I need to first off say a huge thank you to lawsomeantics38 who brought this short story to life and wholeheartedly deserves all of you lovely readers to check out their stories if you haven't already had the pleasure! Cheers my Dears X

Clara Piacenza's broken body lay slumped against the dirtied corridor wall of E Deck, an enormous metal support beam weighing down on her mangled and crushed legs. She watched as the dark crimson blood pooled on the floor around her, mixing with dirt and grime and reflecting her suffering portrait back at her. Her palms lay facing upward in her lap and she found herself creasing her brow in frustration when she noticed the dirt under her ordinarily immaculate fingernails. Her face and body was burnt she knew it, the way the skin felt tight around her right eye, the smell, the way the top of her tunic was singed. The once iridescent passageway was bathed in the red hue of the emergency life support and sparks of energy burst through the cracked panels and fascia's. Her focus lazily strayed upwards, trying to see if there was anybody around, anybody alive at least. A young Ensign had run passed her some time ago, the abject fear evident in his eyes. They looked at one another and Clara saw in that moment that he believed or at the very least hoped her dead before continuing on his way and towards safety.

So this was it? This was how she was going to die? Alone and in pain.

Clara laughed, her Mother had been right.

She found it strange, that in that moment of utter futility she didn't think about her hopes and dreams, what she'd accomplished or had failed to accomplish. She didn't think about her family or friends, the moments in her life that had defined her. She wasn't comforted by the memories of people she loved and who in turn loved her. There weren't those picture perfect postcards that depicted days on the beach, on mountain tops or simply in front of the home fire.

She only felt like she was drowning in thick, black tar. She could feel it creep up her body and pour into her ears, eyes, nose and mouth. It was claggy between her fingers and matted her hair against her head. It wasn't hot though, it felt cool against her skin and almost soothing, it was both terrifying and comforting in equal measure.

A firm hand on her shoulder made her gasp, deep indiscernible voices crept in over the alarm that had been wailing since the first attack. Clara tried to push the hands away but her limbs didn't cooperate, she was being tugged and pushed by hands not knowing that every part of her body was screaming in agony. She felt stings in her neck and the metal lying across her legs being shoved and turned.

Bone, muscle and tendon ripped against one another.

Enough was enough, she screamed out in pain. Choking on the blood in her throat Clara writhed against hands keeping her down and then nothing…

The pain was gone.

The alarm was gone.

The light was gone.

She was a spectrum of light only, she never knew until that moment that you actually felt your heart and lungs stop, how could she have known? Her chest was perfectly still, her eyes stared up at the ceiling, she heard a voice whisper to her; 'It's alright'.

What was?

Clara grew annoyed, what was alright? To let go? To fight?

The thing is nobody ever appreciates that you don't get to choose, you don't get to let go or fight. You don't hear loved ones urging you on to stay with them, there is no light at the end of the tunnel, there's no dream where you see your life flash before your eyes.

There's just thick black tar.

There is a whisper of a voice never heard before, not trusted, not known.

The artificial gravity on board Starships was good, but it wasn't great. Clara had always felt off kilter when on board the Enterprise, or any ship for that matter. Her feet would take longer to fall back to the floor when she walked, when she ran she felt like one decent push would see her entering the stratosphere. Now though she felt heavy, as if somebody was placing bricks on top of her and weighing her down.

She pushed against the weight.

"She's back!"

The artificial air she violently sucked into her lungs stung like a million Bees. The vicious noises and images she could suddenly hear and see made her want to curl up and hide herself in the corner of her childhood bedroom like she had all those years ago. Hands grabbed and cajoled, she was made to do things against her will. The tears falling down her cheeks tingled against the newly healed skin made using a method consisting of chemistry and alchemy. Replacement bone, muscle and tendon in her legs itched like Poison Ivy. She was made once more, a hideous monster disgusting to its Creator.

All she wanted was the thick black tar.

For what felt like weeks she struggled against the pain, the constant disruptions from faceless bodies. The air was cold against her exposed skin and the sounds bled into her thoughts creating nightmares of faceless people and faceless voices. She wanted the thick black tar to take her again. And it did from time to time, between a waking nightmare of being conscious but not being able to scream and the peaceful haven of the thick black tar Clara wished that whomever was pulling her back would stop. She hated her Creator, hated him for her hideousness and helplessness in equal measure.

Then one day, she woke up.

She watched as Doctor Leonard H. McCoy strode towards her, looking as if she was another tin can to knock off a wooden fence with his Colt Peacemaker.

"Lieutenant Piacenza, you're one lucky Lady." his focus was held by whatever he was reading on his PADD, she didn't answer. "Everything looks good, I'll have one of the Nurses discharge you."

Clara watched him go through the exercise of smiling, as one would expect Artificial Intelligence learning or mimicking human behaviour would do. She imagined him actively thinking about something he liked, setting off the neuronal signals that would travel from the cortex of his brain to the brainstem. From there, the cranial muscle would carry the signal further towards the smiling muscles in his face. It was practiced, forced. She'd seen it a thousand times before. It was all a lie. She saw it when he would awake in the morning, see her in the corridor or speak to his fellow Crewmembers.

"Why did you do it?" she asked, catching his attention. She watched his gaze go to the ceiling and then back down to her as he made sure she knew that he found her question an annoyance. He wasn't there to answer questions, to converse with his patients. He was trying to be a God, to create life from nothing. To contradict nature and fill himself with glorious self-gratification that he alone could decide who lives and who dies.

"Do what?"

Clara clenched her fists as he asked, for the same reason as he had looked up to the sky she supposed, out of sheer exhaustion.

"Bring me back."

She watched his eyes narrow, he was immediately questioning her sanity. She saw him thinking how dare she, a mere mortal question his choice to bring her back to life!

He may have also been asking himself the same question, why did he bring her back? Who was she to him? What divine power was he trying to mimic?

"Oggi in figura, domani in sepoltura." She whispered.

And now that he had saved her, even when she hadn't wanted him to, there was now perhaps something more and new between them? Frankenstein and his Monster, she was alive yet dead and he had created her. She feared she would live to serve him now? She saw the coldness in his eyes and knew that in the end he would come to hate her, to want to destroy her.

Nonetheless, the nature of McCoy's stare turned into quiet counsel as he finally settled on the emotion he'd decided he needed to convey. Setting his hands on the bed he leant towards her, filling her vision.

"Listen to me, you've been through a lot but this isn't worse than whatever the hell you just experienced. You're alive, that air in your lungs means you're alive."

Clara sensed the anger in him but it didn't, it couldn't free her from her dark considerations.

"How do you know that?" she shot back at him.

"Because I've felt that thick black tar myself, and it's better than anything in this world but it'll eat you away until you're nothing." She saw it in his eyes, the truth in his words.

"I've felt it before, I knew it existed," she told him.

"It will eat you away." He spat the words with such venom and grief that she wondered how many times the dark thick tar had almost captured him.

"Alright," she whispered.

"No not alright, you have to promise me you believe me, trust me." His hand had gripped her arm and he was squeezing hard, his voice trembling. Clara closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose, the memory of the dark, thick tar licking at the edges of her mind. It wasn't calling out to her the same as it had when she had first awoken, McCoy's hand on her arm a very real physical connection to another human being reminding her that life was more than her own singular presence.

"I believe you," she answered, surrendering to his demands, those spoken and unspoken.

"Good, because I'll be damned if I lose you again, Clara." The threat of tears hung on every consonant and vowel that he uttered, she watched as he realised he was losing control and pulled back from her, clearing his throat and shaking his head. Before she could speak he'd walked away but he'd somehow taken that thick black tar with him, as he always did, as he always had. Watching him sleep in her bed she'd observed the rise and fall of life in his chest. He hadn't shied away, he'd seen the darkness in her because he had it within himself. Their bond was palpable, they were careful around others, they painted on their masks and performed to the crowd. All the while a dark storm brewed underneath both their surfaces so that when they found themselves alone, they would tear at one another, clawing away the lies and revealing their true selves. They would comfort one another, Frankenstein and his Monster.

The End