Chapter Text
“These are new.”
Her voice is like velvet to his senses. Soft and delicate as she traces her finger over his shoulder blade in her office. But even velvet can be sad. Distressed. Her nails are ragged - he can feel the uneven edges as she drags them along his skin - but he doesn’t mind. Or rather, he does mind. He minds very much that her delicate hands have been damaged in this manner; healing from the assault against hard and unforgiving concrete. But he doesn’t mind them pulling on his skin.
He doesn’t mind the pain.
Jean-Luc turns his head around to her. Her brow is furrowed in concern as she examines him further. The lacerations worry her - of course they do - but he knows they also remind her of everything. He reminds her, and he detests himself for it. That she can look straight at them like this - at him - and remain professional despite the story his body tells her. The memory.
And yet, when he looks at her, all he can see is her violated body, bare and prone before him, under the uniform she wears to cover the horror. He can’t not see that every time he looks at her now. And he wonders if he is just as perverted as the Gul himself for it.
He deserves the pain. And she deserves none of it.
“Are they from the holodeck?” she asks. And they both know what is being implied. He shakes his head and she sighs, hovering the dermal regenerator over his skin. “You need to be more careful,” she tries to sound alive.
But it doesn’t work.
She thinks she deserves the pain. And he deserves none of it.
The funny thing is - his lacerations aren’t from the holodeck. He doesn’t know where they came from this time, unlike the others that still disfigure both of their bodies. Jean-Luc guesses they come from the same place as the bruise on her cheek. The bruise he - and perhaps only he - can see below the carefully caked-on makeup. The bruise that, despite time moving on, only seems to darken every time he sees her.
He is broken.
She is broken.
And they are both still breaking.
They can see it clear as day. Ironic since they feel as if they have not seen day for an eternity. And yet, they can only help each other and not themselves. But what are two fools if not a couple of broken souls drowning themselves further in the hope of salvation.
“Fencing,” he says out of the blue.
“Sorry?”
“They must be from fencing,” he clarifies, a memory forming - rather filling in a blank space - in his mind of the day before. He is surprised to find one that wasn’t from those days. “Not the holodeck.”
Beverly nods. “Remind me never to play against Guinan…..”
Jean-Luc tries to crack a smile, but the only crack is the one that stands between them. Or rather, around them. Cold and isolated - the office feels heavy with a sharp dampness - as if they are stranded on an iceberg and moving away from the rest of the universe. She moves closer towards him, as if she is instinctively seeking his body heat.
It’s familiar to him.
So awfully so.
“I read your report,” her fingers brush - no dance - rhythmic and delicate over his now healed bare skin. Her voice floats around him as if it is without weight. Distant and Jean-Luc isn’t sure if it is she or he that is vanishing. Beverly continues. “The one you submitted to Starfleet. I found it to be missing a few details.”
“They…” he swallows, trying to stay coherent, but the iceiness of her touch almost burns him. She is so unnaturally cold, and he has nothing to warm her with. Just like before. “They weren’t important.”
Beverly’s eyes darken. “They are to me.”
“As are the ones I am sure you omitted as well.”