nyota_uhura24 | [BFF Verse - The ravens are all closing in / And there's nowhere you can hide]

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[BFF Verse - The ravens are all closing in / And there's nowhere you can hide]

Uhura was in a good mood. The memory of yesterday's assignment, of all the fear in the Debulans' eyes, was enough to make her nearly giddy. It had been far too long since she'd had the opportunity to slowly create a blinding, debilitating fear, just as her father had taught her to.

There was only one thing that could ruin her excitement. Scotty. The moment she saw him, she had to fight the urge to clench her hands into fists, or to reach for her knife. Not the knife I want... She would get it back, of course, but it would take careful planning. The fail safe was most certainly a problem. She was certain that given enough time, killing him wouldn't even be necessary, even if it was the safest course of action. But thanks to the fail safe, murder was out of the question.

Instead she monitored the times at which he entered the code, laying down preparations and waiting for a day he entered it early in the morning, and then all would be well. Soon, she promised herself. He really ought to just give the knife back, and then all this could be avoided... Though she was too angry now to let the matter go, even if he did.

To her extreme annoyance, she realized that she and Scotty were headed for the same turbolift, but there was no way in hell she was going to turn tail and run, even if the sight of him did infuriate her. "Scotty," she drawled. "How lovely it is to see you, though I must say you were far more dashing with a scar on your cheek."

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She was breathing a little harder than normal, which could be attributed to her attack but had more to do with the fact that the turbolift was so small and there was no way out and it was possible that someone was watching and laughing and it was almost as infuriating as it was terrifying. Fear was a tool, a way to manipulate others, not something she should surrender to. "How the hell would you know?" she taunted back. "Just because I choose not keep my promises to you." The pain of her shallow wound kept her grounded, but she couldn't resist dragging the knife down her again, drawing another thin red line to match the first. She still hated this place, but she was more in control of herself now.

This wasn't the right way to go about this. Her power had always been in manipulation and scheming, not in outright battle, especially not like this where the opponent was so prepared. She was good with a knife, of course, but it wasn't the way she won her wars. This time, however, there might be no helping it. The fear was held at bay, but there was no guarantee it would last. "No one's going to die," she said flippantly. "I was just trying to find an entertaining way to pass the time."

"Then find a different way," he replied evenly, still watching her draw the knife along her arm with cool disinterest. "Find another way, or I can promise you that you won't be leavin' this lift alive." Once again, he spoke with next to no emotion, not threatening her, not warning her, but speaking as though he were merely stating fact. "How would you like tae go then, love? I could stab you... but that always makes such a mess." He gave her a small smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I could break your neck. Much cleaner. Faster too, probably. Less painful, I think."

He toyed idly with the knife in his hand again, watching the play of the light on the blade for a moment as though utterly enthralled by it. "I could throttle you," he continued distantly, as if the prospect of killing her was nothing more than a simple, everyday task, nothing out of the ordinary. "Of the three, I'd prefer breakin' your neck."

She thought he had been acting surprisingly sane today, and it sent a little thrill of excitement through her to have pealed back the layers of normalcy in search of the dark and sinister. It had always felt like the most real aspect of humanity, and it was a comfort to see it displayed, to lose the almost jovial Scotty she'd walked into the lift with. She couldn't help it; she laughed.

"I've always liked a little mess," she answered, voice almost enthusiastic. "So I'd prefer the stabbing, to tell you the truth. But it would be much better if you did a little cutting first. I could use a few designs on my skin," she said, idly brushing her fingers along the cuts on her arm, smearing the blood. She brought the bloody fingers to her lips and flicked her tongue over them. "I bet you could be artistic, Scotty, if you really wanted to."

"Slittin' your throat wouldn't be too much trouble," he replied, turning the blade of his knife back and forth again. "But I prefer a clean death, love. Makes cleanin' up after so much easier." There was a reason he killed from a distance. Really, truly piss Scotty off, and it was possible to wake up frozen to death in your own quarters, or trapped in the lift like this, for days. He didn't generally kill with his bare hands or with his knife unless he felt seriously threatened, and while Uhura was a threat, she wasn't enough of a threat yet to warrant him getting his hands dirty.

"O' course, if I killed you, I could get rid o' that bloody knife," he added, almost as an afterthought. "Or I could keep it, as a little somethin' tae remember you by." He glanced up at her, the odd little smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Though I'm not sure why I'd want tae remember you."

"I wouldn't have expected you to clean up your own messes," she replied, voice silky. "How positively pedestrian of you." Knife still in hand, she dragged her fingers along her neck as if imagining the death he described. "I could think of worse ways to go," she said, shrugging as she let the hand drop down to hang almost casually at her side.

And then... then he had to bring up the knife, and her eyes instantly went cold. "We could have just gone our separate ways if you hadn't taken it, you know," she answered icily. "And then if we did end up in a turbolift together we'd just be sitting in mildly uncomfortable silence." This was a bald-faced lie, because she would still need an outlet for her burgeoning terror, but that was beside the point. "But I am going to get it back, and I don't care what I have to do to you in the process... In fact, I'm going to enjoy it. You have such a lovely pained expression when you're cut... And I have had it up to here with playing nice."

He tilted his head to the side again, his lips moving silently as though he were going over what she had just said. "Ah. There's a problem with your line o' reasonin', love," he said after a moment. "You see, the thing is, love... I know where the knife is. An' you don't. An' I'm not tellin'..." Why, he wondered, hadn't he brought up the topic of the knife sooner? She was far too attached to the thing, and that was where half the fun was. "An' the thing is, love... the thing is, I'm not goin' tae tell. You can slice my skin tae ribbons, love, an' I still won't tell. An' if you kill me, love... If you kill me, I take the ship with me. An' you know what that means, love? That means your pretty little knife will be incinerated, along with you an' all the rest o' the crew, in an explosion far worse than any supernova you've ever seen."

His tone had started out even, but as he continued speaking, his voice grew harder, his tone sharper, and he finished his little speech with a hint of warning in his tone. "So you play nice, love, or you'll never see that trinket again." He was, by now, almost daring her to attack again, because if he was going to be perfectly honest with himself, sparring with her - verbally or physically - was an entertaining way to pass the time.

Rage bubbled up in her as he threatened the knife. For some reason it infuriated her more even than his threats to her or the ship, especially when he spoke in that almost sing song way that transformed into something hard and threatening and challenging. A little shudder went through her, and the twisted grin returned to her face. Even though his words infuriated her, this was exactly what she needed, to see him trying to bait her the same way she'd been baiting him. It took you long enough to show your true colors, Scotty. "Give me enough time, and you'll be begging to tell me where that knife is," she answered, voice calm as she contemplated her next move. "And if you didn't, if I had to kill you, it might be worth the explosion... Just to hear you scream."

She took a moment to enjoy this image, still watching him with cold amusement. She couldn't quite tell with Scotty - she never could - but she was fairly certain that he was on board with her method of entertainment, and while she very much hoped she didn't end up dead, she could scarcely bring herself to care. She wanted to cause pain... and she wanted to feel pain. Feigning distraction for a moment, she moved towards him again, this time coming in low and then shooting upwards, one knife slashing at his legs while the other was aimed at his chest.

He reached out to catch her wrist, preventing her from landing a hit on his chest, although the blow aimed at his legs landed, slashing open his thigh. This time, however, his reaction was less severe; he was prepared for it now. He took a moment to slip his knife back into its sheath, and grabbed her other wrist, considering twisting her arms until she was forced to drop the knives. Confiscating weaponry from her seemed to be turning into a habit for him. "I don't call that playin' nice, love," he told her, tightening his grip on her wrists. "An' I wouldn't do that again if I were you."

She felt a thrill of victory as the strike to his leg landed, and she could already see the ruby red of his blood. It was such a beautiful color. He caught the arm aimed at his chest, however, and she hissed with fury as he grabbed the other one, effectively halting her attack and momentarily trapping her. The idea of being further trapped send fear rushing through her, but even though the smart thing to do was to tear herself away from his grip, she was too driven now. She needed this fight too much. "Good thing you're not me, then," she answered, using the leverage of his grip on her wrists to launch her knee upwards towards towards his groin.

In retrospect, he should have seen it coming. One minute he had a firm grip on Uhura's wrists, and then next, he was doubled over, completely defenseless, gasping for breath, and trying desperately to ride out a wave of pain so severe he was seeing stars. He more or less crumpled on the ground, curled in on himself, not even caring by this point whether or not Uhura attacked him while he was down. He wanted to curse, but he had to catch his breath first, and the wave of nausea that accompanied the pain wasn't helping.

It was immensely satisfying to see him double over in pain and crumple to the ground, and she stared down at him coldly for a moment. "I told you that cutting would be more fun," she said conversationally. "But you had to go and make things difficult, as usual." She dropped to squat floor beside him, holding one of her knives to his throat. "Those ways you were thinking of killing me... are they the same ways you'd want to go, Scotty? Because I'm still awfully fond of throat-slitting myself."

The pain subsided, but slowly, and he still hurt as Uhura dropped down beside him and held the knife to his throat. He glared up at her, his eyes cold and dark as he tiled his head back, exposing more of his throat to her. "Do it," he rasped, pushing himself up, leaning into the knife. One wrong move on her part, and it would be game over for him. He fixed his eyes on hers, smiling that faint half-smile again, an expression at odds with the utter lack of emotion in his eyes. "Do it."

He tilted his head back, exposing more of his throat, and told her to do it. A visible shudder went through her. It had been so long since she had killed anyone worth killing, since she'd felt the thrill of extinguishing a life that mattered. For a moment her mind flashed back to her favorite memory, to the day her father handed her that knife... But she wasn't going to kill him. Not when he was asking for it. And not when that would very likely result in her death as well. "No," she whispered, smiling down at him. "I believe I promised to draw you the Enterprise." Keeping the knife pressed against his throat, she used her other hand to push his shirt up a little, exposing more flesh for her to press the other knife into, just hard enough to slice the skin.

His torso was already a patchwork of scars; this wasn't the first time he'd been on the wrong end of a knife, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. He drew his breath in sharply as she slid the blade across his skin, but he made no move to stop her - whether because of the knife at his throat or because he simply didn't want to stop her, it was impossible to tell. "Make sure you do it right," he told her, his eyes still fixed on her, that faint smile still lingering on his lips. "Too shallow an' it won't scar, love, too deep an' I'll go tae medical an' they'll patch it right up."

The skin revealed underneath his shirt was already patched with scars, evidence of the hard life he'd lived and testament to his ability to survive. She couldn't help but respect it, and the idea of adding her mark to the patchwork was intoxicating. Her own body had only a few scars, and those well hidden, because it was more important for a woman's bodies to be desirable. Even the men who had hurt and used her hadn't thought it necessary to leave many scars. Of course, sometimes they were inevitable in battle. Rather than being insulted by the fact that Scotty thought she needed instructions, she merely nodded calmly. "I'll do it right," she promised, voice almost kind. She carefully modulated the depth of her cuts as she carved into his skin. "The Enterprise," she murmured a few minutes later. "It's perfect." Her fingers skimmed along the new wounds, lightly smearing the blood.

He would have moved to take a look at it himself, but he wasn't about to risk leaning forward and accidentally slitting his own throat. His arm, his leg, and now his stomach as well were in pain, but he was used to pain. It was a tool to be used, something to be accepted as a part of life, a thing to be embraced, not feared. Those who feared pain were weak. He sank back against the floor of the lift, his eyes half-closed as he moved a hand to the fresh wounds. He was, for all intents and purposes, defenseless against her right now, but at the moment, he couldn't care less. Besides, as long as he alone knew where he'd hidden her knife, she wouldn't kill him. She couldn't. Not until she had that knife back.

The sight of his blood calmed her as nothing else could, made the lack of space bearable. There was never any way to know if the calm would last, but for now she felt strangely relaxed. Of course, Scotty was too unpredictable for her to drop even a fraction of her guard, but the panic had faded away. Seeing the way he reacted to pain, the way he sank back against the floor so calmly, almost made her yearn to slice into her own flesh again, knowing it would make her calmer still... But she couldn't risk distracting herself right now, and this was a rare moment of power over Scotty. "Any requests for the next one?" she murmured, sliding the knife along his flesh so lightly that it didn't actually break the skin. "Or perhaps you'd care to agree to giving my knife back?"

He lay there a moment longer, before grabbing onto her wrists again - almost gently this time, as if he were trying to make a point of the fact that he didn't have to use all of his strength in order to hold her. He levered himself up into a sitting position, his back against the wall, his legs curled up to fend off any attack like the one that had put him on the floor in the first place. "I think you've had enough fun for now, love," he said softly. "Put those toys away, an' maybe we can discuss the return o' your other little trinket, aye?"

She hissed softly as he grabbed her wrists and levered himself up. The motion caused her to fall forward on to her knees, and she tried to yank her wrists out of his grip but she had little leverage and he wasn't letting go. "How exactly am I supposed to put the knives away when you're holding my wrists?" she taunted. "And Scotty, I don't believe for a minute that you're going to be reasonable about my knife. You're not going to give those knives back until I make you." He wasn't doing anything particularly threatening, but his grip on her meant that she was trapped, reminded her that she was trapped here in this lift. A spike of fear ran through her. She yanked again, trying to keep the panic from descending. "Let me go," she demanded.

She demanded that he let her go, but of course he didn't comply. He continued to hold onto her wrists, only tightening his hands when she tried to tug herself free. "I'll let go when I want tae let go," he told her mildly. He was, in fact, entertaining the idea of tying her up, binding her hands together so she couldn't attack him anymore. Instead, he held onto her a moment longer, as if to prove his point, and then simply released her, drawing his own knife again. "As for your little trinket, love, you never know when I might be feelin' particularly generous."

The panic was descending again, filling every crevice of her mind and erasing all the pleasant effects of drawing blood. She had no leverage, couldn't even kick at him when she was on her knees, and he wasn't letting go of her wrists. She pulled again, and he simply tightened his grip and said he'd let go when he wanted to. She was practically snarling with anger, trying to cover up the fear surging through her... And then he let go, and she scrambled backwards until her back was to the wall, getting as far away as she could in the small space. "What the hell is wrong with you?" She was actually shaking a little, and she prayed that he would assume it was from rage. "Why don't you fight back?"

"Not much point in fightin' back, is there?" he replied evenly, noting the way she backed away from him so suddenly. Interesting. Curious as to what, exactly, had made her react that way, he stood, and took a step closer to her, watching and waiting for a reaction. "You an' I both know you won't kill me until you've got your precious little toy back. An' you an' I both know I could kill you, easily." Another step forward. "I suggest you don't do anythin' that will make me want tae kill you."

He rose to his feet, and she went completely still for a moment before the slight shaking returned. She continued glaring and clenched her fists around the knife handles, trying to keep up the illusion that all of her behavior was the result of anger. When he took a step closer, she felt as if he was closing off the space behind him, making the turbolift even smaller. If he came closer still, it would shrink again. He took another step, and she started to shake harder and pressed her back against the wall, desperate for there to be more space between them, for there to be more space, period. She needed to rise to her feet, needed to taunt him back, but she was afraid that her legs wouldn't hold her. "Stay away from me," she snarled.

She was shaking, he noticed. Interesting. The pain from his wounds momentarily forgotten, he took another small step forward, his head tilted to to one side as he studied her, his expression once again curiously blank. "What's wrong, love?" he asked softly, though he sounded far more intrigued than actually concerned. "It can't be me you're frightened of," he continued, frowning slightly, as though trying to figure out the answer to a particularly challenging puzzle. He took another step forward, watching her dispassionately. "What is it, love? I won't tell anyone."

He kept coming closer, kept shrinking the world around her. The walls would close in behind him, and they would be crushed if they didn't suffocate first. NO! I won't succumb to this! But it was already too late. She couldn't move to bring herself back to the moment. At his question her eyes widened. He knows... "NO!" she cried, shaking harder. She couldn't let him see this, couldn't let him realize what it was that was making her lose her grip on reality. No one was going to have that power over her again. No one. I won't be his next puzzle. "The only thing wrong is that I'm stuck here with you," she hissed, but even her voice was shaking now, and one of the knives clattered to the floor as she lost her grip on it. I need to do something. Now. From somewhere she dredged up the remains of her determination, her need not to give this power to anyone. She tightened her grip on the other knife and forced her arm to move so that she could press it into her other arm. Pain. Only pain will keep me here.

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