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  Fleet Captain Cersei Naal, Lieutenant Commander Marielle Deniaud, Lieutenant Commander Gideon Salieri, SD
Video Evidence (graphic warning)

( The following is a log of the video evidence that was submitted late into the trial of Lieutenant Commander Gideon Salieri.  It contains graphic descriptions and adult themes. )

Lusola III was a paradise like none in the universe.  The exclusive resort was easily home away from home for many of the universe's most respected dignitaries and royalty.  Individual bungalows were far apart enough to allow guests privacy, but neighbours could wave to one another through the rich greenery.  A large lake provided water sports and beaches during the warm months. Lush forests offered hiking trails and rock climbing. A large lake boasted fair winds for sailing.

Marielle had excellent days at the conference.  While Gideon learnt of strategies, she spent her week speaking to many of her like-minded peers.  It was refreshing to dive back into theoretical equations and intellectual discussions, to have her opinions heard and to have witty banter.  Each day had left her refreshed instead of drained, and she couldn't remember the last time she had laughed so much. She stumbled as she made her way to her bungalow, waving dismissively at the young man who had escorted her from dinner to the safety of her home away from home.  Dinner had run far longer than she had anticipated - there had been a heated debate over the Planck particle - but it had left her a mess of giggles. Theoretical physicists were oddly full of puns. Painful as those were, she couldn't help but enjoy the odd sense of humour. She slipped her stilettos from her feet as she neared her door.  She didn't want to wake the security chief if he happened to slide into bed before she managed to catch him. There was hope that she would find him slumbering and there would be no trace of alcohol on his breath. Her fingers danced over the panel and she waved dismissively to the young engineer who had been gracious enough to see her to her door.  “Thank you Doslem,” she whispered, giggling softly. “I think I've got it from here.”

The half-Bajoran expected that the diminutive researcher would arrive after he did, but it was hours longer than he anticipated.  In that time, doubt and anger flooded his senses, leading him to a bottle of bourbon in his attempt to remain calm. …€Â˜Every day it's been later and later.  She's going to leave me for one of those nerds.'  His brows furrowed and he gripped the crystal tumbler harder to contain his fury.  …€Â˜She should know better.  I need her here with me.'  As his fiancee, it was her job to take care of him after all.  She made him dinner and soothed his demons. Without her there, it was easier to slip into his well of negativity.  Unease fostered doubt. Bourbon soothed his nerves but did nothing to placate his steadily rising anger.

“You sure you won't join us for drinks-”  The dark-haired engineer shrugged when the small Federation officer shook her head.  He noted some tension, which he found odd. She was at ease all through dinner. “Ah-  Okay. We'll see you tomorrow then? Breakfast, bright and early?”

She hummed in agreement.  “Wouldn't miss it. Tell Kailum I plan on seeing his equations, if he dares.”  Their combined laughter filled the foyer of the bungalow and she waved the young man off before letting her finger brush against the panel had the door closing with a soft hiss.  In one hand, she carried her shoes by the straps. A rare melodic hum slipped past her lips as each step had her hips swaying. Quiet strides took her down the short hallway and into the living room space.  She blinked at seeing her fiance sitting in the plush club chair. “Hey you,” she pushed away the tension that had settled on her shoulders. He'd increased his alcohol intake since arriving on the planet and it seemed to only get worse with each passing day.  “I thought you would have gone to bed by now. How was your conference?”

Alcohol had both numbed and heightened his senses.  He chose not to hear her question, but instead the sound of laughter rang in his ears - hers and some other man's.  “Who is he?” Gideon asked as he turned his chin to stare at Marielle. Hazy cobalt focused on the diminutive woman and his gaze raked over her form.  He noted her rosy complexion and hint of breathlessness. Her shoes were in her hand, indicating she was sneaking around. His back tensed further and his fingers clenched the glass of bourbon.  

“Who is-?”  She shrugged.  “Oh, you mean Doslem?  He's Kailum's student. He walked me home.”  She kept her smile on her face. There was a brief moment of hesitation as she considered making her way to the bedroom.  Believing it was best to soothe whatever the half-Bajoran was feeling, she made her way to him and pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head.  The smell of bourbon filled her nostrils and made her stomach churn. Her gaze swept to the side and her lips formed a thin line at the sight of the bottle.  There had once been an agreement regarding his consumption of the potent amber, but he apparently ignored such rules.

He flinched away and turned so he could stare up at her.  “It took him two hours to …€Â˜walk you home'?” There was emphasis in the phrase that he believed to be a cover for other illicit activities.  “Was it by way of his bungalow?” The glass of bourbon lifted so he could down the rest of the contents.

The petite researcher straightened and couldn't help the frown that graced her features.  His insistence that she was unfaithful was hurtful. While she openly admitted to flirting from time to time, it was never with the intention to cheat.  It was simply in her nature to be friendly and warm. She'd always been upfront about when she'd received invitations to dinner, telling men that she was involved with the half-Bajoran.  Since their engagement, it seemed as if his personality had changed steadily. The accusations on her character were starting to wear heavily on her and no matter how hard she tried to convince Gideon of her fidelity, he seemed to believe otherwise.  “What? No.” She shook her head vehemently, unable to stop her exasperated sigh. “Dinner ran late and all of us lost track of time. They're out now, but I came back-”

“You've been losing track of time every night!  You could at least do me the courtesy of coming up with a different story.”  The chief of security scowled and pushed up to his feet. He brought the glass with him toward the barcart so he could refill the crystal.  It seemed the conference was undoing all the work he'd put into creating the woman he needed as his wife.

“I'm not making stories-”  She shook her head, at him and at the argument that they were about to have.  Again, he was jealous and imagining things. The sigh that slipped past her lips, however, was immediately regretted.  The last had cost her a bruise to the side when his shove had sent her towards her desk. Deciding that perhaps changing the subject would calm him, she made her way towards the barcart.  …€Â˜Get the drink out of his hand, get him into the shower, get him into bed.'  Her hand was hesitant before it settled on his wrist.  “Come on, Gideon. I think that's enough, don't you? You've had enough,” she urged softly.  “You'll see more clearly in the morning.”

He growled and turned a warning glare in her direction.  His hand lifted quickly and he batted away her fingers on his arm.  The glass container was nearly empty, indicating he'd had at least four glasses that night.  “Don't you give me, …€Â˜Come on, Gideon,' El. What's wrong with me drinking here alone while you're out drinking with all your fanboys?!”  The Bajoran mix picked up the decanter of bourbon and poured himself a full glass, emptying the larger vessel.

“I don't have fanboys.”  It was difficult trying to maintain a calm and careful persona around the inebriated man - his size gave him a distinct advantage over her petite frame and she didn't want to get hurt again.  However, days of feeling freedom had her daring to be herself. “This is the most interaction I've had with people in months. I'm really starting to get tired with you being like this.” The admission was freeing yet frightening at the same time.  She shook her head with her disappointment and willed herself to remain rooted in place. They were having issues and she was growing more and more despondent with each interaction. She had such a good day and she didn't want it to end, but it was becoming abundantly clear that the half-Bajoran cared more about the amber than he did about their relationship.  “I don't like who you are when you drink- You've been so angry lately. This isn't healthy, Gideon.”

“I don't like who you are when you're with other men,” he snapped back.  He lifted the glass to drink in spite of her request. The security chief could barely fathom that she had the audacity to ask him to stop drinking.  Gideon needed to alcohol if she wasn't going to give him her body. The need was more than physical.

“You mean myself?”  Her hand lifted with her growing irritation and it fell with a soft …€Â˜flop' at her side.  “Are you telling me you don't like who I am?” Her hand reached forward before she could stop herself and she grabbed the glass from him, quick steps carrying her away from the cart and into the kitchen.  She dumped the contents into the receiving tray of the replicator before roughly placing the glass on the tray. It disappeared with a shimmer. “No more drinking! Gods- Erik was right. We have to get you help.”  Marielle turned to face him but then blanched at the odd expression that graced his face.

Gideon stared for several moments.  He was beyond shocked. The expression morphed, his eyes darkening slightly and his features hardening.  His body was tensed, ready to spring into action. “You- Why the-!” He nearly broke into a run as he stalked toward the petite researcher.  “What the Hell is wrong with you?!” he screamed. He knew he'd told her more than once to not talk about him to her friends. She'd been doing so well to stop talking to them altogether.  This conference had her willful and disobedient.

Her eyes widened and true fear settled in her gut.  There had always been flashes of anger, even before they had become involved, but it was the first time the rage lingered.  Her bare feet stuttered on the hardwood as she attempted to add distance between them. “I'm sorry!” she blurted out immediately.  “I just- You're drinking too much! You didn't need another glass-! Don't Gideon! Please don't.” In that moment, she knew it was different.  He was different. Her shoes fell and bounced along the hardwood when she simply dropped them.

A liquor fueled rage overtook him.  It was her audacity to take his bourbon away from him, to throw good amber down the drain, and to talk about him to Erik, that caused the red haze in his vision.  A large hand reached for Marielle and the other wound back as he grabbed her arm. Gideon shoved her into place in front of him and the flat of his palm smacked harshly with her cheek.  He shook her as he hovered over her. “What the frak did I tell you about talking to other people about me?!” he roared.

Tears pooled in her eyes, a sob tumbling from her lips as her neck threatened to snap.  The natural fight or flight response had adrenaline surging through her veins and the kick connected with a sickening squish to what defined him as a man.  Time forced her to linger in fear and she could recount each step that had her stumbling away, each shallow breath that filled her lungs, each tremor over her nerves that left her cold.  There was an eerie realization that filled the space between seconds - this was her life with Gideon Salieri. “I'm done,” she whispered softly, her head shaking at him. Her eyes remained on the half-Bajoran.  “We're done. We're done. I don't want this. We're done.” Shaky fingers ripped the ring from her finger. It hurt in so many ways and not just because it caught on her knuckle as she ran from him.

The ache in his groin throbbed, reminding him of the pain that she'd inflicted on him so callously.  “We're far from done!” His gaze had followed as she set the ring on the counter and he straightened when she pressed into motion toward the door.  Long limping strides cut her off in the doorway and he grabbed her hair to yank her back just as she opened the door. “You don't get to say we're done!  You don't have to wear the frakking ring to be my wife! You're mine!” His hand twisted to manipulate her into facing him. “You said yes,” he hissed as he glared down at her.

She'd made it one step outside, the warm air kissing her skin, when a yank pulled her back inside the bungalow.  The howl of pain was raw under the pale moonlight. Dumbfounded, her usually quick mind was frozen as pain contorted her features.  “What's wrong with you!? Let me go, Gideon!”

His closed fist struck her cheek as he let go of her hair.  There was some sense of satisfaction in seeing her fall harshly on her behind and the dazed look that filled her eyes.  “You do belong to me! …€Â˜For better or worse, sickness and health, to honor and obey!'” The half-Bajoran towered over her, his fists balled at his sides as he dared her to get up and challenge him again.  …€Â˜It's time she learned her place.  See Giancarlo? I can control my woman.'  The memory of the half-Bajoran that had raised him brought a smug grin to his features.  …€Â˜She'll cower so I don't have to hit our kids.  That much I can do better than you.'

She paid no mind to how her skin caught on the fibers of the ornate rug.  “Cosa fai, Gideon!? (What are you doing?!)” She tried Italian, hoping it would snap some sense into him.  She pushed to her feet and ran towards the bedroom. She was trapped with him, caged with a wild beast who knew nothing but anger.  Her only chance was to get to the room and lock the door behind her.

Gideon pointed toward her in accusation.  “You said yes to me! Not to Doslem, or Sreagon, or Cassius, or Huntsman, or Erik, Esdan, Mccaslin, Richardson, Winters, Togeti, Morgensen, and every other male you ever meet!”  He stalked toward her. “You will start honoring and obeying! You don't talk to other men! You don't talk to anyone about me! You are to go to work and be home immediately after your shift!”  His strides lengthened when he figured that she was trying to close him out of the room she'd retreated to.

She was trapped and alarms rang loudly in her ears as he managed to slip past the closing door.  “Ce n'est que toi! (It's only ever been you!)” she proclaimed, begging with her tone and hoping she could ease his rage.  “Je te jure que c'est seulement toi! (I swear it's only been you!)” He was faster, stronger, and lost. “I love you Gideon, please-”  She stepped right and he mirrored. She stepped left and he followed. “I'm sorry! I won't- I was wrong! Please, Gideon- Think of what you're doing-!  Even after Magnus kissed me, I pushed him away- It was always you!”

“What?!” he roared with fury.  The image of Marielle making love to the Scandinavian had him seeing red.  He jumped forward and snagged her by the neck to push her back. “I knew that you've been whoring around with other men!  I've been faithful to you!”

“No!” she sobbed, her head barely able to shake in her denial.  “Even when Magnus told me- I know you were with them, but I stayed!”

His hand gripped tighter around her throat and he shoved her back into the wall.  “You know nothing! Lies that he told you to break us apart! What facts could he give you?!  None! Just like all the other men, he had his eye on you and you frakking fell for it! Non posso credere che tu lo abbia baciato!!  Sei una puttana stupida! (I can't believe you kissed him! You stupid whore!)” Gideon squeezed her neck as his blood boiled. “You know I complete you.”  His nose brushed lightly over hers and he growled quietly. “We're Gidelle, the couple everyone admires.” He held her harshly against the wall. “You can't leave me,” he whispered ominously.

A penetrating scream ripped from her throat, a desperate cry to save herself and her spirit.  “No! Someone- Help! It's Gideon! Gideon- killing me! He's killing me! Gide-” She found herself drowning in his rage.  The once beloved cobalt hues were so striking in that moment, and as the air caught in her throat, she wondered if anger was what always made them vibrant.   

She moved as if an epic series of movie stills, her face contorting with expressions she'd never worn.  Though she screamed, it was drowned by his cold smolder of suppressed anger. Bitterness lingered on his tongue as he bit hard enough for the smell of copper to fill his nostrils.  He'd done everything right and still it was a mess. He saw Geovani and Giancarlo under his fist. Underwood. Morgensen. Vaeros. Nazir. Winnetka. He had fought against the unfairness of his youth, had overcome the embarrassment of his past, earned the love of a good woman.  He expected sorrow, apologies, regret, repentance for all the wrong he'd suffered - he'd earned that and more - but none ever came. It was easy to feel intoxicated with hate and he surrounded himself by it. He did not stop even when she became limp under the brutal force of his knuckles.

“I'm enough!  I'm good enough!”  

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