chanter1944 | Yar-centric fic as promised

this is dark, and it's unrequited on Yar's part, and it's also an attempt at icy! Tasha. I always suspected there might have been just a liiiiittle bit more to that scene between Tasha and Geordi than met the eye, or in my case met the ear. Maybe *because* it met the ear, but that's another story entirely. Then again I could have just as easily been transferring my own emotions straight into tasha's lap but--eeew, Freud! *gags* Never mind.

And I know Yar ending up in Troi's closet could just have been her acting on a desire to express her femininity by modeling the most openly feminine person she knew, but hey, it's possible there was more to it. I mean sheesh, she took *Data* to bed after all. a tumble with an emotionless man the better to dull the desires for the ever-boyish engineer and the empath, maybe? Er... well maybe.

and I originally got the title for this one from an Abby-Neela list, but it worked for icy! Tasha just as well given what she--er well never mind.

Title: Where No Man Doth Go
Author: chanter
Series: TNG, post The Naked Now
Characters/pairings: unrequited Tasha/Geordi, past-tense Data/Yar and hints of Yar/Troi
Rating: NC17 because things go on in bed besides sleeping
Summary: Tasha felt more than just concern for Geordi when she was leading him to sickbay. The only problem is, she won’t admit it to herself.
Spoilers for the Naked Now, you have been warned.
350 words

“Will that help me see like you?”

The question haunts her, overheard from the sickbay doorway and lingering on her ears hours after the fact, playing havoc with her thoughts in their blissful lack of confusion, set right thanks to serum, trial and retrial. “will that help me see like you?”

She’d wanted to help him then, lead him then, and beneath the layers of concern some miniscule and well-hidden kernel of herself had insisted on wanting more--sharing blood if necessary, tears and marrow and anything else required just to heal him.

She’d denied it, before, during, after, tumbling in her confusion and desperately avoiding, longing to avoid, fleeing from sickbay to the cultured perfume of Troi’s closet and finally to Data’s bed, an empty day whirling off it’s axis and ending with a dizzying tumble into an artificial man’s quarters where their coupling had been a fierce, frantic thing, one curious and the other burning to dance and obliterate.

And it hadn’t worked, though not for lack of trying. And now it haunts her, aching in her ears, tormenting her with it’s naked innocence and driving her deeper beneath her blankets with only the cold comfort of her cleared head for company. That question is what eventually leads one hand ever lower, a journey ending in powerful fingers seeking and finding, intent only on forceful, swift release. It’s that tantalizing, elegant innocence that fuels her, a harsh rhythm ending in a name grunted into the silence of an empty room and hot, unsatisfied tears hidden in a convenient pillow even as unrelated muscles spasm with their own satisfaction.

That voice enchants her, leaving her tingling and burning to her core, primal, truthful sensations masked only by the ache of the denial that buries her, emotions clothed in thin concern. And for the moment, she clings to that ache, the frosty constant that keeps her solitary and untouchable beneath the uniform, not expected to unveil the depth of her attractions, however deeply she’s buried them. “Will that help me see like you?”

In reality, Tasha envies him the darkness.