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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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.

She dropped her knife. He arched an eyebrow, settling down on his heels in front of her, and reached to pick it up, watching as she pressed her other knife to her own arm. "I know I'm frightenin', love, but I'm not that frightenin'." He sheathed his own knife, toying idly with hers, and leaned in a little closer, keeping his eyes on the knife on her arm. "What is it, love? Something's got you terrified. I can see it, love, in your eyes. You want tae run. You want tae hide." He spoke softly, hardly above a whisper, fascinated by this turn of events. "You can't run forever, love."

He was so close, and normally it would mean an opening for attack, but she was paralyzed with terror. The room had shrunk until it only contained the two of them and the small space between them. She grimaced when he picked up her knife, hating that he had his hands on another one even if this one held no particular value other than the fact that it was a wonderfully sharp knife. She inhaled sharply as he murmured words that proved he knew just how terrified she really was. I want to run. I want to hide. He can't know. He can't know. It became a mantra, and she chanted it over and over again, pressing the knife more deeply into her skin so that red blood trickled down her arm. The room came back to her for a moment, but then it drifted out of focus. He was so close, and she wanted to strike at him but she felt herself withdrawing further against the wall, knees to her chest as she tried to make herself take up less space. She wanted to reply to his taunts, but she couldn't speak.

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

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