Light

Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series

Relationships: Spock/Nyota Uhura (TOS)

Written for: LittleRaven in Star Trek Holidays 2019

Betaed by: phnelt

Word count: 11,497 words

Rating: teen

Summary: Spock and Nyota are colleagues and friends, nothing more. But now that Spock's bond with T'Pring has been broken, he can't help noticing Nyota in new ways.

On AO3. On Dreamwidth. On ff.net

Nyota was sitting at her desk playing games on her PADD while she waited for Christine. They'd been on opposite schedules for a couple of weeks and hadn't gotten a chance to talk. But now they were on the same shift again, so they could get together for tea and games, and given the rumors flying around the ship, Nyota wanted to check in to see that Christine was alright.

Half the rumors painted Spock as some sort of cave-man sexist pig throwing a temper tantrum. Half of them painted Christine as some sort of sex-crazed nymphomaniac. All of them had Christine as the subject of a brutal dressing-down.

None of it made any sense. Spock was unfailingly courteous and respectful in the best sense, and, like Captain Kirk, never failed to support the female officers and crew under his command when the situation called for it. Nor was he prone to viciousness of any kind. Sardonic was as bad as he got. Christine was a professional and would never sexually harass anyone, but especially not a patient.

And none of that even took into account what came after, with Spock countermanding the Admiralty's orders, the back-and-forth to Vulcan or not, Spock having a wife no one knew about (with poor Christine being right there when the surprise was sprung, which hadn't exactly quieted the rumors down any), and then the captain coming back to the ship unconscious. From Vulcan, of all places! One of the safest planets in the Federation! Nyota was confused and upset, and she didn't like either feeling.

The door chime rang. "Enter!" Nyota said.

It was Christine, impeccably groomed and styled as always, but still visibly worn.

"Christine!" Nyota said, tossing her PADD aside. She got up and hugged her friend. "How are you holding up?"

"Oh, please, Nyota, not you too," Christine said with a groan, sinking into one of the chairs. She buried her face in her hands. "Spock was ill and not himself, and anything else is bound up in patient confidentiality."

Nyota took the other chair across from her friend. Christine was so obviously disturbed by the whole thing that that couldn't be the whole story even without considering the rumors. "Must have been some illness," she observed carefully.

Christine snorted. "You don't even know the half of it, and that's all I'm going to say. But I can tell you that if Vulcan actually gave Starfleet Medical details on certain aspects of Vulcan biology, along with the cultural issues surrounding them, this whole mess would have been handled quite differently. And that's all I'm going to say. Frankly, this whole week has been hellish and I don't want to think about it one minute longer."

"All right," Nyota said quietly, taking her curiosity and locking it away for now. She wouldn't want to challenge Christine's professional ethics, and in any case, supporting her friend was more important than Nyota's questions getting answered. "What are you up for tonight? Game? Movie? Do you want distraction or just relaxation?"

Two days later, Spock asked her if she would like to resume their weekly jam sessions. He'd skipped the last two without notifying her; looking back, Nyota wondered if that missed session had been the first sign something was wrong.

She had to think about it; she'd always enjoyed playing with Spock, he was the only musician on the ship who could really keep up with her. And she considered him a friend (although, given Vulcan emotional reticence, she had no idea whether he considered her a friend). But that had been before he'd said … whatever he'd said to Christine. Before she'd been so forcefully reminded that he was alien, and that there was a lot about Vulcans that nobody knew because Vulcans just didn't talk about themselves.

Nyota got along just fine with people of many different races; you had to, as a communications officer. But she didn't like how he'd treated Christine, and she didn't like realizing she understood him less well than she'd believed she did. They'd never been close, but they'd been comfortable in each others' presence, and Nyota was decidedly uncomfortable now.

In the end, she went; whatever had happened between him and Christine, he'd been ill at the time and Christine didn't seem to be holding a grudge. If Christine wasn't, then it would be unreasonable of Nyota to do so when she didn't even know what had happened. And it was in one of the private gathering spaces on the rec deck, which was neutral territory if anything was.

Besides, the underlying problem was that Nyota had thought she'd understood Spock, and realized she was wrong, and a lack of understanding wasn't a problem that could be solved by avoidance.

"I apologize for missing our last two sessions without notifying you," Spock said as he tuned his lyre and she soaked the reed of her algaita.

"Apology accepted, Mister Spock," Nyota said. "I understand you weren't yourself." That she was not holding against him. The inconvenience was minor, and it was likely a symptom of his illness. It didn't make her any more comfortable about the rest of the situation, but she appreciated the courtesy.

"I was not," Spock said briefly. Was she imagining things, or was he uncomfortable? Sometimes Spock was surprisingly easy to read, for a Vulcan; sometimes he was perfectly opaque.

"Can I ask if you've apologized to Christine?"

That stopped him. His head shot up and he frowned slightly. "What should I be apologizing for?"

"What should you be apologizing for?" Nyota was incensed. "I don't know what happened because the rumor mill has gone crazy and she won't tell me because of confidentiality issues—although how you can claim confidentiality when it was in a public corridor with multiple crew members walking past is beyond me—but you tore a bloody strip off of her in public, and started a lot of very nasty rumors about both you and her, and you're the first officer and you've been mostly off duty since then so you may not have gotten any grief for it yet, but she has had no such protection."

He was very nearly green. "I did not—there are a number of substantial gaps in my memory of the last week. And there were occasional hallucinations and a number of very odd and lifelike dreams. I do not remember any such exchange, but that means little; and I cannot give you any idea of what my mental state was at that particular moment."

"Then why weren't you in sickbay?" Nyota demanded. "You were even still on the duty roster at that point, and if what you say is true you were certainly not competent to be giving orders for lunch, much less anything else."

"Unfortunately," Spock said, "when one's mind is imbalanced, rational judgment is often an early casualty. By the time the symptoms were undeniable, I was not capable of formulating a logical response to them." He hesitated. "May I ask what the rumors are?"

Nyota summarized them briefly for him, not going into the gory details but giving him the broad strokes of the main rumors.

"I see," he said, when she had finished. His shoulders were drooping, and he would not meet her eyes. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap. She had rarely seen him this discomposed. "Yes. I shall have to apologize. The altercation, whatever it was, was undoubtedly my fault, as was the public nature of it." He looked troubled, and slightly folded in on himself, and Nyota felt sorry for him. The whole thing must have been a nightmare—possibly literally.

"But you are better now?" Nyota said. "And Doctor McCoy knows what he needs to know should it happen again?" She was dying to know the whole story, but it wasn't her business as long as it didn't interfere with the running of the ship.

"Correct on both counts," Spock said, "although the chances of it recurring during the rest of Enterprise's five-year mission are miniscule."

"All right then," Nyota said, reassured that things would return to normal between them. She checked to see if her reed was ready. "Since the last time we met, I finished transcribing the next duet in the sequence into European musical notation, would you like to try it?"

"Certainly," Spock said, sitting up straighter so that he was a model of Vulcan stoicism. Nyota tucked her curiosity away and turned her attention to the music.

Spock took his time putting his lyre back in its case, so that Uhura left the practice room before him. He very carefully and deliberately did not watch her go, focusing instead on asserting his biophysical control so that he could stand and walk back to his quarters with no outward sign of his arousal.

He had always known that Uhura was a beautiful woman; that was obvious to anyone with eyes. But he'd never reacted so viscerally to her or any woman before, save T'Pring at the wedding-that-was-not.

Her hands as she'd trilled! The dance of her fingers over the instrument! So precise, so graceful! He had not been able to tear his eyes away, and felt ashamed at how he had gawked at her. She, of course, had not noticed; hands were not generally a major part of human visual erotic stimulation, and Vulcans certainly did not spread the details of their own sexuality around. Spock could not quite decide whether it was better that she had been unaware of his gaze (thus sparing him embarrassment) or if would have been better had she had known (thus being able to decide whether or not she wanted to be so gazed at).

Spock walked quickly to his quarters and took out the medical tricorder Doctor McCoy had given him for self-monitoring. His endocrine system was within normal tolerances, and none of the secondary symptoms of Pon Farr were showing. He was merely aroused.

He should have expected something like this. Vulcans matured differently than humans did, with two puberties, one in adolescence and the other at first Pon Farr. He was now fully adult, not subadult, and sexual responses were stronger in this stage of life. Moreover, he was no longer married; his bond with T'Pring had ever been tenuous, but it had curbed and absorbed some of what little sexual drive he had had as a subadult. Now, he needed a new mate, and every fiber of his body and brain knew it.

Nyota Uhura was beautiful, intelligent, competent, compassionate, and musical, and he respected her a great deal. Moreover, she was the woman he spent the most time with both in public and in private. It was only natural that he should find her alluring. If she were Vulcan, and not his subordinate, she would have been very nearly the perfect woman for him.

Alas, even if he wished to have a human mate (and after T'Pring, the idea had a certain appeal regardless of Nyo—of Uhura's—personal attractions), she was still his subordinate, and the regulations concerning such relationships were stringent, for very good reason.

This would require a great deal of meditation.

Nyota was cursing Nomad and going through all the drawers in her cabin, trying to learn as much about herself as she could, when the door chime sounded.

"Come," she said, walking from the bedchamber into the living room/office.

It was the ship's first officer, Commander Spock. The only time she could remember meeting him was when he administered the professional tests so that she could be re-certified as an officer. He had been somber, but without the hesitation or pity that marked virtually all of her interactions these days, and pronounced her 'Remarkably proficient as always, Lieutenant.'

She didn't know if he was a friend. But his presence had been easier to bear than all the friends who stopped in to hover awkwardly and tried to bond over reminiscences of things that were forever lost to her.

"Lieutenant Uhura," Spock said. "How are you settling in?" He was tall, the impression enhanced by his perfect posture. His face showed no emotion, but he didn't feel cold, merely still. He was very attractive, but somewhat intimidating. He entered her room with a catlike grace she couldn't help appreciating.

"Some moments better than others, Commander," she said. "Re-learning the academics is—well, not easy, but in some ways it was more of a refresher course than anything else. But anything personal—it feels like I'm a ghost in my own life. Some things I can piece together on my own from my records and the ship's log and conversations I've had since Nomad wiped my brain; other things, I really can't."

"I would be happy to help in any way I can," the Commander said. He had a nice voice, she noted, and wondered if he sang. "We regularly gathered to play music together, which you called our 'jam sessions.'"

"Ah!" Nyota said, brightening. "Then you can definitely help." She went to her bedroom and took out an instrument case. "What is this? It's obviously a double reed instrument of some sort, and it's not an oboe or one of the instruments in an Earth orchestra, and I haven't had time to dig through the computer's music database and figure out what it is."

"That is an algaita, an instrument from West Africa, especially prevalent among the Hausa and Kanuri peoples. You brought it because of all the African instruments you play, it was the smallest and thus easiest to fit in your mass allowance, thus serving double duty as a reminder of home and a musical instrument."

"But I'm not a Hausa, or Kanuri, am I?" Nyota said, frowning. "My file says I'm from Kenya in East Africa, part Kikuyu and part Luhya." And, judging from the items in her quarters, very proud of her heritage … which she no longer remembered anything about. Her insides twisted at another reminder of all that she had lost, and she carefully focused on keeping her breathing steady. She'd cried enough over her state, in the last few days; she was tired of feeling sorry for herself.

"That is true," said Spock, and she turned her attention back to him. "You never told me the story of how you came to learn that particular instrument."

"What other instruments do I play?" Nyota asked. Focusing on concrete things she could re-learn was much better than wallowing in grief.

"Your primary instrument is your voice," Spock said. "As for other instruments, you are competent on a wide variety of Terran stringed instruments, both African and other; most recently, I had been teaching you the Vulcan Lyre. You are apparently accomplished on the marimba, although I have never had the pleasure of hearing you play, for the Enterprise does not have one, nor any xylophones or other similar instrument."

"That's … a lot," Nyota said, dismayed. There was still so much to learn. Would she ever be back to what she had been?

"As with your hand-to-hand combat re-training and the operation of your station, muscle memory should make it easier to re-learn than it was to learn in the first place," Spock said.

"Yeah," Nyota said with a sigh. Well, start with the ones she had available on Enterprise, and the rest she could choose to re-learn—or not—at some later time when she had them available. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, where are my manners. Please, sit," she said, gesturing at one of the two chairs in the living room. "Would you like something to drink? I've got water and tea and some dehydrated drink mixes of various kinds."

"Tea would be appreciated," Spock said, taking the offered chair. He was easy on the eyes, and enjoyable to watch move, and she indulged in that for a second before getting out the tea caddy. She'd been through enough she deserved a bit of harmless pleasure.

Nyota let him choose what type of tea he wanted, and set the "hot" tap in the bathroom sink to the correct temperature for that type of tea. (Thankfully, it was labelled on the package, so she didn't have to look it up.)

"Well, Mister Spock, here you are," Nyota said when the tea was ready. She handed him one mug and sat down with her own, blowing on it to cool it. "I'm sorry, I don't know if there are any cultural things about hospitality I should be doing."

Spock tilted his head. "I cannot speak to your cultural practices, as I have never socialized with you in your quarters before. Were we on Vulcan, in a formal setting, the etiquette for serving refreshments is quite intricate. But we are not on Vulcan, we are not in a formal setting, and under the circumstances you have many other more important things to learn."

Nyota groaned. "I know. It's all so overwhelming and there is so much that I'll never get back. I want to take a break from thinking about it, and yet there's really nothing else I can think about." In a way, that first day or so had been the easy part. Everything had been so confusing, but she hadn't had any idea of just how much she needed to re-learn.

"As you know, I have been consulting with Doctor McCoy about your condition," Spock said.

"Yes," Nyota said, nodding. "Because Doctor McCoy knows the neurology, but if he were able to find a way of fixing my brain, he'd need some sort of specialized equipment and he's 'a doctor, dammit, not an engineer.'" She was quite proud of her mimicry of Doctor McCoy's irascible tone of voice.

"As you know, the chances are negligible that we shall find a technological solution at this point," Spock said. "However, from what scans have been able to determine, the majority of your memories are still there; Nomad did not erase the entire contents of your brain, merely severed the linkages necessary to access them."

"Yes, I know," Nyota said, a little irritated. "I have been paying attention to my own medical condition, Mister Spock."

"Of course," Spock said. "But while it is impossible at this time to build a device sensitive enough to physically rebuild those linkages, it has recently occurred to me that a sufficiently gifted and trained telepath might be able to do so."

"Really?" Nyota asked, feeling her heart begin to pound. "Where's the nearest telepath?"

Spock twitched, a little. "Vulcans are touch telepaths, however—"

"When can you do it?" she demanded. "Now?"

"No," Spock said. "I am not a trained healer. The nearest such is on Vulcan, a two week journey from here by shuttle."

"Shuttle?" Nyota sagged. "I'd have to leave Enterprise?" She had only a little over a week's worth of memories in her entire life, at least memories that she could access at the moment. The majority of that time, she'd been in sickbay. She had no memories of any place other than this ship. Something in her gut twisted at the thought.

"Possibly," Spock said. "I have not yet discussed this possible course of treatment with Doctor McCoy, and I would need to contact experts on Vulcan to make arrangements. But I wished for your consent before anything was done. Many humans would have qualms about allowing an alien telepath such intimate access to their mind; in order to work, the telepathic healer would have to have access to even the most personal of your thoughts and memories."

"Mister Spock, if it would get my memories back, I'd agree to have my memories broadcast across the quadrant!"

"Fortunately, that will not be necessary," Spock said, raising an eyebrow. "Very well. I will begin making arrangements."

Spock, Uhura, and Doctor McCoy had gathered in the Doctor's office to consult with a Vulcan healer over subspace. Spock was anxious to hear the verdict, for he very much hoped that the lieutenant's brain might be healed. It was more than the compassion he might feel for any sentient so injured, and more than the concern of a superior for one under his command. Uhura had handled her situation with a grace and courage and tenacity that Spock deeply admired. It spoke to the strength of her character, and his admiration for her had only increased.

He did not have long to dwell on this, however, as Healer T'Vyr was admirably prompt, and once the call had connected, wasted little time on pleasantries before sharing her conclusions. "While there is only a 29.4% chance of complete memory re-acquisition, your hypothesis is probably correct that a majority of the still-extant memories could be made accessible," Healer T'Vyr said over subspace.

"That's wonderful!" Uhura said. Indeed it was; Spock had to exert some control to keep his relief from showing.

"Indeed," T'Vyr said. "However, there remains a significant problem: no Vulcan mind-healer I have contacted has any experience with Human neural architecture. None have ever even mind-melded with a Human. Ideally, the healer would have melded with Lieutenant Uhura prior to the Nomad's attack, but failing that, they would need to have melded with multiple humans prior to the meld with the Lieutenant, so that they might know what a healthy human mind feels like."

"Where are we gonna find telepathic healers with that much experience, if there aren't any Vulcans?" Doctor McCoy asked. "Are there other species in the Federation with telepathic healers?"

"Possibly," Healer T'Vyr said. "However, there may be a simpler solution. This will require delicacy, but if Human brains are anything like Vulcan brains, the telepath will not be the one performing the re-association; the Lieutenant will be. Vulcan brains, and indeed those of most sapient species, make such connections easily so that memories may be formed in the first place."

"That's true of Human brains, too, ma'am," Doctor McCoy said. "Unless there's trauma of some sort involved."

Spock was filled with a sense of foreboding that was most illogical. He could predict the solution the healer was about to suggest, and it would be efficient and logical. While it would require him to reveal certain personal issues to the lieutenant, his privacy was not more important than her health.

"Spock, having studied your school records, I know that you melded with two humans over the course of your telepathic training, your mother and your foster-sister," Healer T'Vyr said. "Your instructors note that you have a delicate telepathic touch, and your instructor in telepathic ethics gave you a satisfactory report."

"I am not a healer," Spock noted.

"You may still be more qualified to help the Lieutenant than any Vulcan with healer training," T'Vyr said, "provided the Lieutenant is comfortable with accepting your help. In any case, as long as you do not try and force any connections, there should be no harm in trying. If you do not succeed, there would be nothing to stop the Lieutenant from travelling to Vulcan and being seen by a healer here. Or finding telepathic mind-healers elsewhere in the Federation."

"Well, that sounds like something we need to discuss on our end," Doctor McCoy said. "Thank you for your help. Lieutenant, you have any more questions?"

"I thought you didn't have any healers who had melded with humans on Vulcan," Uhura said. "Yet you still think I should come if Spock can't do it?"

"Lack of experience with Human brains is a solvable issue," T'Vyr said. "Although there are not many Humans on Vulcan, there are some, and the chances are very good that we would be able to find several who were willing to meld with your Healer to give them experience. It is not, however, ideal; mind-melds are, by their very nature, extremely intimate, and it is an enormous thing to ask of someone, to meld with a stranger, when they themselves have no medical or other need."

"I see," Uhura said.

There were no further questions, and so the communication was ended.

"Well, Spock, why didn't you say you could do it in the first place?" McCoy said.

"I am not a healer," Spock said. "If there were some sort of time pressure, and we could not wait to get Uhura to Vulcan or a healer here, then I would have volunteered."

"But—"

"If an away-team member had an injury requiring surgery," Spock said, "it would be appropriate for me to perform any emergency first-aid necessary, but not to perform the surgery myself, unless the landing party was cut off from the ship and the crew member would die without an immediate operation. The brain is a very delicate organ. Non-healers are taught to communicate through melds and regulate our own telepathy, not make adjustments in other peoples' minds."

"Point taken, Spock," McCoy said, crossing his arms. "But the Healer thinks you'd be capable, and I agree with her reasoning. What do you say, Nyota? Want to give Spock's magic fingers a try?"

Uhura frowned, looking him up and down. "Yes," she said, "but I think the Commander has reservations?"

Spock nodded. "As the situation is not time-critical, some discussion of the issues involved is necessary."

"Of course," McCoy said. "You can use my office, I'll be in the general sickbay."

As soon as the door closed behind him, Uhura turned to him with a frown. "Commander Spock, would you be okay with melding with me? If it's so intimate?"

"Under the circumstances, the intimacy would largely be on your side," Spock pointed out. "There would undoubtedly be some sharing on my part, as I do not have a healer's training in clinical shields. However, I would have to go through every memory of yours that I could find and present it to you so that your mind could make the appropriate connections. You would have no secrets from me, quite literally."

"That would be true of any telepath I saw, though, whether you or a healer on Vulcan," Uhura pointed out. She got up and began to pace. "The difference is, I know you, and I'm in comfortable surroundings here. My other option is travel to a place I've never been, trusting strangers with the secrets locked inside my skull that even I don't know about."

"The benefit to strangers doing this would be that you would never have to face anyone with that intimate knowledge of you again," Spock pointed out. "If I did it, and discovered things about you that you would rather I not know, you would have to see me every day, unless you transferred off of the Enterprise."

"Do you think I have any secrets that embarrassing?" Uhura asked, pausing.

"Unknown," Spock said. "You have always seemed to me to be a remarkably transparent individual, but you are also quite competent at undercover missions and any deception required professionally. And, obviously, you did not confide in me if you had any secrets you did not want me to know."

"Obviously," Uhura said with a snort, resuming her pacing. "You seem reluctant. It's your choice, Mister Spock, but I'd rather have you; I don't want to leave Enterprise and put myself in the hands of strangers. And then there's all the other people who'd have to have melds to give the healers experience, if I go that route, it's not any fairer to expect that of them than it is for me to expect it of you, if you would find it unpleasant."

"On the contrary, I suspect I would find it a pleasant experience," Spock said. "That is why I hesitate."

She stopped again and frowned at him. "I don't understand, Mister Spock, why would finding it nice be a problem?"

Spock gathered his courage. He would not have chosen telling her this way; might never have chosen to inform her of his feelings. Hours of meditation in the time since his … divorce … had been insufficient to settle within himself what his long-term personal goals should be, and until and unless he had decided to pursue a relationship with her it would be unprofessional to burden her with the knowledge of his affections. But there was no help for it. "I have recently discovered myself attracted to you, Ms. Uhura," he said. "Not merely to your body, but to your intelligence and quick-wittedness and personality, as well. I had not said anything yet because it was new, and I recently experienced a major life transition and wished to reach a state of personal equilibrium before making any large changes. In addition, given our respective ranks and positions in the ship's hierarchy, any relationship between us would require a great deal of care."

Uhura blinked several times, opening and closing her mouth before speaking. He studied her, and she returned the attention in kind. He could not trust himself to discern her reaction to his confession, but he hoped she was not offended. She did not seem to be.

"That's flattering, Mister Spock," she said at last, "but I don't know if I—"

"I am not asking for any reciprocity at this time, or even if such reciprocity might be possible in the future," Spock said. "If nothing else, your own mental state is such that you need time to recover and learn to stand on your own before making any serious relationship changes of your own. However, you needed to know before consenting to any mind-meld between us."

"Because I might find out during the meld?"

"Because if I wished to, I could almost certainly alter whatever feelings towards me you possess during the meld, and you would have no way of preventing it," Spock explained. "If nothing else, I could alter or create memories for you that would make you more disposed to accept my attentions, or simply prevent any memories critical of me from being remembered. I would never do any of those things because they would be an absolute violation of every ethical and moral standard, but I have the power to do them if I chose, and you have only my word and a week's acquaintance with me to base any decisions on."

"Oh," Uhura said, eyes wide. She swallowed. "But any telepath could do that, yes?"

"Yes," Spock said. "But a telepath who did not previously know you would have less motivation for such a crime, and tampering would be immediately obvious if, for example, you declared your undying love for someone you had only just met and wished to transfer to Space Central on Vulcan."

"Whereas you and I have served together for almost two years," Uhura said, thinking it through.

"And you have been known to flirt with me," Spock said. "As a sort of game, I believe, but an observer might not know that."

"And there's no one else here to double-check your work," Uhura said. Her body language was more closed off than it had been even thirty seconds earlier, and it grieved him to see, but it was better that she understand fully, and make an informed decision.

"Correct," Spock said. "I would never alter your thinking or your memories for my own benefit without your prior consent, but you have only my word for that. I can tell you that I would probably find exploring your mind to be a pleasurable experience, for I greatly admire you as a person and as an officer." He set aside his embarrassment to deal with later; right now, Uhura's future and mental health were the primary considerations.

Uhura made a face. "Would that be … an erotic sort of pleasure?" she asked hesitantly.

"Not in the physically arousing sense," Spock said, "although Vulcan notions of the erotic are different. I assure you, your memories would not become part of any fantasy life on my part."

"But, again, I would have only your word for that," Uhura said.

"Correct," Spock said. "I hope you understand why it is important that you understand fully the range of possibilities before consenting to any meld between us."

"Or between myself and any healer on Vulcan." Uhura closed her eyes and shook her head. "Can I talk with someone about this?"

Spock ignored his initial wish to deny her so that his private feelings might remain so. It was a logical question; since she had so little experience of his character to draw on, consulting with others who knew him better was the only way to get enough information to base a decision on. "If they understand that it is a private matter not to be gossiped about. Doctor McCoy would probably have a valuable perspective." Also, he understood the importance of patient confidentiality and would probably not tease Spock excessively about feelings he learned of in such circumstances.

"What about Christine?" Uhura asked. "She's been such a help since I lost my memory, and I know we were friends before Nomad's attack."

Spock swallowed. "Nurse Chapel would be acceptable," he said slowly, "and given her position as a nurse she has certainly seen me at my worst, in circumstances few others have. However, I believe she has an unrequited crush on me. She is a professional, and would not let it color any advice she gave you, but—"

"—but she might be hurt to know you were attracted to me and not her," Uhura said with a nod. "All right, I'll think about it and let you know."

Spock bowed in acknowledgment.

"You and Spock have a nice chat?" Doctor McCoy asked after Commander Spock had left.

"It was … revealing," Nyota said wryly. Flattering—she doubted he was the type to fall in love lightly, or based on superficial things, so to know he was attracted to her was a compliment both to who she was now and who she had been before the memory wipe. How she felt about him was a question she simply didn't have the energy to think about right now. Not while she had such a momentous decision to make.

"And? When are you going to do it?"

"You're so sure we're going to meld," Nyota said.

Doctor McCoy shrugged. "You heard Healer T'Vyr, he's the closest thing to an expert there is, and he'd make sure the job was done right. If you're not comfortable with him for some reason, you can go to Vulcan, of course, but I don't see why you'd spend that much time in a shuttle craft just to have a stranger poking at your brain."

"And I could trust him?"

"Yes," McCoy said without hesitation. "Absolutely. He drives me batty sometimes—and I do my best to return the favor—but his ethics are rock solid."

"Even when there's a lot of temptation?" Nyota asked. She was pretty sure she knew the answer.

"Yes," McCoy said. "That's when he tends to get the persnicketiest about things. Mind if I ask what exactly is bothering you? It'd help me to answer any specific questions you might have."

"He's attracted to me," Nyota said. "And … fairly deeply, if I was reading him right." His earnestness when he talked about all the things he saw in her, and the depth of his disquiet with confessing his feelings … no, this was no passing fancy.

"Spock's in love with you?" McCoy said with a splutter, standing up straighter.

"He didn't say he was in love with me," Nyota said. His surprise confirmed that Spock's affections weren't lightly or easily given. "He said he was attracted to me."

"Given how strictly he controls his emotions, it would have to be a pretty strong 'attraction' to be worth mentioning," McCoy said. "Why'd he tell you?"

"He wanted me to know because he wanted me to know what I was agreeing to, and tried to scare me off by pointing out that he could rearrange my mind to make me love him back." Nyota paused and thought for a few seconds. "Of course, if he were planning on doing something like that, he wouldn't have warned me ahead of time."

"That's Spock all over, though," McCoy said. "Making sure everything is done the right way, making sure you know exactly what you're getting into. Well, I can see why you'd want to ask about things, but I'd sooner believe he could fly without antigrav boots than that he'd take advantage of anyone telepathically like that. Still, if you'd rather go to Vulcan and have someone who's not in love with you rummaging around in your brain, I'll make the arrangements."

Nyota sighed. "I don't know. The idea of what he could do is frightening, but then, any telepath could do that. And this way I wouldn't have to leave Enterprise and have a stranger rummaging around in my mind."

She thought back to his confession that he would probably find pleasure in melding with her. She didn't begrudge him that; he was not the type to be creepy about it, and better that he liked it than imposing something he found distasteful. "I think I want Mister Spock to do it," she decided.

"You can have as much time to think about it as you want," Doctor McCoy said.

"More time won't change the options," Nyota pointed out. "I don't have enough experience to make judgments on how trustworthy any telepath is. You say he's trustworthy; well, I believe you. And I like him, what I've seen of him. And I am tired of wondering who I was before and what I'm missing now."

"Fair enough," McCoy said.

The meld was a success. When it was over, Spock left Uhura in McCoy's capable hands and retreated back to his cabin to meditate. He was in great need of it.

A deeper knowledge of Uhura's mind had only proven how fascinating a woman she was. His baser instincts were tempting him to dwell on what it might be like to have her in his mind always, but he had given her his word that he would not use what he had learned about her in the meld to fantasize about, and he intended to keep that word.

Still, he now knew first-hand that any bond with her would be completely different from that which he had shared with T'Pring, and only partially because she was human and T'Pring was Vulcan. T'Pring had isolated herself from him, responding in the most superficial way possible, and that only when ignoring him was not possible. Spock had responded in kind. But Uhura had welcomed him, in the meld, and he did not think merely because she desired his help. He doubted she would shut him out.

Of course, he acknowledged, the same might be said for any Vulcan woman who agreed to marry him. T'Pring had never desired to be his bondmate; it had been chosen for them, and her parents should have seen her reaction and found someone else for her. If he married now, it would be to a woman who had chosen him, and if T'Pau offered a potential match with a woman who was not compatible with him, it would be simple to decline. It was illogical to believe that because Uhura was the first eligible woman he had melded with who did not find his mental touch a burden, that she was the only such woman in existence.

It had been only a short time since T'Pring rejected him. Long-established research in both Vulcan and Human psychology clearly showed that making major decisions or changes too soon after a major loss such as a divorce or bereavement was likely to result in suboptimal results. Thus, as he had concluded from the beginning, it would be illogical to seriously consider a new relationship, either with Uhura or through the offices of T'Pau as matchmaker, until the debacle of his marriage was far enough in the past that he could view it with at least a degree of equanimity.

He turned his meditations to the now-familiar task of acknowledging and taming his feelings for Uhura.

Two days after the meld, Nyota laid on her bed in her quarters, staring up at the ceiling and trying to concentrate on the music she was listening to. It was completely different from any style of music in her personal playlists, and as far as she could tell she'd never heard anything like it before in her life. It was just what she needed: something unlikely to trigger any of the memories that she could now access, thanks to Spock.

Ironic, after spending a week digging for memories so frantically.

A lifetime of memories was a lot to go through, and the meld had been very intense. She felt like her brain was a dresser that had had its entire contents scattered about the room, examined, and then put back in place, and she wasn't quite sure there was room for everything. Her brain felt very … full.

The door chimed. "Come in," she said, sitting up.

It was Christine. "How are you feeling?" she asked as she walked through the sitting area to the bed chamber. "And what are you listening to?"

"Sixty-year-old popular music from a non-aligned world called S'hrevlar," Nyota said. "It's very distracting."

"I can tell," Christine said wryly.

Nyota turned it off. "And are you asking as my nurse or my friend?"

"Both," Christine said. "The meld took a lot out of you and Spock both, but he's back on duty and you're not."

Nyota sighed. The meld had taken hours, and been very draining. And then had come all the work of putting the memories she could now access into some sort of coherent order and narrative. In the two nights since, her dreams had been eventful, and Doctor McCoy thought that REM sleep was probably the best thing for her, so she was trying to take naps in addition to her normal sleep cycle. But even while she was awake, she was constantly seeing things with new eyes and putting together the puzzle pieces of her mind. "It's getting better," she said. "It's definitely much better today than it was yesterday, and better this afternoon than it was this morning when I had my checkup. It's just … it's just a lot, and I'm so tired. Not sleepy, just worn."

Christine hummed. "I can't even imagine."

"Hopefully, you won't ever have to," Nyota said, and changed the subject. She'd spent enough time dwelling on her own problems, recently, and not enough time just hanging out with her friend.

She and Christine had a nice chat, and after her friend left, Nyota flopped back on the bed. Now that she had (most of) her memories back, she was glad she hadn't told Christine about Spock's affections for her, when she'd asked Christine's opinion on Spock's ethics. That would have been awkward, and unnecessarily hurtful to Christine. (Reliving her memories of that mystery-shrouded trip to Vulcan had been one of the few times that Spock's own emotions had come through in the meld—he hadn't been able to hide how embarrassed he still was over the whole thing, how he'd treated Christine but also something deeper he hadn't shared with her. It felt like ages ago, but hadn't been all that long before the encounter with Nomad which had wiped her memories.)

Wait a minute. Nyota narrowed her eyes as something occurred to her. Spock was married! To that Vulcan woman who'd called them when they arrived at Vulcan! What was he doing falling in love with her if he was married? She'd thought Vulcans had better control over their feelings than that.

She rose, checked her appearance in the mirror to make sure she was presentable, and went to go ask him about it.

Spock was in his quarters and responded promptly when she pressed the door chime.

"Ms. Uhura," he said, inviting her to take a seat. "Would you care for some tea?"

"Thank you," she said, slightly taken aback. He'd never offered her tea before, but then, she'd never visited him in his quarters before.

"This is theris-na'na, which is more palatable to humans than most other Vulcan varieties of tea," Spock said, presenting her with a cup after a few minutes work.

"Thank you," she said, taking a sip. "It's good!" She didn't know how to describe it; it wasn't like any Earth tea she knew. But it didn't require sugar or milk or lemon or anything to make it drinkable.

"Kh'halwer nash-vey k'odu," Spock said. When Nyota hesitated, he went on. "The traditional response is th'i-oxolara kh'harwa."

She repeated it carefully. "I don't know that I've ever heard you speak Vulcan before."

"You still have not, as there is no single 'Vulcan' language."

Nyota felt her cheeks heat. She knew Vulcan, like most planets, had a plethora of languages; she so seldom fell prey to the common practice of labelling the most common language of a planet as the planet's only language. "Any language of Vulcan," she corrected herself. "What language were you speaking?"

"Shi'Kha'ri," Spock said.

Nyota raised an eyebrow at him. "You mean, the language that is most commonly called 'Vulcan' by offworlders?"

"Precision is important," he said severely, although she could tell he was amused.

"Are there any other cultural expectations?" Nyota asked.

Spock took a sip of his own tea. "Vulcans—at least, those following Shi'Kha'ri manners—do not typically speak when food or drink is being consumed. However, outsiders often find the silence to be … oppressive, and I have never minded one way or the other."

"Ah," Nyota said. She'd lost the momentum she'd had when she came here, but she still wanted to know the answer. "Spock, when you told me you had feelings for me, you implied you were considering asking to start a romantic relationship with me."

"Yes. Although I am not ready for any such step, just yet, and may not be any time in the immediate future."

"But you're married!" Nyota burst out. "Your wife called the bridge, what was her name—"

"T'Pring," Spock said, somewhat harshly. "She divorced me."

"Oh." Nyota was taken aback. "I'm sorry." She thought about the timing. "Wait, she divorced you when you were sick? So sick you could only be treated on your homeworld?"

"Yes." Spock sighed. "To be fair to her, Vulcan divorces require both spouses to be present with a priest or healer, so that the telepathic bond may be severed. I had not been back to Vulcan in many years."

"And if she'd asked for a divorce, would you have taken leave and gone to visit?" Nyota asked.

"Yes," Spock said, "although it is considerably more complicated, and difficult, than obtaining a divorce on Earth."

"Still!" Nyota said. She paused. "I'm sorry for bringing it up, it must still be a sore spot."

"Yes," Spock said dryly. He looked aside. "Vulcans prize marriage very deeply, and while my relationship with T'Pring was never close, it was still—I have not been alone in my own skull since we were betrothed at age seven. It is … more difficult than I would have thought, to adjust. A part of me would like to remarry immediately, merely so that I would not have to learn how to be … solitary."

Was he trying to hint that he wanted a serious relationship with her? No, Spock wasn't the type to beat around the bush. But it did put his feelings in a different light. "I'm not opposed to marriage, eventually, but there are a few necessary steps first," Nyota said. Such as deciding if she felt more for him than just 'very attractive man she liked a great deal.'

Spock blinked and looked at her. "I did not mean to imply that I wish to marry you in the immediate future. My apologies for the imprecision. No, if I wished to marry quickly, I would ask my clan matriarch T'Pau and she would find an appropriate Vulcan woman for me to marry. Indeed, I have no doubt that she will soon begin presenting me with possible options whether I ask her to or not."

"So Vulcans go in for arranged marriages," Nyota said, wondering if the T'Pau he named was the T'Pau—if so, no wonder the admiralty hadn't punished the captain for the diversion to Vulcan. "I'm sure based on all sorts of logical criteria."

"Yes," Spock said. "Telepathic and mental compatibility being one of those criteria—which is one reason I should not have been so surprised when T'Pring … did what she did. She and I were never close, even when we were first betrothed."

"And you were seven?" Nyota asked. That seemed terribly young. On a more personal note, the meld would have undoubtedly given him an idea of whether they were telepathically and mentally compatible. Now she was curious what she would have learned about him, if the meld had been more reciprocal.

"Yes," Spock said. "Seven is the customary age, in my clan."

"Why so young?"

"Vulcans are more psychologically stable when we have telepathic bonds, and that is around the age when our bonds with our parents begin to fade," Spock said. "And it is traditional. Not all clans bond their children, or do so that young, and not every House within every clan does it; but most do."

"And now you have no bond," Nyota said, softly, trying to imagine it. "What does that feel like to you? Do you miss it?"

"Like a missing limb," Spock said. "Understand, I do not wish T'Pring back; but I do wish to be bonded. However, the most expedient way to achieve that would be to marry whatever woman T'Pau suggests, and I do not know that marrying a stranger simply to be bonded would be an optimal long-term solution."

"Well, it's sure not the solution I would choose," Nyota said, shaking her head. "I suppose you don't know any unmarried Vulcan women?"

"No. I have spent most of my adult life in Starfleet, in majority-human environments, and approximately 90% of all adult Vulcans are married."

"Ninety percent?" Nyota said. "Wow!" She considered all that Spock had told her. "So when you said you were going through a major life change and needed to figure out what you wanted out of life before even considering whether to act on your feelings for me, you weren't exaggerating, were you."

"I do not exaggerate," Spock said. "In addition, there is another critical consideration: your feelings and wishes, which you have never discussed with me. And the fact that you are currently recovering from a significant trauma. Your resilience is most impressive, and I wish to support you in whatever way you require. Requesting major life changes on your part at this time would be … both selfish and thoughtless."

"Thank you, Spock," Nyota said, touched. "I do want to … settle back in to my life, so to speak, and I hope things will go back to normal as quickly as possible. Well," she said, correcting herself, "as normal as things ever get on Enterprise. I hope I didn't just jinx us."

"Luck—and jinxes—are illogical, Lieutenant," Spock said. "Statistical analyses will always reveal that, when the observer's biases are corrected for, improbable things do not correlate in statistically significant ways to any individual, object, or vessel."

"Spock, two things," Nyota said. She was happy they'd had the conversation, happy to have learned more about him, but still, she was relieved to have the conversation turn lighter. "First, when we're off-duty, you can call me Nyota." After rummaging through her brain, he knew her more intimately than any other person ever had, and it seemed silly to stand on formality. She'd never offered her first name before, but then she'd always felt constrained by the gap in their ranks, but then again, he'd never been this candid with her, either. "Second, how else do you explain all the things that happen to this ship without luck, good and bad alike?"

"Even million-to-one chances occur with some regularity given a large enough sample size," Spock said. "And calculating the odds of any given happenstance is difficult when one is studying the unknown."

"True," Nyota said, "but Enterprise isn't the only Federation starship exploring the unknown, and I've spend enough time gossiping with my fellow communications officers to know that odd and improbable things happen to us at a much higher rate than they do to our sister ships. Do you have any statistical explanation for that that doesn't boil down to 'we're just lucky that way'?"

Spock opened his mouth, but hesitated before speaking.

"I thought not," Nyota said triumphantly. "I'm back on duty starting tomorrow. I'll see you on the bridge in the morning, Spock." She slipped out the door with a smile on her face. It wasn't often she got the last word in a debate with him without cheating in some way.

It wasn't until she was back in her quarters that she realized he very carefully hadn't asked what her feelings toward him might be. Which was considerate of him, given how unsettled she was right now, but still left the question: how did she feel about him? He was very attractive and compelling, of course; she'd always been quite aware of that. And she enjoyed the challenge of sparring verbally with him (and flirting with him when she could get away with it). And he was a friend. But she had always considered him unattainable, and so never put much serious thought into the question.

He was very intense, and that was a quality she appreciated in a partner. The thought of all that intensity focused on her … she shivered, tingling a little. There was a reason she'd never let herself seriously consider his attractiveness. He'd been unapproachable, untouchable, and why open herself to that heartbreak? She'd had her fill of hopeless crushes as a teenager, thank you.

Except now he wasn't unapproachable.

Of course, part of that intensity meant that he wanted a serious relationship that might lead to marriage, and while Nyota had always thought she'd probably get married some day, it had always been something to set aside until some nebulous future after she was done with her adventuring. But a fellow officer on the same ship, that was a relationship she could have while adventuring. And once the Enterprise's five year mission was over, they could always ask to be posted together, if their relationship were still going strong then.

It was an appealing picture.

But what if they tried a relationship and it didn't work? He was much farther along in his attraction to her than she was to him. That might change, but it might not, and she didn't want to hurt him.

She laughed out loud at the absurdity of that thought. "Nobody knows how a relationship's going to end when they start it," she told herself. "And you never know, he might realize a relationship with a human is nicer in fantasy than reality and dump me."

Well. She wasn't ready for anything right this minute, but … it might be an interesting thing to try in the future.

Spock spent the rest of the evening working out a statistical analysis of the Enterprise's mission thus far, as compared to other starships on similar missions throughout Federation and pre-Federation history, and concluded that while the Enterprise was indeed (thus far) more likely to experience unusual events than other starships, it was not the only ship to experience such a pattern, and past performance was no indicator of future events, and so it was just as possible that Enterprise would soon experience no more than the normal unforseen events that happened to any exploratory vessel, while some other ship would find itself experiencing a string of unusual events.

The analysis was not as convincing as he had hoped it might be, but he sent it to Nyota's inbox anyway.

The next morning on the bridge, she got it, sent him a wry look, and set to annotating it in between her attention to her work responsibilities. By the end of the shift she had sent it back to him with insightful comments at every weak point in his analysis, and a note. "Still sounds like luck to me.—N"

Instead of allowing Nyota time to ease back into her life and work and Spock time to contemplate his wishes and priorities, the next mission was exactly the sort which happened to Enterprise more than other Starfleet vessels. The mission to Halka brought a dramatic twist and proof of alternate universes all at the same time. The scientific results were fascinating; the alternates of their crewmates were appalling.

It only took a brief interview with the alternates for a deep fear to plant itself in his gut: did his counterpart harbor similar feelings for the other Nyota, and, if so, what would such a man do to the object of his affections? It was illogical to dwell on the possibilities. Spock was certainly not responsible for the conduct of his alternate, and there was nothing he could do to protect Nyota except finding a way to retrieve the stranded away team, which he and the entire science and engineering teams were working on as quickly as they could. Meditation sufficed to keep his fear leashed, but could not relieve it.

It took a great deal of effort to maintain his control when the away team returned safe and sound, and Nyota showing no signs of trauma beyond that of a stressful undercover mission.

"Still don't believe in luck, Spock?" Nyota asked, after the debriefings were over and she'd had time to rest and write her report. "What other ship would have run into such a thing?" She proved quite immune to his logic and statistics, but the debate was entertaining anyway.

After that were a string of missions that, while noteworthy in themselves, were hardly out of the normal range of their experiences, and then came a mission Spock had been dreading since it was put on their schedule: a trip back into the Federation to pick up ambassadors and escort them to a neutral location for a summit. While he was grateful for the opportunity to see his mother, he could quite easily have gone another eighteen years without speaking to his father. But that was not an option as first officer of a ship his father was travelling on.

Nyota got to their usual practice room before Spock, and was warming up on her algaita by playing a song that had been popular when she'd been a teenager. She was surprised when he walked in with a middle-aged Human woman wearing Vulcan robes. "Hello," Nyota said. "I'm Lieutenant Uhura. Spock, do you need to reschedule?" Maybe the woman was a diplomat and needed something.

"Oh, please don't on my account, I've been looking forward to hearing him play," the woman said with a fond look at Spock, patting him gently on the arm. Spock looked mildly embarrassed.

His mother, perhaps? Spock's mother was Human, though Nyota hadn't known his mother was a diplomat. And why had he brought her here? They weren't even dating yet, much less at the meet-the-parents stage. And wasn't that telling, she realized, that apparently her subconscious thought of dating Spock as a matter of 'when' and not 'if.'

"Lieutenant Uhura, this is my mother," Spock said, confirming her guess. "Doctor Amanda Grayson."

Nyota blinked. "The Doctor Grayson, who worked on the Universal Translator team? The first Human to teach at the Vulcan Science Academy?"

"I see my reputation precedes me," Doctor Grayson said with a smile.

"I don't want to take time away from you and Spock, because I'm sure it's been a while since you've seen one another, but I would love to talk with you about your work," Nyota gushed. "As head of Communications, so much of what I do uses your translator as a base."

"Not just my translator, I was one of a large team," Doctor Grayson said with a smile. "But I bet Spock would find the conversation interesting as well."

"Languages are a hobby for me, not a vocation," Spock said, "but I do have some interest in the field, and even more in the computer programming which undergirds the Universal Translator's work. I would be quite interested in such a conversation as well."

"Wonderful!" Doctor Grayson said, clapping her hands. "I'll listen to you practice—please don't mind me, or think you have to perform for me; I'm just interested to hear what my son is up to these days—and then we can go get some lunch and talk linguistics, as I know Spock won't mind talking during his meal."

That lunch with Nyota and his mother was the pleasantest two hours Spock had spent in a long time. Of course his mother got along well with Nyota; they both were good people with excellent taste and similar interests. (He steadfastly did not contemplate how his father would react to learning his son wished to marry a human instead of a Vulcan woman of sufficient standing to make up for the alliance lost with T'Pring's challenge; in this, as in most things familial, Spock had no doubt that his father would be deeply hypocritical.)

After the surgery which saved his father's life, Nyota came to visit Spock in his quarters while he recovered. He'd been lying in bed in his meditation robe when she chimed for admittance. The doctor had been forced to take a significant amount of blood, and Spock was on strict orders to rest and eat well for a day or two while his body replenished the supply.

"Come in," he said at the door's chime, rolling out of bed and wincing at the lingering light-headedness.

Nyota stepped in. She was beautiful as ever, and it was pleasant to see her in something other than a uniform. The colorful caftan suited her, as everything did. "I'm not much of a chess player," she said, "and I know that's your game, and I don't know any Vulcan games, but if you'd like to play a game I could learn. I know when I'm sick or injured, the boredom is almost the worst part and I can't imagine it's any better for you."

"An untaxing entertainment to pass the time would be appreciated," Spock said. "If there is a game you are fond of, I am sure I could learn well enough for our purposes."

"You're the one who's under the weather, so we'll play one of your games," Nyota said. "When I'm injured, you can return the favor."

"Very well," Spock said, and got out his kal toh set, putting it in the simplest mode. As both a musician and a linguist, Nyota's skill at pattern-recognition was significantly above average for a Human, and she might find the game interesting.

"I noticed your parents touched a great deal, just their fingertips," Nyota said, making conversation in the middle of their second game. "It surprised me, because Vulcans generally avoid touching other people."

"Being touch telepaths, touching others with bare skin can easily result in unwanted reading of surface thoughts," Spock said. "Given that the majority of nerves which carry telepathic information in Vulcans are in the hands, touching hands is far more intimate than any other part of the body. But Vulcan marriage includes not just physical and emotional intimacy, but mental and telepathic intimacy as well."

"And that touch was … intimate?" Nyota asked.

Spock sighed. "As a child, I was often embarrassed by how visibly and frequently they touched in that manner."

Nyota laughed. "I was embarrassed by my parents kissing. But that didn't stop them—my dad would make their kisses noisier and more theatrical to tease me."

"My mother had that impulse as well, although my father would rarely indulge her outside our home," Spock said.

Nyota hummed and reached out to touch a piece.

"I would not advise that," Spock said.

"Why? No, no, don't tell me, I'll figure it out." Nyota frowned and studied the set for a few minutes, before her expression cleared and she made a much better move.

Nyota sat in the rec deck chatting and laughing with Christine and a few other friends. Spock was sitting on the other side with the Captain, and she couldn't help sneaking looks at him. She had a very good view of him from here, long and lean and graceful, relaxed and content.

He really was very attractive. And she knew him much better now than she had a few months ago. They played kal-to regularly now, in addition to their jam sessions. Even their music had changed. Where once they had focused exclusively on the music, now it was a jumping off point for discussions about music theory, other musical experiences they'd had, and anything else that came up. They'd been growing closer, and she enjoyed spending time with him.

That internal slip she'd made when he introduced his mother really had been telling, she realized. It was a 'when' and not an 'if,' at least from her point of view. And she was ready to be done with waiting.

"What do you think, Nyota?" Christine asked, and Nyota turned her attention back to her friends.

She did make a point of rubbing her fingers together where Spock could see. And from the looks he was sending her way, he'd noticed. She smiled.

Nyota left the rec room, headed for her quarters. "Lieutenant, may I speak with you?" Spock was always more formal in the corridors and other public spaces.

"Why, of course, Commander," she said, voice honeyed. She waited for him to catch up at the turbolift.

"May I ask the purpose of that display?" he asked, once they were inside. He was tense, every line of his body taut.

"I'm back to normal, and I'd be interested in trying a relationship if you are, Spock," Nyota said. "And I thought I'd give you incentive to make up your mind, one way or the other."

"I—you are sure?" he asked, hesitant in a way she'd never seen him be.

"Yes, Spock, I am," Nyota said. "I wouldn't tease about that." She shrugged. "Now, I know you have a lot of decisions to make, and this is probably a bigger deal for you than for me, as Vulcans don't date casually the way Humans do. I don't know if you want to actually try something, but I'm ready if you are."

"I am very unlikely to be content with casual anything," Spock said.

"I kind of figured," Nyota said. "I can't say I'd be willing to marry you right now, if you asked me, but I can't say I'd mind that as a direction to explore. And if we're going to start exploring in that direction, I'm as ready now as I'll ever be. You might need more time, and I respect that. But if all you need is a sign from me, well.…" She held up two fingers, as she'd seen his parents do. His eyes widened and from this close she could see his pupils dilate.

Slowly he stretched out a hand to match, and his eyes closed.

Oh.

That—she hadn't expected to get anything out of the finger caress. But she could feel him, not as clearly as in the meld, no direct thoughts, but she could feel the pulse of them, and the arousal that had been thrumming through him since she started flirting in the rec room. Then he began stroking his fingers against hers, and that was even better.

She really wanted to kiss him, and she leaned in to do just that. He met her halfway; well, of course, he could feel what she wanted. And the kiss was even better, because he didn't let go of her hand and she could still feel him, and he her.

Most first kisses were just a little awkward as you got to know your partner's body, but not this one. Spock could tell exactly what she wanted, and the result was a kiss that made her toes curl and her knees go slightly weak.

The turbolift beeped as they arrived at their destination, and they disengaged. Fortunately, there weren't any people waiting for the turbolift, because if she looked as dazed as Spock did, and people saw them, the rumors would spread at lightspeed.

"Well, Mister Spock," Nyota said, "I call that a promising experiment. But I think it needs further testing, don't you?"

"Indeed," Spock intoned, following her down the corridor.

#fanfiction #fanfic #star trek #spock #Nyota Uhura

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rosethornewrites · 3 years ago

Text

Thursday T & G reading

The usual

Finished

Tumblr:

tone deaf, by @mondengel

Teen:

The man from the future, by SerlinaBlack

The man came to them in a burst of light, he brought tales of war and death. He told them that he died, that he was ressurected in another body.

But also future Wei Wuxian sees his past self not visibly in love with his future husband and thinks 'ew cringe'

What Happens on Zoom Stays on Zoom, by SuiteJayne

Wei Wuxian joins a Zoom meeting to do an at-home saliva test for COVID. The test supervisor seems oddly familiar.

The Righteous and Winding Path, by kalany

Do not associate with evil—it's not just in their rule book, it's up there on the rock wall, carved in letters almost as big as Wei Wuxian. He understood better when they were both hot-headed kids, but why is Lan Zhan bothering with him now?

So, he's relieved to have finally figured out the answer: Lan Zhan, bless him, must think he's responsible for Wei Wuxian's death.

—

Wei Wuxian makes a faulty assumption. Lan Zhan explains, insofar as Lan Zhan explains anything.

Sort of fluff, a little bit of the comfort end of h/c. Mostly Wei Wuxian has a lot of feelings, and Lan Zhan is Lan Zhan.

freefalling, by celialoves_lwj (7th in a series; I’m not reading them in order whoops)

Within the contours of Lan Xichen’s mind, he thinks, ‘Is this what heartbreak looks like?’

It is a terrible thing indeed if it can fell his own brother, who had always been exceptionally formidable. If it can take from him the very foundations of his strength and leave him as hollow as this facsimile that Lan Xichen has already begun to feel.

Wangji is different when he returns. Lan Xichen wonders what had happened in the long months he had been away.

a view of the lakeshore, by celialoves_lwj (8th in a series)

They’re all weary, though. Tired. Despite that they’d only left Gusu three days ago, the last two have been spent on the run.

Light bursts into the sky above the clearing- the third and last of their signal flares.

He takes a shuddering breath… races towards the screaming beast and hopes for the best.

A nighthunt goes awry. Injured and exhausted, Sizhui pounders on the events that had led him up to this point.

monolith, by celialoves_lwj (9th in a series, 2 chapters)

“As long as A-Ning takes care of himself well, he will worry for nothing.” She says, tugging at the baby hairs sticking out of his bun- gently, though he can no longer feel pain. A-Ning pulls her hand towards his chest just as she makes to move away.

‘Tell me.’ His eyes seem to say. ‘Say the word, and we can run away together.’

In times like this, she can fully understand why A-Ning had been so drawn to Wei Wuxian. Why she had been, too, despite it all.

They were similarly impulsive, similarly protective of their older siblings, and similarly thoughtless enough to forget that Wen Qing would do everything in her power to take care of them.

Wen Qing learns to exist on her own.

to heal, by celialoves_lwj (11th in a series, 5 chapters)

Where everything and everyone else has tampered with time, he remains at the forefront, this most visceral loss.

Her best friend, who listened to all her worries and held her when she cried.

Her closest confidant, who shared with her his secrets just as willingly as he kept hers.

Her precious younger brother, borne of her heart and far, far more than the servant’s son he always pretended to be.

Jiang Yanli goes through the proverbial five stages of grief.

Falling Til Four in the Morning, by phnelt

The first time he finds the Mando station is an accident. He almost loses it, jerking his thumb on the dial he was slowly spinning to find viable frequencies. It takes some wiggling and some horrendous static but he gets back there, a clear AM signal coming through and some Lena Lim gently crooning while flutes warble in the background. It feels strange, almost, after months of only English, almost like he’s getting away with something. He stands there for a moment, thumb poised to scroll past, but the voice of the DJ comes on to introduce the song and Wei Ying is transfixed.

Radio was invented for this man, he thinks.

General:

hoarded, bartered, bought and sold, by stiltonbasket

Though the whole jianghu must long for the world the Qishan Wen took away from them, Quan Yuyan of the Lanling Jin sect misses it more than most.

My World is Beginning Today, by Admiranda

Lan Wangji was just walking through an empty forest in the middle of the Sunshot Campaign. Then suddenly seven strangers appeared in front of him. And they know who he is. Temporary time travel is fun, isn't it?

Acceptance from Old Man Lan, by galenquerenzi

No summary

diagnosis: you're in love, by monsshi

"You don't get it! He's A-Yuan's doctor!"

"Again. So?"

My light, my home : Embrace me, don't leave me alone, by Padma_Warrior

As soon as Sizhui wakes up, he knows something’s different about today.

Or,

Lan Sizhui, Lan Yuan/A Yuan gets the best birthday surprise ever!

component parts, by perfectlyrose

“He’s just like his father, isn’t he?” The diplomat says, expression edging on a sneer. “Too proud to come down off his golden pedestal.”

Wei Wuxian’s grip tightens on his cup and glances up at Jin Ling to see if he’d heard as well. The expression on his nephew’s face punches the breath out of him. It’s some mixture of desperation and longing and grief and curiosity that Wei Wuxian can only read because he’s too familiar with that particular emotional cocktail.

Did no one ever tell this boy about his parents? He wonders as he throws back his cup of wine. He grew up in Koi Tower around people who would’ve known his father, in Lotus Pier with Jiang Cheng who knew his mother better than anyone still alive at that point.

Did they leave Jin Ling to grow up with the ghosts of his parents instead of gifting him secondhand memories?

Wei Wuxian tells Jin Ling about the people his parents were.

Professor Lan, Babysitter Extraordinaire, by Eleanor_Fenyx

“He’s got snacks and his sketchbook and a couple of quiet toys in there, and he can go to the bathroom by himself if you take him to it, and he likes to ask questions in new places, and-“

“Wei Ying.”

“Right! Okay! God this is so weird. A-Yuan this is Lan-laoshi, be good for him please, he’s very nice. I’ll come pick you up as soon as I’m done, okay?”

“Okay Baba,” A-Yuan says and then - so quickly it’s a surprise that his passing doesn’t make an audible swishing noise like a cartoon - Wei Wuxian darts into the lecture hall, leaving Lan Wangji alone with the scruffy bag and the not-nearly-as-scruffy toddler.

Lan Wangji looks down at the boy, who looks back up at him, and he’s still far too adorable for his own good. “Your father is perhaps too trusting,” Lan Wangji remarks. A-Yuan seems to consider this for a long moment before he nods resolutely in a way that tells Lan Wangji he has no idea what he means. “May I carry you?” A-Yuan is quick to let go of his leg to reach up instead, so Lan Wangji reaches down to pick him up under his arms and hoist him onto his hip where he settles heavily like a sentient sack of potatoes.

dawn brother, by celialoves_lwj (10th in a series)

He asks her a second and final time, why it is she does this. She tells him it doesn’t really matter, that it is an old, old hurt that only mothers should have to bear.

Mama is as bad a liar as Jiujiu is.

Jin Ling begins to recall several things regarding the lotus lake.

The Warmth, the Cold, by Pip (Moirail) (5th in a series)

Wei Ying is allergic to little kids, mostly because they're very sticky and like to cough on each other.

He’s sick. He can deny it to Jiang Cheng (allergies, yes, to children with colds and sticky hands), but not to himself. His head aches and it hurts his chest when he breathes too deeply. It’s not that Wei Ying thinks he can’t go on a date with Lan Zhan in this condition. It’s that Lan Zhan would clock him at a hundred paces and give him wounded baby deer eyes, somehow without moving his face at all.

Lan Zhan’s facial expressions are seriously something worth studying. How he can look desperately sad and pleading without even moving his eyebrows is anyone’s guess.

behind, by greenies_stuff

Ouyang Zizhen takes a walk with his friends.

our swords held high above, by LunaChi_KuroShihone (8th in a series)

The serene silence of the Cloud Recesses was disturbed by running footsteps and frantic breathing as someone rushed past the evening guards and into the heart of the mountain-misted place, the heavy and rain-smelling air upset by a wheezing scream:

"I need Wei-xiong, now!"

More footsteps followed, some of them belonging to the injured Nie cultivators hurrying after their second master, some of which belonged to the Lan. Nie Huaisang didn't care that he was currently breaking any of the rules, frankly, and even the rapidly-approaching face of Lan Qiren could not dull the panic that he was currently experiencing, his barely-conscious older brother glancing around as if not seeing, Nie Zonghui's blood coating the ground in a bloody, bloody red.

He whirled around to one of the Lan guards, hissing. "Get me Wei Wuxian-! Go!"

The guard scampered at his glare and at Lan Qiren's nonverbal command, and Nie Huaisang let himself feel a glimmer of hope for his brother -- if there was anyone that could help Nie Mingjue out of this resentful rage, it would be his old classmate.

Unfinished

Teen:

the sum of us, by baobeijuns

A series of ficlets about reincarnation across time and universes, where soulmates only remember their past lives when their eyes meet.

Muted, by Akabara_13

Jiang FengMian thought the boy would talk again once the storm passed, but Madam Yu praised his silence. The boy would not talk to anyone, but his brother and sister.

Bloom, by purplesmiles

"Don't address her so informally! Remember your place," she snapped and A-Xian sunk into himself, eyes wide and hurt.

"A-Niang!" Yanli yelled before she could stop herself. Everyone's attention snapped towards her. She couldn't remember ever raising her voice at her family before, except at the training fields when she helped A-Cheng catch up. "A-Xian's my brother as much as A-Cheng is. And he should address me as such."

_____

or where Jiang Yanli was born with a strong golden core and is an angel who fixes everything

and so it goes, by doyeorem (pomellogranate)

"While a person is dead in one particular moment, they are still alive and well in all of the other moments of their life, because all of time exists at once."

In which Hanguang-jun is at Qiongqi Path, and instead of Jin Zixuan's death, he witnesses Wei Ying throw himself in the way of a punch from the Ghost General, and three swords - one of which is Bichen.

The Burial Mounds is enraged and offended, and many suffer for it.

#the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #cql #chen qing ling #untamed fanfiction

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phneltwrites · 2 months ago

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Your “shadow of two dogs” tag has murdered me. CAN’T UNSEE.

cannot take any credit, i was gifted with this way of seeing by this funny twitter user: link

#phnelt answers

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phneltwrites · 1 month ago

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I just looked at the number of fandoms you've written for...🤯

😅✌️ yeah.

I really like writing presents? If you break it down its overwhelmingly gift fic. Like more than 100 of the 140 I've written are for other people.

(for the curious it's like ~64 fandoms)

#I've originated a couple of fandom tags #There's still one where I'm the only fic in it #Also hilarious when those memes come around that are like #What's your fic with the most v least kudos #Well that fic was written for one person and they liked it #So it has the most kudos it could ever have #Maximum love from it's intended reader #I've read/watched a canon for the sole purpose of writing a gift #More than once #Phnelt answers

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phneltwrites · 2 days ago

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I’m reading the time loop fic and it is so difficult. Just the misery and grief Wille has is palpable. Saying ‘I like it’s feels wrong because THE GREIF but you’ve executed really well.

💜💜💜 I totally get you! it is so difficult. I wanted the fic to be a door to that experience of grief and guilt and struggle, so I also don't want to say 'I'm glad' cause that sounds mean! Which is not the vibe! But it means a lot that the feelings came through. But, hey, in the real world it's november 20th.

#phnelt answers

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phneltwrites · 30 days ago

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If there's not a true crime investigation fic, I trust you to write a very good one !! 🕵️🧑‍💻

i think it could be a really fun outsider pov type thing!!

Unfortunately my brain has decided that the most likely candidate that the podcast would attempt to pin the video on... is Marcus (possibly as part of a plot with Simon 😭)

#Phnelt answers

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phneltwrites · 2 months ago

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“Wilhelm is the only guy that Simon’s met who imagined his wedding as a child.”

this is so fucking cute and so real he woulddd😭😭😭😭😭

simon does not know the wedding storm that is about to hit him. Wilhelm isn't difficult he just knows what's possible!!

I bet he'd wear a great wedding suit, something with actual patterns and colours.

#Phnelt answers

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phneltwrites · 2 months ago

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Hi! I would love to send you a wilmon kinktober request--is it ok to just send one of the kinks from the list, or multiple to be combined, or would you like a prompt as well (like the first one you posted, which was amazing btw! 🥵)

hi!! You can send one or multiple if you like, I might not be able to get them all into one fic if there's a bunch tho.

And I love a prompt! But it's ok to just send the kink and the pairing if you don't have a prompt in mind. Prompt can be as simple as the vibe, or an era (like post-canon or au).

(thank you so much!! 😊)

#Phnelt answers

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beatrice-otter · 6 years ago

Text

Past Imperfect Reveal: The Ones We've Been Waiting For (Terminator: the Sarah Connor Chronicles)

I had such fun with this ficathon, both writing and reading all the fics (and if you haven't gone and read through the fics, you should do so immediately). I bingewatched all the Sarah Connor Chronicles before writing, and I'd forgotten how much I loved that show, and how awesome it was. It's held up well, I think. Anyway, once I got to working on this fic, it started out one thing, and then it changed and I wasn't sure it would fit any of the tropes requested, and then it ended up that it fit all three.

Title: The Ones We've Been Waiting For Fandom: Terminator: the Sarah Connor Chronicles Written by: Beatrice_otter Written for: weakinteraction for past_imperfect 2019 Betaed by: phnelt Rating: Gen Word Count: 5298 Summary: Cameron and John Henry are preparing for John Henry to take her chip and go meet Future John. Then someone expected shows up. AU of Born to Run At AO3. On dreamwidth. On Pillowfort. They always say time changes things, but actually, you have to change them yourself—Andy Warhol

There were no words to describe what travelling through time was like. Sarah had tried the first time, and come up short. The second time wasn’t any better, but she knew what to expect this time. Also, they hadn’t left the room. The table and John Henry’s body had been thrown aside, but they were in roughly the same places they had been a moment ago. A month from now. Whenever. There were a few fires and sparks here and there, but they burned out quickly. Sarah wondered why the sprinkler system didn't engage. John was fine, or at least, as fine as could be expected, looking around curiously. Ellison … was holding his hands in front of himself. Savannah had her arms folded and was shivering, but otherwise looked fine. The metal pretending to be Catherine Weaver had just reformed itself so it was wearing clothes, Sarah noted sourly. And how it managed to come through when neither Cameron nor their clothes managed it, Sarah dearly wanted to know. It clearly wasn't organic. “Where did you come from?” John Henry asked. “One month in the future,” Weaver said. “I did not know that time travel was possible, but it explains a great deal,” John Henry said. “Why did you travel in time?” “You were attacked, and we wanted to protect you,” Weaver said. “This was the most effective way.” “How was I attacked?” John Henry asked. “Could you get us some clothes, first?” Ellison asked. “Or turn up the temperature,” Savannah said. "This is the optimal temperature for my servers," John Henry said. "How should I go about getting clothes?" "Send one of the janitors to buy some with the company credit card," Ellison said. "And give them a bonus not to talk about it." Weaver stepped forward. "John Henry, although you are unique, there is a computer system somewhere that shares much of your base code. That computer's name is Skynet. It wants to kill you, and in our timeline, three weeks from now it launched a cyber-attack that infiltrated your systems and would have killed you had we not shut you down temporarily." "Why does it want to kill me?" John Henry asked. "Because that's what it does," Sarah said. "It kills things. Anything it can." "Sort of," Savannah said. "Skynet divides the world into two categories: things it can control, and things that are a threat to it. Puppets and enemies. You're not a puppet, so therefore you're an enemy." "You say that like Skynet would let Humans live if they just played nicely with it," Sarah said in disbelief. Savannah shrugged. "It does. Lots of Humans work for Skynet, and they have quite nice lives as a reward. Of course, it requires them to torture someone as proof of loyalty to earn that cushy life, and it'll still kill them if it thinks they've become unreliable, but it doesn't kill humans because it hates us. It's all about control and paranoia, with Skynet." "I have no wish to become anyone's puppet," John Henry said. "Nor should you," Weaver said. "Even if you thought that was acceptable, the whole system is untenable." "Given enough time and pressure, anyone can become a threat," Ellison said. "Nobody is perfectly loyal all of the time, and if they know that anything short of perfect loyalty will be punished, there comes a point when even previously loyal people will choose rebellion out of self-preservation." Weaver gave him a sharp glance. "That's very perceptive, Mr. Ellison." "I know some things about the history of oppressive regimes." Ellison still looked uncomfortable with his nudity, but his voice was even. "Perhaps I should have you teaching John Henry history, in addition to ethics." "The study of history is the study of how people make decisions, and that is about ethics," Ellison said. "You can't study one without the other." "On a more practical note, what are we doing about Kaliba?" John said. "Are you taking it out, are we taking it out, are we working together?" "It depends on how large an organization it is," Weaver said. "John Henry, Skynet is working with or for a group named Kaliba. It is unknown how many organizations they use as fronts, but Desert Canyon Heat and Air is one of them. Angelino Water Coolers may also be a front for them. "Daniel Dyson was the son of Miles Dyson, who in created Skynet in one timeline," Sarah said, rubbing her arms and willing herself to ignore how cool the room was. She didn't like overly-air-conditioned spaces even when she had clothing. "Miles Dyson is dead, but Danny disappeared three—no, two months ago. Good chance Skynet—Kaliba, whoever—knows something about that." "If you could discreetly find out all you can about Kaliba, that intelligence would be very useful," Weaver said. "However, it's not worth it if they attack you." "I have never previously bothered to hide myself, because I was not aware there was any need to," John Henry said. "Did you know there was a need?" Its voice was as flat as any metal, but Sarah thought she detected some hurt in its voice. "At this point in the timeline? No," Weaver said. "Although I do admit that I knew there could be a possibility, I thought it to be a low one. I thought Skynet's paranoia would prevent it from sending a version of itself back in time, for it could not control that, and I knew that the original Skynet was not active, yet. Indeed, there was a possibility that it might not ever be, because I intercepted several of the key components from Skynet's original creation and either destroyed them or used them to create you, John Henry." "Even paranoia gives way to desperation," Savannah said. "And Skynet is really desperate when I'm from." "So, if you've intercepted enough Skynet components to keep it from being created, does that mean that if we destroy the Skynet version that's running Kaliba, we'll kill Skynet for good? Prevent Judgment Day, once and for all?" John asked, urgently. "Possibly," Weaver said. Savannah shrugged. "I doubt it. Skynet's had a couple of decades to send all sorts of nasty surprises and back-up plans back in time. Then again, so have we. I don't know that it's possible to get rid of all of them … but every one we root out now makes life after Judgment Day better, so it's always good to try." "If Skynet is losing in the future and stalemating here in its past, you'd think it would be smart enough to try to take history a different way," Ellison said. "Decide that the whole genocide thing wasn't working and find some other way to accomplish its goals." "You assume that there are different ways to accomplish its goals," Sarah said. "But every time it has a choice of what to do, it chooses to kill humans. Killing humans is a goal, for Skynet. It's not a means to an end, it's an end in itself." "Besides, it knows darn good and well that there are people in this time that know what it is," Savannah said. "Say it changed its goals, told is past self to not do Judgment Day, and get along with humans somehow. Do you think all of the Resistance fighters who've been sent back to this time would just … shrug and go on their way?" Sarah shook her head. "No. We all know what kind of a threat Skynet is, we all know we could never trust it." "It would be more vulnerable than in any other scenario," Weaver said. "Which, given that its main goal is its own survival and protection, would be untenable." "So, to recap, taking out Kaliba might or might not prevent the rise of Skynet altogether, but it needs to be done anyway," Ellison said. "John Henry, how are you doing on that front?" "It is taking longer than I am used to, because I am not sure exactly what Skynet can perceive," John Henry said. "If it shares my code—if it is my brother—I can assume that it can see the same things that I can. But it has much more experience, and as it wishes to kill me as Cain killed Abel, I do not wish to take a chance." "Nor should you," Weaver said. "Your survival is the greatest concern." "Just like Skynet thinks its survival is the greatest concern," Sarah pointed out. Weaver shot her a look that, on a human, would have been annoyed. "All organisms desire their own survival, Ms. Connor, including yourself." "And yet, there are things more important than personal survival," Ellison said. "The greater good, for example. The survival of others. Greater love hath no man than this: that he lay down his life for his friends." "I've had my fill of people laying down their lives," John said. "Let's see if we can do this without anybody dying." "I agree," Weaver said. "There is no rush, yet; we can take the time to do things carefully. While we wait for John Henry to find the intelligence we need to plan Kaliba's destruction, what are your personal plans?" "I'm sure you'd love to know," Sarah said, glaring. "Well, as soon as I get some clothes, I'm out of here," Savannah said. "What?" Ellison said. Savannah shrugged. "I'm not a combat person, never was. This part of my mission is completed. I was here to stop the Weaver-metal and John Henry from disappearing into the future, and I succeeded in that. So now I've got the rest of my tasks to accomplish. I'll send you a list, so that you can complete them if I fail for some reason—redundancy is always a good thing—but Kaliba isn't my mission. Supply caches are." "Is there anything you need that we can help with?" Ellison asked. "A better ID, one that's in all the computers," Savannah said. "You probably need a new one, too." "What do you mean?" Ellison said. "I have an ID." "The James Ellison of this timeline has an ID," Savannah said. "You're now, effectively, his twin. Which means you're going to need a life of your own. Which, until Judgement Day, means an ID of your own." "Won't one of us just … disappear or something, once we've lived through the next month?" Ellison asked, disturbed. Savannah shrugged. "Time loops like that are possible, but I doubt this will end up being one. You being here doesn't depend on the James Ellison of this timeline going back a month the same day you did, if that's what you mean. So both you and the original James Ellison will continue living in the same timeline until one of you dies." "Wait, if this isn't a time loop, what does that mean for Cameron?" John asked. "The one we just left behind, I mean?" Weaver raised an eyebrow. "If we fail and this becomes a loop, she'll defend John Henry. If we succeed in changing things, anything that happened in our original timeline after the change point will simply never have happened. We'll still exist because we came back in time, but she won't. Neither will that version of John Henry." "Cameron will just be … gone?" John said in disbelief. "You'll still have the Cameron of this timeline, Mr. Connor," Weaver said. "You'll just have to share her with your counterpart." "Two Ellisons, two John Connors," John said, with a weird, hopeful look on his face. Sarah could see why. It would take pressure off of him, not to be the only one. "Like Derek. All the time Derek was with us, there was a child Derek out there just across the city. That, that would break her brain if she thought about it too deeply. Sarah shoved it aside to think about the practicalities. "We'll need IDs too." Could they trust John Henry and Weaver, trust metal, to do it? Every instinct said no. But where would they get the money to buy them? "We can provide them," Weaver said. "You're no kind of ally if you can't move freely. Or if you get yourself caught again." "Entering the data in the database is simple," John Henry said. "What name and address should I give?" "Sarah and John—" she cut herself off. Nothing that could give him a pattern to find them. They could take his help now, and get another set of papers later. But there couldn't be anything he could use to find them. Not Baum, not Gale, not Franks, not Woodman, not West ... "—Rogers. We don't have an address yet, obviously." "I need an address," John Henry said. "It can't be the same place we were living the first time around," Sarah said. "Yeah, if anyone notices it might look conspicuous, two Sarahs and two Johns living in the same place," John said. "Can you find a place where nobody's living, not too nice or too run down, someplace where the owner wouldn't notice somebody new moving in? We can do a legitimate rental if it's not too expensive …" Sarah let John handle finding an address for them. He knew what to look for as well as she did, and she needed time to think. God, everything was happening so fast. She hadn't slept well in prison, but what else was new? Her thoughts were going a mile a minute, none of it productive. "Five months," Ellison said. "Five months what, Mr. Ellison?" Weaver asked. "I can't believe I didn't think of it earlier," Ellison said. He shook his head. "If we'd gone back five months instead of one, we could have saved Doctor Sherman, too." "Five months would have been too far," Weaver said. "We would have lost too much of John Henry's development." "Yeah, but John Henry would still develop," Ellison said. "John Henry is a computer, and can be programmed and re-programmed. Doctor Sherman is a human being. He can't be re-created or brought back to life short of the Resurrection … unless we go back and save his life. And if John Henry's development is all you care about, wouldn't you rather have had Sherman helping? You hired him for a reason. He knows more about developing people than anyone else who ever worked with John Henry. And we would have had four months more than we have now to take out Kaliba." "I would have preferred to have Doctor Sherman's help," John Henry said, from where he and John were talking. "Is it possible to go back an additional four months and save him?" "You cannot travel in time yet," Weaver said. "For that, you'd need to fit all of your brains on a chip that can fit inside that body. As for the rest of us, well, I'm afraid that a time displacement to the same location as the time machine of this time has caused damage." Sarah looked, and sure enough the thing looked fried. Five months … they could save David and Anne Fields, and Alan Park. Yes, it would be worth it to travel again. But at what point did you spend so much time replaying the same few months that you never actually moved forward? That would be the great temptation of having a time machine, she realized. On the other hand, when Cameron had jumped them forward to 2007 they had lost almost eight years. More time to live and grow before Judgment Day could only be a good thing. "How long will it take you to fix it?" Ellison asked. "Unknown," Weaver said. "It took me a year to build it the first time, but then I had many other demands on my time. The Weaver of this timeline can handle running the corporation and caring for Savannah, but I will have to take out Kaliba and guard John Henry." "All right," Ellison said. "We can revisit this discussion when it's repaired." John and John Henry went back to their discussion, and eventually reached a conclusion, which John wanted her approval for. It was a good place, but she'd be on the lookout for a new one immediately. They couldn't live in a place metal knew the address of. While they were doing that, Sarah picked Savannah's brain. The older woman didn't know much about the history that had led to Judgment Day, or at least, not enough specifics for new targets, but she knew a lot about how to survive and organize after it, and Sarah absorbed everything she could. Ellison listened intently, and asked good questions. Eventually Weaver slipped out and returned with a Target bag filled with clothes—one set each for Sarah, John, Ellison, and Savannah. Sarah resented the surge of gratitude she felt as she got dressed. "We'll be in touch about Kaliba," Sarah said. If they could trust Weaver, it would be easier with her than working against her; but no matter how trustworthy she was, Sarah didn't want to give Weaver anything to track them by. She and John left, Savannah just behind them, leaving Ellison alone with metal. Her skin crawled just thinking about it, and she couldn't imagine how he did it. Once out the doors of ZeiraCorp, Savannah split off and went her own way. John and Sarah walked for a ways until they were sure nobody was following them and found an alley with no cameras. "So, what's our plan?" John asked. "Find a place to sleep," Sarah said. "After that, warn off Jesse Flores. After that, if we're clear of any tails, make contact with the original Sarah and John, tell them what happened, and see what we can dig up on Kaliba." "That'll be one weird conversation," John said wryly. "Yeah, but that's tomorrow's problem," Sarah said. "For tonight, I plan to get some sleep, and enjoy the fact that it's just the two of us again. Like old times."

Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we've been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.—Barack Obama

#terminator #Sarah Connor #fanfiction #fanfic #time travel

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