So I decided to write a fanfiction about Degra's death, 4 years after watching The Council (ENT: S3E22)—as a means to consolidate my grief. I just made it worse. I've been stuck rewatching the Xindi arc for so long that I really needed to just write something. Anyway! This is my first fanfiction that I've posted. It's also on Ao3 for those interested.
First there was the anger. A deep anger that burnt his chest more than the pain did. His betrayal, his vile, twisted actions; his vow to do the same to his wife and daughters. He would do anything for them, anything... even if it meant limping out of here half-alive, he would stop Dolim once and for all.
He wasn't on his feet any longer, and getting up seemed distant when he saw the blood. The amount of it, soaking his uniform in complete crimson before pooling beneath him. Adrenaline made his heart pound even faster, which he knew was the last thing he needed now. It—the blood—surged from his gaping wound and seeped from the corners of his mouth. It spread, and kept on spreading.
In a sudden moment of realisation, he clenched his teeth, covered the wound with his hand and frantically scanned his quarters for something to staunch the flow; but it came too quickly. He would do anything to protect his family, anything... but now, it was too late.
The thick, scarlet liquid of his existence had completely covered his hand, and the pool encircling him was only getting deeper. His heart rate was impossibly rapid now, trying to compensate for the lack of what was supposed to be inside of him. His heart ached. It had never beaten this fast before; not solely from the blood loss, but from the pain and nausea that was slowly catching up to him, and the desperate sadness he had for his family.
Tears welled in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks despite the gnawing thirst beginning to set in. His brisk, shallow breaths caught in his throat—stuck between the clammy sweat beading from his forehead, and the boiling nausea in his stomach. Everything seemed intangible through the pins-and-needles, the light-headedness and anguish.
He finally let his head fall back against the wall. Not out of choice, but because he couldn't hold it up anymore. He was tired, so very, very tired... all he wanted to do now was sleep—escape the pain, the fright, and the agony of worry. Yet he couldn't, he wouldn't let himself.
He forced his gaze back to his wound and to the ground; it seemed surreal how much blood there was. The red was everywhere. His breath was still rapid, and his heart was still racing—even as he began to hear static, and his vision became blurry. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. He was thirsty and he was tired, and he couldn't stop thinking about Naara and the children. He had one job, to keep them safe; yet here he was. The guilt struck him harder than the knife had.
A sudden, crystallising headache shot across his skull as though it were splitting his head in two—taking the remaining blotches of his vision along with it. If he could scream, he would have—but he didn't have the energy anymore, and even his frantic heart began to slow. His hand dropped to his side, unfurling. It wouldn't be long now.
And suddenly he was calm; that last thought had broken something inside of him. It was the end. Images flashed before his eyes—the weapon, Captain Archer, Dolim's sinister silhouette, his ship, the council chambers, the avians, the home he had lived in as a child, and finally...
His vision faded into an ethereal, blinding white light. Naara placed her hand on his shoulder, turning him around. She smiled warmly, pulling him into a gentle embrace.
"You're as beautiful as the day I met you," Degra said softly, too scared and confused to question what was happening.
He wrapped his arms around her—she felt loving, stabilising, calm... her and their children meant everything to him. He took a moment breathe in her familiar scent; the metallic smell of his blood banished from his thoughts. He was home.
"You always say that," she laughed, cupping Degra's cheek.
She leaned in, softly pressing her lips against his. He wanted that kiss to last forever, but a part of him still knew he was pressed for time.
"Where are the children? Are they safe?" he asked, his brow furrowing with concern.
"Of course, they're right here," she smiled, turning to call them.
She lifted Piral onto her hip, while Jaina ran to hug him. Jaina must have been around 11 when he last saw her—and Piral, around 7. He knew they were older now, though not by much; to him, they would always be this young and precious.
"So you're not in danger?" Degra asked, feeling the weight of panic finally lift from his shoulders.
"No, we're not," Naara tilted her head.
She seemed to understand why he was asking.
"But Dolim, he threatened to-"
Naara put a finger to his lips, pausing him mid-sentence.
"He can't harm us, it's okay," she whispered.
"He was successful," she nodded.
Degra wanted to cry with relief, the knowledge that his family was safe was all that mattered to him now.
A tear finally fell from his eye, and he was suddenly reminded of how dry his throat was. He remembered how he was bleeding out in his quarters.
"Naara, I don't want to leave. There's so much I want to do for you, for Jaina and Piral," he managed to choke out.
"Shh... I know. You've already done so much for us—your love has kept us going, and will continue to do so," she reassured him; "We will remember you, always."
As Degra looked at her with Jaina and Piral—their image fading—his love and agony swelled.
"I'll miss you," he said, his voice cracking upon his tears.
"We'll miss you too," she replied.
"Naara, wait-" his voice reverberated around his quarters.
He was back now, his sight returned. His quarters were dim, but he could still see the blood. He wasn't breathing, his heart wasn't beating—he didn't know how he could see or feel anything. This was his last moment of clarity after his mind's parting goodbye. His body felt cold. He felt empty, but peaceful. There was a single candle still lit by the alter; yet it was so, so cold.
Like the coming of night, the darkness of eternity consumed him. His eyes became glassy—and finally, the blood stopped pouring.
I was in a weird, sleep-deprived mood when I wrote this. Any requests and feedback would be majorly appreciated<3
tangentwithtanner
prguitarman
