Chapter Text
Part Two (Cont’d)
The door opened after the third insistent ring of the buzzer.
K’Veth stood in the doorway and stared out at Klath, with a look that suggested that she was not entirely happy to see him.
“You,” she grunted at him, underlining that suggestion.
For his part, Klath paused for a moment before responding. Because he still wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say.
He had left the Bounty early in the morning, before any of the others had stirred, still nursing something of a mild to moderate bloodwine-induced hangover. And since then, he had spent his entire time indulging in a mild to moderate amount of meandering. And trying to figure out what he wanted to say.
He had meandered down the promenade, but found little there amongst the boisterous early morning crowds to inspire him, and certainly nothing to ease his headache.
He had meandered through the quieter streets of the settlement that surrounded the port complex itself, one of the larger urban areas on Kervala Prime. But even though he had walked down the endless narrow streets for long enough to have to reluctantly stop and ask for directions from a passing Kervalan resident, he hadn’t gotten any closer to finding the right words.
He had even meandered back to the spaceport’s bank of holosuites, and parted with a few slips of latinum in order to take a bracing meander within a meander, all the way to the peak of Kang’s Summit back on Qo’noS during the annual autumn storms, hoping that the thunder and the raging winds would provide the spark he needed.
But nothing had helped. He was feeling par’Mach stronger than ever, and yet he was still bereft of the right words. So, in the end, he had meandered all the way back here. Hoping inspiration might strike upon seeing her once again.
“Yes,” he said eventually, “Me.”
Inspiration was clearly still escaping him.
“I have not changed my mind,” she replied guardedly, still standing in the doorway and tacitly avoiding inviting him in, “I do not want to be joined with you.”
He ignored the stab of anguish her words caused inside him, like a d'k tahg blade to the stomach, and merely nodded back. “I understand,” he managed, “I merely…wish to speak with you.”
It felt like an entirely reasonable request to him, even if he still didn’t know what he was actually going to say.
K’Veth studied his face in silence for a moment. “You have not removed the scar,” she pointed out, gesturing to the wound on his cheek.
“No, I have not.”
After another short burst of awkward silence, she stepped back slightly reluctantly and allowed him back into her limited lodgings. Klath strode in and took in the familiar surroundings, hoping that the recent memories of the two of them together in this place would bring the words to him and put an end to his entirely stilted comments so far.
“I have booked passage away from here,” she offered eventually, in the absence of any attempt at conversation from him, “There is a transport departing for the Brakka system tomorrow.”
Externally, Klath greeted this news with a curt nod. Internally, he felt the sharpened blade of a second d'k tahg joining the first.
“The Brakka system? Why?”
“I understand there is a colony there. With a small group of exiled Klingons amongst their number. I felt it would be somewhere for me to head. If I throw myself at their mercy, perhaps they will allow me to join them. Either way, I cannot stay caged up here.”
Klath mentally extracted the blades from his stomach and fronted up to her. He still didn’t know what he was going to say, but he now realised that he was running out of time to say it. “K’Veth,” he started, “It is…not easy for me to discuss these matters. But I believe that I have not been clear with you. About my feelings—”
“You have been perfectly clear,” she said with a hint of a smile, “In your actions, if not in your words.”
She gestured again to his cheek to underline her point, before she continued.
“But there is nothing you can say to make me change my mind. I must set out on my own. And, perhaps in time, I can rediscover some honour. As you have in your life.”
A light went off in Klath’s head at this comment, as he got a clearer idea of why she was rejecting him so entirely. He recalled his own sense of humiliation when he had been exiled, and how hard it had been for him to restore a sense of pride.
“So,” he nodded in understanding, “That is what troubles you.”
“It is not all that troubles me,” she countered, “But it is what troubles me the most.”
Klath stepped towards her instinctively, recalling the way they had fought side-by-side against the infestation of tribbles on Brexis II. Back when he had first talked to her about the need for her to reclaim her own personal sense of honour.
“But,” he pointed out, “We have already fought for your honour, when we—”
“Pah,” she growled with a sudden burst of anger, “Do not insult me by trying to claim that slaughter was a true battle.”
“K’Veth, it was a glorious—”
“It was pest control!” she spat, “You can try to pretend otherwise, but everyone knows the truth. In all of my years as a Klingon, I have still never tasted a true battle.”
Through his par’Mach-addled brain, the penny fully dropped with Klath. He now realised the full extent of what she was craving.
After all, when he was sent into exile, he had still served a long and noble career in the Klingon Defence Force. He had commanded a ship in battle many times over, and slain many a warrior with his blade. And although all of that meant that his discommendation had hit all the more hard, at least he always had that sense of honour and history to fall back on. To keep him going.
In contrast, she had nothing. She had been born into exile, lived her entire life there. And now, thanks to her part in her father’s plot, she would surely die there as well.
“I see,” he nodded, taking another step towards her, “That is what you crave. You seek a real battle, one worthy of a Klingon.”
She didn’t answer him, but her silence spoke enough. Riding a wave of emotion, he took a final step up close to her and grabbed her arm with a burly hand, feeling the words now coming to him.
“Then we will go, together, out into the stars!” he barked out, “We will fight battle after battle, until the ground beneath our feet is drenched with the blood of our enemies, and you have found the true honour of a warrior, even in exile!”
He even impressed himself with the poetry of his words. But they didn’t seem to have the same effect on K’Veth, who wrenched her arm free of his grasp and spun away.
“You are a fool! And I have already told you: I do not want your pity!”
“This is not pity!”
“No,” she snarled, “This is just your latest plot to make me your wife. That is your only goal in all of this, is it not? To merely satisfy your own feelings.”
Klath went to deny her claim, but stopped himself. The words suddenly deserted him again. She jumped on that reaction immediately, swinging her arm at him with all of her might with a growl of anguish.
His own reactions kicked in the second she began to move. He shot out a hand and grabbed her arm before she made contact, snarling at her as he did so. She snarled back. And all of a sudden, both of them felt a familiar sensation running through their veins as they stared at each other, both of them fiercely baring their teeth.
Without saying another word, she grabbed for his other arm, and sniffed at his wrist. Klath immediately reciprocated, as the mating ritual began in earnest.
And a few seconds later, par’Mach consumed them both entirely once more. Their altercations and arguments all forgotten for the moment.
And they were right back where they had started.