Laboratories

LABORATORIES ~

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r r r I r I r I r J I

by Leigh Hall

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God help him, he had even sped them on their way. So many deaths, and still his own remained unthinkable. McCoy took a deep breath and let it out again. Well, death was the one thing everybody managed in the end. But it was hard, having to choose it. The Vians only wanted one of them for their experiments; the other two would be freed. At least he could save Jim and Spock if the Vians could be trusted. But La! and Thann had given them predous little reason to trust them so far, and if this was yet another trick his death would be just as meaningless as... He straightened up and put the brakes on that train of thought right there. Kirk had been instructed to pick one of "his men." That, presumably, left the captain out as a viable choice. It was moot now, anyway; McCoy had taken Jim out of the running with a well-timed hypo, just in case. That left him and Spock, and the choice was obvious. All that remained was to get Spock to acknowledge that fact, and the way to a Vulcan's heart was through his logic circuits. Well, of course, the way to a Vulcan's heart was actually just under the 11th rib on the left and then hang a right at the spleen, lift up the two posterior ventral lobes of the liver and... He grinned. That's better, Len, now you're thinkin' likea Vulcan. He forced himself to breathe deeply, and began lining up his ducks. One. The probability argument, A: Spock had only a 7% chance of getting through the experiments with all his faculties more or less intact. McCoy had a whopping 13%chance. Two. The probability argument, B: Spock had more technological expertise in his little finger than McCoy would ever have, sickbay contraptions aside. Kirk and Spock without McCoy had a pretty good chance of

Leonard McCoy stalked away from the First Officer and stared into the black depths of the cavernous room, trying to get a grip on his roiling emotions. Why, suddenly, now when everything depended on it, couldn't that blasted Vulcan see logic? He had been sure Spock would allow him to do what needed to be done, sure he would acquiesce to the logic of the situation. He ran a hand over his face as if that would clear away the turmoil inside. Maybe if he could present it right, if he could do it calmly, rationally, he might get through to that stubborn, pointyeared... But hell, how could he be calm about going off to be... He glanced back into the circle of light, at his sleeping captain and Spock sitting nearby, keeping watch as he tinkered with his tricorder, making preparations. McCoy swallowed and closed his eyes. Very soon now, the Vians would come back, and they would take him away somewhere to that stark black hole of a laboratory, no doubt, where they already had a death-tube labelled and waiting for him - and they would do to him what they'd done to Jim. And then some, apparently. That is, if he could talk Spock into it. It seemed damned unfair to not only be tortured and probably killed, but to have to insist on it himself, argue with Spock for it, even beg for it... McCoy stared into the blackness and shivered. Death. End of existence. It seemed such an impossible thing, even after all these years of medical practice and military action. He had seen so many deaths, sometimes watching helplessly.from the distant bridge of a starship, more frequently fighting it tooth and nail and scalpel from some bedside. Sometimes he managed to drag them back; too often, he didn't. Once, a few times,

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turned his back, opened his medikit, and silently prepared his final and most convincing argument. ..........

getting out of here alive. For Kirk and McCoy without Spock, things wouldn't look so good. Three. The ship's safety argument: H McCoy died, the Enterprise still had one doctor, several nurses and some medics on board. The Vians clearly posed a threat; the ship was in danger and the captain had been injured. A chief surgeon was more expendable in this situation than a first officer, whose duty was to survive to take command and get everybody the hell out of that sector. Four. The economic argument: Doctors could be replaced more easily than command quality starship captains and first officers. Spock had to look to Starfleet's investment. Five. The lifespan argument: He, McCoy, had already lived about half his expected lifespan. Spock had lived less than a fourth of his. McCoy had the least life to lose. Six. The ethical argument: McCoy was oath-bound to preserve life. Spock must allow him to fulfill that oath. Seven. The Kirk argument: Kirk would recover from losing McCoy better than he would recover from losing Spock. McCoy gave himself a grim smile. He wouldn't use that one, he thought. Spock wouldn't go for it; he would just accuse him of acting on that mythical martyr complex he insisted McCoy had. Okay. Six little ducks, sitting on the water, perfectly calm, perfectly logical. He was ready now. He turned and looked back at the Vulcan, still quietly calculating away, putting everything in order so that his friends would have the highest probability of successful escape once he was taken away to have his magnificent mind turned to random subspace static. The real argument: Leonard McCoy simply could not stand by and let that happen. Looking at the stoic back bent over his work, McCoy knew beyond any shadow of doubt that Spock wasn't going to listen to a single one of his arguments. There was nothing in the galaxy so stubborn as Spock with his mind made up. The human's mouth set into the ghost of a dark smile. Except maybe an oldcountry doctorwith his mind madeup. He ..

Lal and Thann, having duly arrived and transported McCoy to the laboratory where they suspended him from ropes fastened to his wrists, now raised the little black control device that would lacerate his flesh and vanished abruptly as McCoy opened his eyes into an even greater darkness. His heart pounded wildly and his sleepshirt was saturated with sweat that he had briefly mistaken for blood. Hoping that he had not actually cried out, he tried to breathe the terror out of his system, but it wasn't working. The oppressive blackness closed in upon him like a shroud; he had to get up. Flinging his blankets to the floor, he practically threw himself out of the bed, barking a shin on the night table as he did so. Damn! Why hadn't he left a floor light on? Because he was forty-five years old, and he wasn't about to admit to anyone, including himself, that he wanted a damn night light, that was why. Shit, he thought, rubbing his banged leg, it was like being six years old again... Six years old in the creaky old farmhouse in a thunderstorm, listening to Davy tell the one about the drowned girl whose lonely, damp little ghost would hitchhike home every year about this time, just down the road a pace... He shivered. At least back then he'd been able to crawl into bed with Davy and be warm and safe from the ghosts the boys had conjured up with their stories. Ghosts, they knew, went after solitary victims. Leonard McCoy had never felt quite so solitary as he did right now. Goddammit, it had been his finest moment. He had done the right thing. And it had been hard, so hard to do. Why was he being punished like this? Why should he have to go through it all again? Over and over and over and... Post-traumaticStressDisorder,that's why. Sometimes he hated being a doctor. "Computer. Report time," he croaked into the darkness.

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"2300 hours, and fourteen minutes," it responded pleasantly. He'd had about an hour's sleep, then. He ordered the lights up, sat back down on his bed, and ached for companionship, for the touch of another person, solid, warm, and real. Loneliness was nothing new to the Enterprise's chief medical officeri it was just the way his life had worked out, a chronic complaint that he'd learned to live with. He kept it under control, or at least at bay, with long working hours and treated the symptoms, whenever they emerged, with evening conversations with his friends, accompanied by judicious doses of bourbon and brandy. And, of course, an occasional shore-leave fling with a paid sweetheart. This was different, though. The loneliness had taken a quantum jump into acute form. He couldn't shake the fear and the cold, and he wanted someone to give a damn, to hold him and make it all go away wanted it with a desperation that his medical persona recognized as unhealthy. He was fixating on the idea. Probably all went back to his failed marriage somehow. Jocelyn... after all these years he could think of her now with longing as well as anger. The latter emotion, he knew, was reciprocatedi he wondered if the former might be as well. Not likely, he sighed. The split had not been an amicable one. Not by a long shot. 2300 hours. There would be people in the mess, and in the rec room. Maybe it wasn't too late to ask Jim in for a brandy. Unless... No, Jim had his eye on that geologist they were transporting to Delphina Epsilon, and she wasn't exactly resisting that devilsmile of hisi it probably was too late to be calling on the captain. Anyway, things had been oddly strained between him and Kirk since they'd escaped the Vians. He supposed Jim was having trouble forgiving him for taking things into his own hands. Must stick in his craw... Well, they'd work it out, but they hadn't done so yet, and he wasn't really up to that session right now. He didn't want an argument, he wanted... What did he want? None of the options he'd been considering, he realized. He wanted...

Maybe so. But he'd settle just for someone to touch, to hold. Was that so damn much to ask? Maybe... He wondered if Christine was still up. Christine was kind. Not to mention beautiful. And unattached. And lonely, herself. If anyone on board would understand him, she... Oh, right, Len, pick someonedirectly subordinate to you. Goodmove. If you want to move right on out of Starfleet. ]eezus...

Sometimes he hated being Chief Medical Officer. This was not only pointless, it was downright stupid, he growled at himself. There wasn't anybody and that was that. Ought to get himself a great big damn teddy bear, that's what he should do. What was that critter Amanda said Spock had had? Like a fat teddy bear? A sula? Sely?... sehlat, that was it. He should get himself a sehlat. No pets on starships,Len.Not since the trib-

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bIebusiness.

Oh, well. Spock had said those teddy bears had 6-inch teeth, anyway. With his luck the damn thing would give him rabies within a week. Well, he'd gotten along so far on this ship without either a lover or a sehlati he could keep getting along without them. He'd get through this like he got through everything else on his own. What he did need, before he sat here and drowned in self-pity, was a shower. Might help him get back to sleep, too, and medically speaking that was what he needed most of all. He peeled off his damp sleepwear, stuffed it into the laundry cycler, strode into the head and dialed up a hot water shower. When he emerged, warm and dry again, he swallowed two tablets of a mild sedative something he hardly ever did, but if he didn't start getting over this thing he was going to have to remove himself from duty altogether, and he didn't think he could stand that right now and plopped himself back on his bed without bothering to find another set of pajamas. This time he left the emergency foot lights on.

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Go ahead, admit it, Len. Protection.

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about the encounter with the Vians must have adversely affected his thought processes. Perhaps it was the use of their transport device, imperfectly tuned to his brain waves. Nocturnal noises from private quarters were certainly none of his business. Spock turned and had already taken three strides down the corridor when a louder, strangled cry erupted from the room. Pain, unmistakably this time, and the voice unmistakably McCoy's. Spock darted back to the door, swiftly punched a security override code into the panel and stepped inside. As the door sighed shut behind him, Spock's eyes rapidly adjusted to the dim room, lit only by the glow of a few red emergency lights. The occupant was lying quite naked on his bed, face down and evidently asleep despite the fact that every few seconds his whole body jerked and he cried out, the voice somewhat muffled by the mattress. A variety of traditional Terran bedding materials lay strewn on the floor nearby. Though the room felt chilly to Spock, a sheen of sweat covered the human's skin. The man was obviously in the grip of a nightmare from which he should be rescued, but Spock found himself reluctant to wake his colleague. He examined this reluctance, found it to be based on a selfish aversion to having the doctor demand an explanation for his presence there, and set it aside, stepping forward to wake the human. Spock's hand had barely grazed McCoy's shoulder when the doctor curled into a fetal position with a gasp, hands pressed to his temples, a series of tremors running through his body. Alarmed, Spock pressed his hand to the human's back, trying to gauge his body temperature and was surprised to find the skin even cooler than normal, rather than fevered. It was not, however, so low as to warrant medical attention, he decided, especially considering the likely consequences of embarrassing McCoy by carrying him bodily to sickbay clad only in a blanket. Spock did not wish to participate in an argument with McCoy at this time; not with the Vian incident so fresh in all their minds, and, he saw, traces of it still visible on McCoy's body. Half consciously, his fingertips followed the odd, dark lines that ran

Spock exited the hydroponics laboratory and made his way through the deserted Deck 5 corridor toward turbolift 3, one part of his mind swiftly cataloging the results of his night's work while another mused over the quaint Standard phrase for this segment of the ship's day. Graveyardshift. Had the human aversion to these hours produced the name, or vice versa? Though his Vulcan curiosity was of course famous for its willingness to speculate endlessly on virtually any topic, even he recognized this as absurd. Clearly, it was time for him to meditate. Perhaps he would even sleep for a few hours. He had been up for 2.69 days, not long enough to reduce his efficiency to any significant degree, but he had found it best to sleep ahead of schedule. Aboard the Enterprise, one never knew when the small advantage of a freshly rested mind and body might become crucial. A sharp sound caught his attention, and he slowed his steps, trying to identify it. It came again, lower now, behind him. If he hadn't been listening for it, he would not have caught it the second time. It was organic, clearly, rather than mechanical in origin. His long, solemn face slipped into a very slight frown as he realized that the noise had originated in the Chief Medical Officer's quarters. Instinctively, he turned and took a few steps toward the door before he stopped himself. He had no desire to eavesdrop. The sound came again, distinguishable now as a gasping intake of breath. Spock hesitated, evaluating the possibilities. Was the doctor in distress? Was assistance required? Or... was he overhearing a coupling? He began a quick retreat, but stopped again. No, that scenario was improbable. Spock was not aware of McCoy being currently "involved" as the humans said, and the OviO was not given to shipboard romance in any case. Such a scenario was even less probable given the events of five days ago. Unless... Perhaps the doctor was in particular need of solace precisely because of those events and had sought out a lover. Who might...? Spock shook himself, startled. Such speculation was not like him. Something .-

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seemed there was no need to wake the doctor after all; it would be quite possible to provide the necessary comfort without bringing him to consciousness. Maintaining contact, Spock reached for the scattered bedclothes with his free hand and managed to cover McCoy, tucking the sheet around him a bit to absorb some of the sweat as he did so. He slipped the pillow back under the doctor's head, eliciting an audible, contented sigh from the dreamer. Mission accomplished, Spock drew his hand away and retreated toward the door, but froze in place as McCoy's eyes flicked open, the sclera gleaming oddly in the dark room. "Don' go, Spock," the familiar voice slurred softly, one arm reaching out from the sheet, "Don' leave me. Oh, God, don't leave me here." Mesmerized, Spock stepped back to the bedside; the surgeon's deft fingers locked onto his wrist with surprising strength as the eyes closed again. "Cold... So cold..." Spock could not now make his escape, nor even reach the cabin's environmental controls, without waking McCoy. Perhaps later. For now, the only logical course of action seemed to be to remain, and to warm the doctor with the high metabolism of his body, just as he had done five days before. He managed, a bit awkwardly, to get his boots off, and stretched out on the bed alongside McCoy. Immediately, the doctor buried his face in Spock's shirt and began to weep silently, drenching the startled first officer with his human tears and a tidal wave of human gratitude. After several minutes, the sleeping man released Spock's wrist to wrap an arm tightly around his waist, and fell still.

down the doctor's lean back, and he wondered again why the Vians had chosen to simulate the effects of a whip on their final victim. They had not done that to Jim. Perhaps they had been testing Gem's ability to deal with a variety of injuries: external, like these and the abrasions and contusions that had been left on the wrists, face and torso; internal, as in the doctor's ruptured organs and broken ribs; and chemical imbalances such as the artificially-induced "bends" and disruption of his homeostasis mechanisms. Such a complex task would certainly have provided the Vian experimenters with a rigorous test of her will, knowledge, and healing capacity. It occurred to him that McCoy would surely "give him hell," were he aware of Spock's current line of speculation, which the human would perceive as cold, insensitive and cruel in some way that Spock could not fathom. The further realization that he was actually looking forward to such an interaction with the volatile surgeon distracted him into a momentary slippage of his shields, though he was still in physical contact with McCoy. Fear, pain and a desperate, grim determination rocketed up Spock's nerves through the touch, a combination that left him little doubt that McCoy was indeed reliving his experiences in the Vian laboratory. Spock let his hand slide lightly up to McCoy's shoulder, preparatory to shaking him to consciousness. The doctor stirred, sighed, and relaxed visibly. "You got a good bedside manner, there, Spock," he breathed softly, but quite clearly. Spock pulled his hand back at the unexpected but all-too-familiar words. McCoy groaned and called plaintively, "Jim? Spock? Are you there?" Spock scanned the human's face; McCoy was definitely not awake. The stimulus of his touch had simply altered the man's dreamstate, apparently for the better. He returned his hand to McCoy's shoulder and felt it relax noticeably, the doctor's breath evening out as well. Deliberately lowering his shields once more, Spock found that his touch telepathy now registered considerably less pain, along with an upwelling of gratitude aimed squarely at himself. It ..

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Suspended in the dark laboratory, McCoy peered out from his swollen, burning face to see La! once more point his blackgloved finger at Thann, and Thann again raise the control device. His body panicked, screaming at him, begging him to let it die, but he wouldn't do it. He was going to beat the odds these damned sadists had quoted him. More importantly, he was going to make those soulless beings acknowledge what they were doing to him. He glared

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Kirk's blurred face loomed into his vision, calling to him insistently, taking charge, hurling orders into the face of the catastrophe as always. "Bones!" the captain was demanding, "Bones, hang on! You've got to hang on till we can get you back to the ship, do you hear me? Hold on!" Well, that was one order he wasn't going to be able to obey. He tried to get his lips to shift into a smile as he moved his head ever so slightly from side to side. But he was cold, so cold... nothing seemed to happen. Then Kirk was there again, pressing desperately on McCoy's temples, the hands oddly unsure, out of place, out of their depth. The voice came to him softly, urgently, almost begging, "Bones, what can we do for you? How can we get you stabilized? You've got to tell us..." A danger signal rang in McCoy's dulled brain. Why were his friends here? They were supposed to be gone. He had kept his part of the contract, surrendered his life to those damn Vians, and they had betrayed him again. A surge of fury allowed him to open his eyes, searching out his enemies, ready to glower them straight to hell. But they were not there; only Jim and Spock met his gaze. Then he understood: they had been freed, he had managed to buy their lives, but they would not leave him while he still breathed. He had to get them out of here before the Vians changed their minds. His eyelids fell as the rage left him, replaced by weary despair. "Let... me... go..." Whether he had managed to voice it or only move his lips, he did not know, but Jim's reaction told him he'd gotten the message across. "No!"Kirk pressed hard on his face as he hissed out the words, "I won't! You hang on, you hear me? You - hang - on!" Spock's voice came through, then, out of the blackness. "Doctor, how can we make you more comfortable?" And he slipped his right hand up to touch lightly, fingers splayed, at the link points on McCoy's face, easing Jim aside as he silently offered a less painful method of communication. McCoy gave an inward smile that may or may not have translated to one visible to his friends. The Vulcan certainly knew

directly into their eyes as a bolt of pain seared through his abdomen and he felt something tear. His body convulsed and he cried out, as much from the horror of it the knowledge that he was hemorrhaging in there - as from the pain. But he kept staring at the Vians as he twisted on their ropes; he would not release them, or himself, from this. If they were going to kill him, then by God, they were going to have to look him in the eyes while they did it. Those eyes, ice-blue and bulging, continued to stare toward the Vian scientists long after their owner's brain had quit receiving any signals from his optic nerves, shutting out all input in order to turn all of the body's remaining energy to keeping the heart pumping, the lungs filling, the damaged kidneys filtering. Abruptly, the scene shifted, and McCoy found himself lying flat, his head turned to one side, Spock's lithe arms holding him securely while he coughed out the frothy, bright blood flooding his lungs. A shadow he knew to be Jim Kirk hovered nearby. The extra warmth of the Vulcan's hands eased the pain a bit. Sucking air after the coughing fit had ended, he lay still and soaked up that Vulcan heat as if it were life itself, as if it could save him after all. He wished he could bury himself in that sturdy warmth; wished, too, that he had the strength to tell Spock what a comfort he was, how glad he was not to have to die alone in that black laboratory; wished he could explain that he hadn't done it out of some damn martyr complex. He'd done it because he couldn't have borne to go on living with the thought that Spock or Jim had died in his place. He'd even like to be able to apologize for dumping that burden onto them instead. But he couldn't speak anymore. All he could do was hope they'd understand, and could forgive him for choosing their lives over his own. The two shadows conversed in low tones, McCoy catching only a few phrases through the persistent ringing in his ears, but the familiar voices were a comfort in themselves. "...make him comfortable, but that is all...," he heard dimly. A moment later - or was it minutes? Had he passed out? Not hours, he knew; he wouldn't last hours -

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but did not press upon the dying man. McCoy relaxed gratefully into the encircling warmth, content, and felt his relief spilling out of his eyes and down his face. Kirk would misinterpret that. Oh, well. The physical contact meant that both the relief he felt and his gratitude would be communicated to Spock without any further effort on his part. Spock could explain it all to Jim later. This wasn't so bad. It really wasn't. He could handle this. Pretty soon, it would all stop hurting. Real soon now. He wished his friends luck and let his eyes close.

McCoy was dying, and would not lie about it. Not to Jim, not to McCoy, certainly not to himself. However, he was willing to engage in a bit of compassionate dissembling, allowing Kirk a little more time to adjust to the inevitable. But the doctor was not about to accede to a meld on his deathbed. He had detested the experience every time circumstances had forced it on him so far; he saw no reason to put himself through it again now. He was dying, and he didn't like it one bit, but he would do it as his unadulterated self, thank you very much. Besides, just as Spock had told Jim, it could happen any time now. Spock wasn't a trained healer, and if he was still in there, trying to jury-rig the human's system together when it finally crashed, he would die, too. And Spock, McCoy knew, was just human enough to get himself killed holding the link too long. He denied Spock access to his mind, and felt just a hint of rejection and regret as the fingers withdrew. There was something they could do for him, though, and McCoy, cold and hurting, certainly had no objection to being made more comfortable. Spock's left hand lay atop his own. With a movement probably only perceptible to the Vulcan, he managed to direct the hand down to his abdomen, which was growing increasingly painful as his body cavity filled with the blood seeping from his battered organs. The warmth gave some relief; he concentrated on that comfort and let his breath ease out in a long, thin sigh. His trained ears, listening to his own breathing, estimated his lung capacity down 30% now. It wouldn't be much longer. "Cold..." he managed to whisper. Kirk started to remove his tunic, but Spock placed a restraining hand on his arm. "Not necessary, Captain. My metabolism should provide sufficient warmth for temporary relief." He did not verbalize what both he and McCoy, and probably even Kirk knew that any relief would only be necessary for a few more minutes until the doctor lost consciousness again from shock. Carefully, Spock stretched himself over McCoy, Ct)veringhis torso, folding the doctor's arms 1:\across his chest, enveloping his legs with his own, holding himself so that he touched ..

.......... Well, this is an improvement,commented the part of McCoy's mind that remained aloof, observing the nightmare it was powerless to stop. Until now, the dreams had consisted entirely of replays of those hideous hours in the Vian lab. This was the first time his subconscious had let him relive as well the scenes of his friends rallying to him. An encouraging sign, he decided; he must be recovering. If this kept up, Gem would be showing up pretty soon, and that was certainly something to look forward to. With a smile of pleasant, if groggy, anticipation, he let himself slip back into the dreamstate. To his surprise, however, McCoy returned to the dream to find himself lying on his side, his battered face still buried in Vulcan warmth, Vulcan arms circling his body protectively while his own arms enveloped Spock in a tight hug. My, my, he thought, isn't this interesting? Not only was his subconscious being suddenly nice to him tonight, it was getting a helluva lot more creative, too. He noted with professional interest that while Spock wore his usual duty uniform in the dream, he himself was quite naked. Naked and... Goodgrief! With a small shock he realized that he was responding physically to the decidedly erotic overtones of being embraced by the ever-remote First Officer of the Enterprise. He'd certainly never expected this particular fantasy to pop up in his dreams. Though... he had to admit to a certain curiosity as to just where this was headed. There were, of course, certain implications in

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the hands began tentatively to amazing! echo his own caresses. McCoy led the dream-dance; his hands, full of the fierce affection and sincere admiration that could never be verbalized, worked slowly up over the shoulder and down Spock's spine. The dream-Spock reciprocated lightly, cautiously, alert for sore places. McCoy caught his breath, tried to crawl even closer into his companion, and slipped his hands inside the trousers to pass over firm, lean buttocks. The tune to "Hot Cross Buns" leaped impudently and irrepressibly into McCoy's mind, and he chuckled aloud as he began to knead the too-warm flesh. Impossibly and delightfully, a small sound of pleasure escaped the Vulcan. Thus encouraged, McCoy added kisses to his caresses, working his way slowly up from Spock's chest to his throat, along the jaw line, and finally to the soft lips. The men lay evenly matched now, length for length. McCoy's penis, swollen and ready for action, sought comfort between Spock's legs even as his tongue entreated entry to the overheated mouth. Spock obediently made room for both, sending a shudder of pleasure through McCoy. He opened his eyes to gaze into Spock's, and revelled in the sight of the dark eyes glistening, dilated and endlessly deep with anticipation. Amazingly, Spock now took the initiative, pulling him into a tighter embrace, wrapping one leg around his and pressing their pelvises delightfully together, until his grip on McCoy's knitting ribcage began to be uncomfortable. McCoy started to pull away, but the aroused Vulcan pursued him, holding his face firmly while he enforced his turn exploring McCoy's mouth. His breathing had grown fast, and was punctuated now with sporadic, barely audible moans. McCoy felt a stab of pain as a rib complained under the strength of Spock's hold. He made a small sound of protest, and Spock halted and pulled away, gazing at the human in confusion and concern. McCoy stared back across the sudden gulf between them, and the realization struck him at last. "Oh, God," he whispered, "you're really you." Mortification flooded him, communicating itself to Spock through the now

the clothing thing. Symbolic power, perhaps, reflecting the inferiority complex the Vulcan always gave him? Or something simpler? An ordinary sexual fantasy? Seduction of the unattainable, a good old textbook standby. Of course, there must be symbolism, too, in the encounter having switched from the Vian laboratory to his own bed. Perhaps he'd have himself psychscanned in the morning. He hadn't known he'd been thinking about Spock this way. Maybe it was those pills. H so, he'd have to start taking them more often. Oh, hell,he thought, as Spock shifted his grip, sending a decidedly sexual thrill down his spine, anything is fair game in fantasy. Stop analyzing and just roll with it, Len. Could he get through his friend's damn shields in dreamtime, if nowhere else? Here was an experiment worth trying... Consciously, with an almost physical effort, he elbowed his professional training aside, determined to just enjoy this odd gift from the recesses of his psyche. Breathing in the warm, coppery scent of Spock, he slipped a hand under the Vulcan's tunic, seeking even closer contact, skin to skin. He felt Spock tense in surprise or perhaps in mild revulsion; human skin, moist and considerably cooler than the Vulcan variety, must feel downright clammy. McCoy kept his hand still, allowing Spock to adjust to the feel and gradually relax, then let his fingers roam gently through his companion's curly chest hair, massaging expertly, slowly, taking his time. There was no hurry. He could dream all night. At length, he began circling the sensitive nipples, extracting an actual gasp from Spock a triumph that was ridiculously exciting in and of itself followed by a noticeable increase in the rise and fall of Spock's chest as McCoy continued to tease at the firm buds. His own respiration rate was definitely on the rise, too along with some other things as he enjoyed the feel of his skin on Spock's, so impossible in real life. He tugged encouragingly at his companion's shirt and was absurdly pleased when Spock obliged by lifting his arms and allowing him to slip the tunic over his head and off. The warm arms immediately came back around him, and this time

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extensive contact of their flesh. It was quickly followed by outrage. 'What the hell are you doing here?" McCoy demanded in a harsh whisper. After a beat, Spock replied from deep within his normal Vulcan mask, "I believe, Doctor, that I am... making love with you." They stared at one another for a further minute, both uncertain, acutely embarrassed, but both also excruciatingly aroused, and neither man willing to break off the encounter. McCoy itched to make some smartass reply about the incongruity of Spock's choice of words. "Making love," he had said. Not "engaging in mutually pleasurable erotic stimulation" but "making love". Love? Spock? That most illogical of emotions? And "with you," not "to you". Well, these were probably not idioms that Spock really understood very well. But then again, what if... gods, what if the words meant exactly what they said? Spock being generally both precise and truthful in his choice of words, it was a distinct possibility. Feeling that they were balanced together over a precipice, and that the added weight of any words at all would send them plummeting, McCoy held his peace as well as his breath. It was Spock who broke the silence at last. "Shall we continue this activity to its logical conclusion, Doctor?" he asked with his most infuriatingly innocent expression. McCoy hesitated, then forced himself to relax rather self-consciously against Spock's chest once more, and gave him a tentative grin. "Oh, shut up and kiss me," he admonished by way of agreement, reaching impulsively for the fastenings to Spock's trousers. "And if you use any form of the word 'logic' again tonight, I'll..." He searched his companion's flushed face for a moment. "I'll bite those points right off your ears," he finished, leaving Spock to wonder whether the doctor was aware of the erotic implications of ear-nipping, or had simply chosen that threat at random. He stifled a ridiculous urge to find out by assailing the human with every conceivable form of the forbidden word, and instead slipped a hand to the back of McCoy's head, pulling their mouths back together as ordered to enjoy a deep and heated kiss. McCoy, only slightly distracted .. 103

by that activity, busied his own arms and legs removing the remainder of his bedfellow's clothing. That task accomplished, McCoy kicked the first officer's trousers and underwear onto the floor and slithered with a happy groan atop Spock's deliciously warm body, pressing his groin enthusiastically down against the Vulcan's. With a quite satisfactory if unexpected whimper, Spock responded by dropping his hands to McCoy's ass, pulling him down hard to increase the pressure. For long minutes they rocked together with a slowly mounting rhythm, mouths pressing in hungry harmony with hips, hands eagerly exploring one another's alien skins for pleasure-points. Spock's pulse raced now beyond the human's ability to detect, and McCoy's own breath was coming in short gulps until he felt he must explode, when Spock suddenly released the embrace and whispered hoarsely to his partner, ''Doctor... I wish to be... within you." McCoy froze with a small shudder, panting heavily, eyes closed briefly in a grimace. Spock searched his partner's face in the dim light, but was unable to read the human's reaction to this request. After a moment McCoy, with evident effort, pushed himself up, climbed off the bed, and headed for the bathroom, his erection leading the way while Spock watched with a sense of loss and uncertainty; clearly he had offended the doctor. Scouring his memory to formulate an appropriate apology, he rose and followed McCoy. "Doctor," he began, as he reached the doorway, "I must apologize...," . "Huh?" Straightening from the replicator unit, McCoy gave the Vulcan a puzzled look over his shoulder. "What are you on about?" "I did not mean ~o offend you with my suggestion. I would like... Shall we... Would it be appropriate to... start over?" The vision of a discombobulated Spock sent McCoy's eyes wide with amazement, then he laughed, and stepped back through the door, grabbing Spock's hand as he passed and tugging him back toward the sleeping alcove. "Silly old Vulcan," he chided as he crawled onto the bunk and pulled

ancient Terran volume entitled The Handbook

Spock down beside him, "I just needed to get this." He pressed a small tube into Spock's palm, and a kiss onto his collarbone. "Use lots," he instructed. "And I mean lots. And take it easy. I haven't... I mean... Well... this isn't my usual style. Okay?" Though clearly excited, his pupils deep and dilated, the human was also visibly tense, perhaps even somewhat fearful. Reassurance seemed to be called for. Spock wrapped his arms around his partner once more, massaging the tight neck muscles for a while, then indulging in increasingly intense kisses until both were again well aroused. As he began to gently urge McCoy onto his stomach, the doctor shivered either with anxiety or cold, and Spock felt the human's erection subside slightly where it lay pressing into his abdomen. Spock deftly pulled a blanket over them in case it was the physical temperature making the doctor uncomfortable. He kissed McCoy's forehead, murmuring softly, "I have more control over this function than humans, Doctor. I can and will stop if there is any pain. If you want me to stop at any time, I will." McCoy nodded, eyes closed. "Okay," he whispered, grateful for the reassurance, and allowed himself to be maneuvered into a prone position. Spock continued the massage, working down McCoy's back to the meager buttocks. McCoy gradually relaxed into the sensations and soon found himself greedily absorbing the slow, protective caresses that carefully skirted areas of soreness, and basking in the sure knowledge that he was being looked after, that he could give himself over to Spock's care, and he would not be hurt. As his body relaxed, his skin opened further to the contact, tingling everywhere the long, hot fingers touched him. It was incredible. "My god, Spock," he breathed, kissing the shoulder within reach, "you really do have a good bedside manner. Where'd you learn this?" "The ship has a quite considerable library." Spock replied seriously, without any loss of rhythm. "It is one of the more interesting benefits of starship service. This particular technique I believe I learned from an

of Swedish..."

"Spock." "Yes?" Spock was working the tight muscles of his thigh now. "It was a rhetorical question, Spock. Just a compliment, not an inquiry." "Oh." Spock paused thoughtfully for a moment, and said, ''Then I believe the appropriate response would be 'Thank you.'" McCoy squirmed as the hot hand brushed over his testicles on its way to the other leg. "Yeah." "Thank you." "You're welcome." McCoy gasped as the hand swept over his balls again, a little more firml y. "MYgod , are you w e1come..." Spock's penis, stiff and smooth with desire, pressed into McCoy's thigh, sending urgent signals to both their brains. McCoy found himself actually biting Spock's shoulder as he heard his companion flip the tube open. He shivered again, with anticipation now. Spock warmed a dollop of the lubricant in his palm, and began to smooth it between McCoy's legs. McCoy quivered with surprised pleasure as hot cream was slathered over his scrotum and up into the space between his cheeks. "Spock...uh... I don't quite know how to ask this, but..." "Yes?" Spock was so damned calm. 'Well... Do you know what you're doin'?" "I am applying lubricant in order to facilitate..." "Spock, you know what I mean, dammit!" Spock was silent for a moment, but continued to liberally oil McCoy's nether regions. Finally, he replied, "I have no practical experience of this form of sexual activity, Doctor, but as I mentioned before, the ship's library contains a great deal of material..." "Oh, gods," McCoy moaned as Spock began circling a fingertip around his anus. "So we both know the theory and neither of us know...Oh! Jeezus!"Spock had slipped one hot, well-lubricated finger up inside him. His sphincter protested the violation with a sensation that was a dramatic combination of pleasure and an urge to defecate. McCoy was

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had enough to proceed, as promised, "with due caution." A bit overmuch caution, McCoy thought. There had been several moments when Spock had driven him crazy by stopping for more ointment when all he'd wanted was for him to keep on thrusting, harder, farther, and faster. But they'd certainly gotten there despite the aggravating little delays. Spock had climaxed first. The Vulcan's orgasm had seemed to go on forever. He had cried out once, just at first, his arms tightening convulsively around McCoy's chest as his spine arched backwards, forcing his Penis to its maximum depth and squeezing their testicles together. Spock's whole body had trembled violently while hot semen shot repeatedly deep into McCoy. Transfixed, paralyzed, and restricted to shallow breaths by Spock's hold, McCoy had experienced the Vulcan's release in his own haze of dizzy pleasure; he had been very close to coming himself, but while Spock's seed poured into him his own feelings seemed to be suspended, set adrift from the normal flow of time. At last, he heard Spock breathe in again, and felt the steel arms relax their grip. He took a few deep gulps of air himself and felt Spock shift his weight to reach a well-oiled hand underneath him and begin stroking his aching cock At that point, he hadn't needed much encouragement, and within seconds he was wild with excitement, alternately bucking his hips up into Spock and ramming down again into the hot, slippery hand. Then he was coming. And coming, and coming. His own back arched as his semen sprayed over Spock's hand; Spock used it to keep working on him, pumping him dry. When he thought it was over, Spock had reached up to pinch his nipples, now free of the mattress, and he had come some more. Then he had collapsed, panting, down onto the mattress, feeling like putty. Happy putty. Satiated putty. Putty that had been well and surely loved. Spock lay in a similar state. He didn't know how the Vulcan had managed to hold on and bring him to orgasm after his own powerful performance, but he was grateful that he had. Now he was enjoying feeling them both as boneless puddles, their skin in

pretty well-read himself, of course, and his -:-;

:ients were of all persuasions, and he'd

: ::~performed and experienced his share of l '.': a1exams. He had known what to expect. S~j, the reality was something of a shock. A remarkably exciting shock Spock held the finger still for a moment then slowly withdrew it. He kissed McCoy's forehead again. He knew the gesture to be vaguely parental and hence comforting, and his bedmate had clearly liked it before. He seemed to still like it, the blue eyes closing contentedly. "Did that hurt you?" Spock asked. He knew, of course, that it hadn'twith so much direct skin contact between them, he could hardly have missed a sensation of pain even with his shields fully engaged. But McCoy would want to be asked. "No," McCoy assured him. "No. It was just... kinda strange. But nice. Do it again. But you take it easy," he ordered. "Youhear me?" "Yes, Doctor. I do not detect any change in my hearing," Spock replied quietly. He shifted to lie lightly across the human's back, and let his chin rest on the cool shoulder as he spoke close to the exotic, rounded ears, "And I will proceed with due caution." "Oh god," McCoy groaned as Spock cupped his testicles in a hot palm, then applied more cream to his anus and eased a finger inside him again, massaging the sphincter muscle, teasing the entrance open. "Oh, gods, thafs good, Spock Oh, my god..." He clutched at the sheet, buried his face in his pillow, and gave himself up to the sensations Spock was creating.

.....

McCoy lay quietly, exhausted and sleepy in the aftermath of an exquisite orgasm, enjoying the feel of the hot, collapsed Vulcan in and around him. Spock had proven to be a wonderfully patient, considerate and capable lover. That shouldn't have surprised him, he supposed. Obviously, touch telepathy ought to be quite an asset in lovemaking. Instant, unequivocal feedback from one's partner. And though towards the end Spock had not had quite the level of control he obviously expected of himself, he had , .

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maximum contact, the boundaries between them almost dissolved. It had been a thoroughly pleasurable coupling, as far as he was concerned, with surprisingly little pain, though a sweet ache in his rectum still full of Spock told him he'd be walking a little funny that day. And all indications were that Spock, now lying virtually unconscious on top of him, had found their encounter equally satisfying. Oh, there had been some embarrassing moments when Spock, panting, fevered, very, very stiff and about to enter him, had automatically pressed his fingertips to McCoy's face to perform a bonding meld that was no doubt a standard feature of Vulcan sex, and McCoy had panicked and struggled against him both physically and mentally. After that, Spock had refused to go on, out of fear that without a meld he wouldn't be able to eliminate any pain he might cause his partner. There had been a rather frenzied argument before McCoy finally persuaded him to resume things. But they'd sorted it out, and it had been great. Really great. The heat of him... gods, he felt good. Now, however, the weight of the Vulcan's denser skeleton and muscle structure was becoming oppressive. "Spock," he said softly at last, "Hey, Spock. You're fantastic and I love you, but I can't breathe, lover." Slowly, Spock roused, slipping cautiously from him. McCoy closed his eyes, reluctant to lose the contact - and suddenly it was gone altogether. He felt the bed shift and his eyes flew open to see Spock standing a few feet away, reaching for his clothing. McCoy propped himself up on his elbows. 'Where the hell do you think you're going?" he demanded. Startled, Spock froze with his Fleet-issue underwear and tunic in hand. "To my quarters," he replied in that aggravatingly reasonable tone of his. "I seem... to require sleep." "Damn right you do. Come back here." Spock simply gazed at him in confusion. McCoy sighed. "Spock, it's very bad manners to fuck somebody and then just up and leave. Makes them feel... used. Disposable. You follow me? Just when they

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should be feeling, you know, loved. So get your Vulcan ass back in this bed." When Spock still made no move, he went on, "Hey, you started it, sailor. Sleeping together's part of the deal. You gotta spend the night with me." He smiled encouragingly. "C'mon. It's not so bad. I hardly ever kick anymore." He held the sheet open, his eyes issuing challenge. Spock dropped his clothes back to the floor with a resigned and slightly disoriented air and complied, climbing back into the bed and once again stretching out alongside McCoy. "I do not wish to be ill-mannered," he assured his companion. "Glad to hear it," McCoy replied, sliding a hand lazily across Spock's shoulder, then wrapping the arm around him and nestling his face into Spock's neck. He gave a contented and sleepy sigh. "Look. If you don't want people to know about this," he went on gently, running a hand appreciatively through the silky black hair above Spock's ear, "you can sneak out before first shift. I don't mind. Just... sleep with me for a while." "As you wish, Doctor." "And, Spock?" "Yes,Doctor?" "Spock... um, you don't call your lover by his title. The name's Leonard." "Yes, Leonard," Spock responded obediently, if a little vacantly. "Or maybe even Len." McCoy circled his fingers sleepily in the hair on the back of Spock's head, then let his hand slide all the way down Spock's backbone and come to rest on the buttocks with a soft pat. 'Well, then again, maybe not," he sighed. "Leonard will do fine." After a moment, Spock asked, "Is there anything else etiquette requires in this situation... Leonard?" "Why yes, there is, Spock," McCoy yawned, "It requires what we call the goodnight kiss." And he raised himself until he could reach Spock's lips to claim that prize, while his fingers traced the pointed ears, then he settled back into his former position and closed his eyes again. '''Night, Spock," he said. "Good night, Leonard." "Spock?"

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"Yes,Leonard?" "That was pretty damn good for a pair of theorists. " "Yes,"Spock replied, "it was indeed." McCoy wondered if Spock meant that, or if his reading had told him that after copulation humans often sought one another's assurance that the experience had been satisfactory. But he was too cozy to worry much about it. He was just drifting comfortably to sleep when a slight shiver running through his companion sent a nagging thought up to the surface of his mind. He came awake again. "Spock?" he asked, "Are you cold?" Then, before Spock could reply, he went on, 'What am I saying, of course you're cold, and of course you're not going to admit to me that a Vulcan would deign to take notice of a silly physical discomfort. Jesus Maria." He planted a grumpy kiss on the tip of Spock's long nose, climbed over him out of the bed, and set the environmental controls to Saharan levels. Crawling back into his bunk, he settled again into the comfortable hollow of Spock's arms. He might wake with a headache from the heat, but at least he wouldn't have a hypothermic Vulcan to deal with in the morning. Spock clearly needed to sleep, not just go into a meditative trance, and in true sleep he couldn't adjust his metabolism to compensate for the adverse environmental conditions of a starship designed for humans. They'd have to figure out a more permanent solution later. That thought startled him with its implication that he was expecting this relationship to continue. Oh, gods, he was in trouble now. He was a competent diagnostician, and he knew the signs, even this early in the disease. He was falling in love. "Leonard." "Mm?" "Since you have left the bed and returned to it before actually sleeping, does 10- etiquette not dictate that we should now repeat the goodnight kiss?" "Hm. Interesting point, Spock." McCoy was curled into Spock's chest, and kissed a conveniently positioned nipple. "Yeah, you know, I think maybe it does at that." Spock reached for him, and they did.

McCoy could have sworn he saw a smile in the shadows of Spock's face as he once again cocooned himself against the Vulcan's chest, delighting in the overly warm arms holding him dose, and in the overly warm lips touching his forehead as a deep voice so close as to be almost inside his head told him, "Sleep well... Len." Bathed in the heat and wonder of Spock's affection, he drifted off into sleep, and not a single Vian intruded into that rest for the remainder of the night.

III A soft, persistent chime worked its way through McCoy's ears and into his brain, dragging him reluctantly to consciousness. Half-awake, he noted the unaccustomed warmth next to him, and with a groggy smile attempted to bury himself in it, simultaneously pulling the blanket determinedly over his head. An agreeably warm something pressed on his naked shoulder and rocked it gently. "Doctor," came the stolid Vulcan voice, "The computer is sounding your wake-up alert." McCoy lifted the blanket from his head and, turning to face his bedmate, blinked hard as he attempted unsuccessfully to stifle a ridiculous, puppy-dog grin. "Spock!You're still here." Spock merely arched an eyebrow in lieu of reproving McCoy for his annoying habit of stating the obvious. He did not wish to begin the day with an argument. McCoy closed his eyes again, let his head drop onto Spock's shoulder, and compounded his sin with a second statement of the obvious in as many sentences. "People will know." Spock contented himself with a simple, "Quite possibly." "So... does that bother you?" He opened his eyes again, to search Spock's. The First Officer allowed a shadow of annoyance to flick across his eyes, knowing that McCoy was one of the few people on the ship who could read it correctly. "Really, Doctor-" he began.

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the bed as his heart clung to the warmth of Spock's affection. Neither was willing to face the cooling that must come with light and the ship's day. He lay in cozy, suspended existence, refusing to fear, refusing to hope, refusing to think at all. He was brought out of his cave -- after, presumably, 16.23 minutes - not by his computer's renewed alarm but by the aroma of strong coffee and a hand quietly but insistently tugging the cover back from his head. He rolled over and pushed himself up to a sitting position to glance up at Spock, now dressed and combed, one arm outstretched to offer him a steaming mug. The first officer's impeccable, regulation tidiness sent a cold wash of fear over him; Spock looked very much as if their night together had never happened. Was that how they were going to play it? Had Spock made his decision, running scenarios, calculating odds even as he showered off the last vestiges of McCoy's sweat and scent and kisses? The face above him was as unreadable as a Torite rune. McCoy tried to make his own match it as he pulled the blanket closer around him and held out his hands; when Spock placed the cup in them, he saw with a sinking heart that the Vulcan carefully turned the mug three quarters of an inch to prevent their fingers from coming into contact. McCoy sipped at his coffee, trying to make his mind blank, forcing down the urge to make Spock speak his decision aloud, trying to convince himself that he hadn't lost anything. Spock hadn't been his before and was not his now. The night had been a fluke, an astonishing gift. It did not give him any right to make demands. But his heart had never been one for logic; it liked the gift. Liked it a lot. Wanted to keep it, hoard it, have it forever, all to himself. Something had to be said, and the coffee made a good excuse. Keeping his face resolutely emotionless, McCoy made himself look into the dark eyes again. "Thanks, Spock," he said blandly, ambiguously. Let Spock take that however he wanted. But he was falling into those eyes again, the eyes now suddenly not just of a friend but of... well, his heart's desire. Eyes that he now knew were quite capable of loving him back,

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You're a Vulcan. You're not bothered." He rubbed a stubbly cheek on Spock's shoulder. 'Well, good." "Your wake-up alert, Leonard," Spock reminded him. McCoy was too busy basking in sleepy contentment to be bothered himself. "That just means I get to sleep for 20 more minutes," he mumbled. "Hold me." Spock complied, but frowned slightly. "Doctor-" McCoy turned to glare at him. "Leonard," Spock corrected himself, and the doctor nodded and settled back down comfortably. "Leonard, where is the logic in setting your device for 20 minutes before you intend to rise? If you require 20 more minutes of sleep, why not simply do so?" McCoy opened his mouth for a retort, thought better of it, and turned over to face Spock again, slinging an arm across his chest and then easing a hand up to lightly caress the puzzled eyebrows. ''Don't ever change, Boopsie," he murmured. As the ptlZZlement on the Vulcan features deepened, McCoy chuckled and put a hand over Spock's mouth to prevent further questioning. When he detected surrender, he removed the hand and replaced it with his lips a chaste, friendly good-morning kiss. ''Take me as I am, Spock," he said seriously, "or not at all." There was an unnerving silence as Spock seemed to consider those options, the cant of his left eyebrow indicating, to a practiced observer, a state of some consternation. McCoy wanted badly to know where he stood, and where they were to go from here, but he had not meant to deliver an ultimatum. He reached to smooth the eyebrow back into symmetry with its fellow, and gave his partner a crooked smile. ''But relax. You don't have to choose in any big hurry." Spock nodded solemnly, then disentangled himself from his companion and slid gracefully from the bed. "I believe you have 16.23 minutes left to sleep," he told McCoy, bundling the blanket back around him. "In the meantime, with your permission, I will use your shower." "My shower. is your shower, Spock," McCoy replied, pulling the blanket back over his head. His body clung to the warmth of

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if they would. He tore his gaze away. He didn't want to say it, didn't want to grovel, but it came out of his throat all on its own, unstoppable. "So, Spock..." He stared hard at the wall in front of him. 'What happens now?" Spock did not answer immediately. When he did, naturally he responded to the literal question rather than the figurative one McCoy had intended. "I must return to my quarters in order to meditate before the day watch begins," he said placidly, only the angle of his shoulders giving away a degree of discomfiture. "Is there anything you need?" McCoy shifted his gaze into his cup. "Yeah," he responded quietly. "You." He turned to look at Spock again; the Vulcan was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, as if poised to give McCoy one of his insufferable lectures. That was the last thing McCoy wanted at the moment. He averted his eyes again, and continued, heading Spock off, "Sorry, Spock. That's unfair. I just... I need to know if I've had all of you I'm going to get. I need to know that." Spock's eyes, when he met them again, were clouded with uncertainty, a condition McCoy had very seldom observed in their long years together. "I do not know," he replied at last. "I must meditate." There was an uncomfortable pause, then he continued oddly, "Please do not judge me until I have done so." "Judge...? What do you mean..." "I must go now. I would like to discuss this further this evening. Would 2100 hours be acceptable?" "Sure, Spock. Door's always open. 2100 would be fine." He grinned, "So would 2300. Or 0300.Anytime." Spock hesitated to leave, however, and when McCoy looked up at him again, he lifted a hand toward the doctor's face, long fingers reaching for the remnants of a welt above his left eye. But he stopped himself before actually making contact, turned abruptly, and headed for the door. Halting before the sensors could activate it, he turned again to face McCoy. "I apologize, Doctor. I did not mean to cause you further distress; I intended only to reduce it."

Doctor.Backto titles. "Well, First Officer," he responded with another forced grin, "you did that. Whatever else happened, you certainly did that. And you've given me something that will probably shove those wretched Vians right out of my dreams. So, thanks. Now go on and meditate, before someone else catches you having an emotional response." Spock accepted both the honest gratitude and the peevish verbal slap with a short nod, turned, and departed, leaving the whoosh of starship doors to echo in the sudden emptiness of the room behind him.

.....

By 20:55that evening, McCoy was alternately pacing his room and taking absentminded swallows from his third shot of bourbon as he waited for Spock to show up. It had been a long, difficult day. He was pretty much back into the regular sickbay routine now, but he was still having those odd little episodes of near-catatonia, so he refrained from examinations and limited himself to the office and lab work. There was plenty of that; botanical samples were pouring in from the survey party down on Bendak 5. He should have been down there himself, of course, but the captain had taken one look at him when he showed up in the transporter room at the start of the survey three days ago, and sent him back to sidebay with orders to have M'Benga give him a once-over, and a warning that if he worked even five minutes more than a regular shift for the next week, he would confine him to quarters under guard. So, he had joined his lab techs in busily cataloging pharmaceutical properties of the samples. His staff had grown accustomed to seeing him periodically freeze and turn unresponsive, and knew what to do now. If he started shaking, someone would come to his rescue, snapping him out of it with a call, a shake, or even a slap as necessary. Otherwise, they let him be and worked around him until he came out of it. What they didn't know, and weren't going to find out, was that most of today's episodes had just been plain old daydreams, not those awful flash-

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about that. And he had come up with an answer he didn't like one bit. It had to be the meld. Spock had offered him a mind-meld, and he had rejected it. That was probably pretty damn rude. What would it cost a Vulcan to offer up his privacy like that? And then be turned down flat? And clearly, melding was part of Vulcan sex; maybe without it, the experience just wasn't satisfactory. Maybe a mind-blind partner was just dull in bed. Spock had sure seemed satisfied, though... But it must have to do with the meld. And he had no solution for that. He could march into hell for Spock, but he couldn't undergo mind fusion for him. Maybe in an emergency. But not on a regular basis. Not since... A bearded image loomed over him, fingers reaching for his face... No. He couldn't. So he just wasn't right for Spock. But Speck probably felt guilty about what had happened to McCoy down there on Minara. He wouldn't want to break it off, because he wouldn't want to hurt him. McCoy would have to do it himself. He wasn't going to have Spock making love to him out of pity. If Spock didn't want him, he wasn't going to try to hold him. The door bleeped at him. 2100. Right on time. He quickly shoved his shot glass back into his liquor cabinet before responding, "Come in." Spock entered, and as the door slid shut behind him, McCoy quickly took the offensive. "Spock,look, you don't have to sayanything. It's okay. I mean, I've thought it over, and I have to tell you... It was nice and all, but it can't work between us, Spock. It just can't work." He steeled himself and looked into Spock's black-velvet eyes. "Ilike women, Spock. You need an exclusive bond, I understand that, and I can't give it to you. First big brunette that came along, and I'd He shrugged. ..It's how I am. I'd just really rather have a woman." Spock looked at him solemnly for a moment, then clasped his hands behind his back and said simply, "Ido not believe you." McCoy had not expected to be caught out so quickly. Having nothing to say to the accusation, he said nothing.

backs. He'd been trying to understand about him and Spock. As a result of all that daydreaming, he thought he had it figured out now, and he was pretty sure he knew what he had to do, but it wasn't going to be real easy to pull off. How it had happened was clear enough and so was his own response. He needed someone to love him; had always needed that, but right now he needed it desperately. He'd have gone ga-ga over anyone who stepped in and offered to take care of him the last few days. When it turned out to be Spock... it had just bowled him right over. Of course he was in love. Natural. Normal human response, topped off by the fact that he just didn't seem to be able to makelove without falling in love. For him, sex had a tendency to produce infatuation with lightning speed. But Spock... How to explain Spock's response? Either the warmth of last night or the coldness of this morning? He thought of pon farr, of course, but that wasn't it. It should be years away, but just to be sure McCoy had checked the scansheets that had been taken on Spock in the routine postplanetary medcheck just a few days ago. There was no hormone imbalance. Spock was healthy as a horse. Uh-huh. Hung like one, too.

He scolded himself for that thought, but to no avail; it had already set loose a familiar heat down in his trousers. Well, his need for comfort seemed to be turning into plain old lust. He supposed that was a good sign. Spock. How was Spock suddenly able to let go and be so affectionate? Maybe Spock really was experimenting with his human side at last. Or maybe he just pushed Spock's daddy buttons somehow. Being needed was a damn powerful pull on the old heart strings for just about everybody; maybe his own obvious need had allowed Spock to abandon his reserve. No loss of face when McCoy had been so vulnerable... He downed his bourbon and poured another. Oh, who the hell cared? It was enough that Spock had allowed him, of all people, to experience that part of him. But then why had he gone all arctic on him this morning? That was more important. He had thought and thought and thought ..

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r clarification, or remained perplexed for a count of five, McCoy scored. The old pattern put them both at ease, and McCoy felt the smile behind his visitor's eyes. "You are technically my subordinate in the command structure. Inequality of power makes a sexual relationship between us ethically questionable." McCoy leaned back in his chair, mimicked the configuration of Spock's hands, and moved them slowly across his chest as if following skeet. "You ever notice me being particularly subordinate with you, Mister First Officer? And as CMO I can give you orders when I need to, and the Captain, too. I don't see any real inequality of power here." "Starfleet may not take that view, Doctor." "Starfleet can kiss my..." "Doctor, Starfleet, to our purposes, is represented on this ship by James Kirk. We could be putting Jim in a personally difficult position." "Well,Jim doesn't need to know." Spock just looked at him. Bedmates, as McCoy knew perfectly well, did not remain secret for long in the closed community of a starship, however discreet their behavior. "I mean officially, Spock," McCoy clarified. "Sure, there'll be rumors. But there are rumors now. About you two." He paused at Spock's shocked glance. "Didn't you know? I'm sorry, I thought you knew. Well, hell, Spock," he went on uncomfortably, "it's a logical surmise. Your quarters adjoin. You spend a lot of evenings together. A fair number of the crew are pretty sure it ain't chess you boys are playin' in there. So this'll just keep everybody guessing. We'll just be careful, that's all. We won't bring ourselves under official scrutiny. Anyway, think about the reason for those rules. They're there to protect subordinates from coercion. And there's sure not going to be any question of coercion on either of our parts. So... Bang! One down." He dropped his hands back to his lap. Spock nodded. "Then there is the question of objectivity. Both medical and command decisions may be distorted when the welfare of a lover is at risk."

"Are you able to discuss our situation rationally at this time, Doctor?" Spock continued. McCoy bristled though he knew it was just an honest inquiry into his state of mind rather than the reproach it seemed to be. He took a tight rein on his own emotions and nodded. "Yeah. I think so." "Then may I sit down?" McCoy felt blood rushing to his face in embarrassment as he struggled to retrieve his basic manners. He waved a hand towards his armchair. "Yeah, sure. Please. Um, can I get you something to drink?" Spock shook his head as he seated himself, and the doctor settled with some apprehension into his desk chair. "So," McCoy broke the silence, "what makes you think I don't prefer women? Why would I lie to you about that?" Spock had steepled his hands, the joined forefingers pointing at him like some kind of weapon. "Ibelieve," he responded, "that your statement was accurate, that in general, you would prefer a female sexual partner over a male. However, that general preference is rendered irrelevant by the fact that specifically, you find that you now prefer... myself. You have fallen in love with me. And you would lie to me about it because you believe I do not want you in return, and you would spare me the emotional trauma of rejecting you by rejecting me first. Am I correct?" McCoy shifted in his chair and nodded. "I do want you. This creates some problems we must address." That brought McCoy's eyebrows up. That sure didn't sound like outright rejection. "And I'll just bet you're about to list them for me right? In alphabetical order?" And without giving Spock a chance to respond, he went on, "All right, let me have ,em and we'll see how many I can shoot down." He leaned forward, eyes wide and intense. "Ready... Pull!" He watched the puzzled flicker in Spock's eyes turn to a satisfied gleam as he deciphered the reference to the archaic Earth sport of skeet-shooting. Three seconds. No score. This was a years-old game between them, McCoy trying to foil the Vulcan with colloquialisms. If Spock had to ask for . -

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ing intimate details in a nonthreatening manner. "After... orgasm?" he prompted. "You mean when you kind of passed out? I figured that was normaL" "A short period of... stasis... is quite normal, Doctor. No, I am referring to the need for sleep." There was a pause while McCoy digested that information. "Spock... are you trying to tell me I snore or something?" Spack steepled his hands and gave him an earnest look. "No, Doctor, you do not snore. I would certainly have heard. However, you do... leak" McCoy stared. Surely he didn't mean... "I what?"he demanded. "Leak," Spock repeated patiently. "You leak emotions." McCoy took a relieved breath. Spock paused thoughtfully with a look about the eyes that McCoy knew meant he was consulting his internal thesaurus. "Or perhaps," he mused, "'bleed' would be a better metaphor." He looked up at McCoy again. "In your case, an even more correct term might be 'hemorrhage'. It is quite natural to your species," he hastened to add, realizing that McCoy was likely to interpret that comment as an accusation, "and not subject to your own control. You are not at fault in this, Doctor," he emphasized. "However, sexual climax produces a near-total drain on one's mental shields. I found myself bombarded with conflicting emotional impulses throughout the night, and unable either to control them at the source via mindlink or to deflect them with shields." He paused, visibly searching for a metaphor within the human's experience. "Imagine your ears invaded by Beethov'en's fifth symphony, a quartet of yodelers from Zeta Cygnus III, the dawn chorus of the birds and frogs of the Amazon rainforest, and the barroom celebrations of a cadet crew upon completing their initial training cruise, simultaneously and at high volume. It was most... disconcerting. Rest was not possible. I did not function at an acceptable level of efficiency today." "Youdidn't sleep? All night?" "No." "Oh. Urn... so, 1... leak... even if I'm asleep?"

McCoy considered that one. It was a problem. But he shook his head. "I saw you put your own father's life on the line because of the demands of logic and duty. You know I took on the risks freely when I joined Starfleet, just like everyone else on this ship. You're not going to go against logic to protect me if it comes down to it. If you ever logically have to send me out to risk life and limb, you'll do it. You'll hate yourself for it, but you'll bottle that up and do what you have to. Just as you should. And I haven't been objective about you since... well, I don't know since when, but certainly during the last dozen times I had to operate on you. And do you think I'm objective about Jim? Or Christine? Or any of them, for that matter? Hell, no! But I can do what I have to do in a crisis. What happens between us in my bed isn't going to affect anything that happens between us in sickbay." He grinned and leaned back in his chair. "Two. Pull." "Finally... our needs appear to be incompatible." At that, McCoy grew serious. Here was the crux. ''You mean, you need to bond. A mental link. Or it just isn't the real thing..." He looked away. "I don't know what to say to that, Spock, I don't think I can do it. Having someone in my mind... Well, that's just taking togetherness too far, I guess. I just can't stand that..." Spock was giving him a curious look. ''That is not what I meant, Doctor." Startled, McCoy blinked at him. "It isn't? But... Well, hell, Spock, I thought other than that we were pretty damn compatible." "A mental bond is necessary between those mated for life. It is important in creating the proper psychological environment for a family and it is vital in order to survive pon farr. It is not necessary between us, though a light link such as the one I attempted to initiate last night would serve to enhance pleasure and would also be a wise precaution in case of pain." "Oh." "The problem is in... aftermath." It was Spock who now shifted uncomfortably. It gave McCoy a perverse gratification to see his companion squirm a bit. As a doctor, he at least had had plenty of practice discuss-

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I on, "However, I am afraid that the effect did not, and could not, render the cacophony of your emotions more tolerable." "Spock... all couples have to get used to one another's little foibles. For instance, right now you're just too hot for me to be really comfortable sleeping with you. But I could get used to it." "Doctor, for an unshielded touch telepath to adjust to unfiltered emotion is quite impossible. If sustained for a sufficient length of time, it is probably the only effective method of torture that can be used on Vulcans educated in the mind rules." McCoy gave in. "Okay, so... two, maybe I could learn to tone down all that stuff." He didn't give Spock time to voice objections to that hypothesis, but rushed on, ''Three... I don't have to have everything my way, Spock. You can say no if I'm too demanding. You didn't have to stay with me, you could've gone on back to your quarters." "You made it quite clear that you required me to stay, Doctor." "No," McCoy insisted. "Wanted you to stay, yeah. Still do. I liked sleeping with you. Almost as much as I liked making love with you. But required? Since when can I require anything of you? You've got rights, for heaven's sake. Besides, I was acting from ignorance; if you'd told me the problem, I'd have sent you packing back to your quarters to sleep it off. I've been told I can be a selfish s.o.b., but I'm not Attila. I wouldn't go so far as to subject you to torture. You gotta stick up for yourself, Spock." There was a long pause before Spock finally replied, "It seems I have left certain variables out of the equation." McCoy smiled at him and chided gently, "Yeah. And after all this time, Spock, I sure would have thought you'd know better than to put me in any damned equation as a constant instead of a variable. I'm insulted." "Indeed." It was McCoy's turn to leave a pause in the air and grow serious. "So... one way or another, I think we can work out the details. The question is... do you want me the way I want you?" Spock gazed at him with serious dark eyes, "And what way is that, Leonard?"

"Yes." "Sorry, Spock." "As I have said, you need not blame yourself. However, since your species requires continued physical contact with the partner after sexual activity is concluded, and mine requires physical separation in order to recover... logic dictates that we are not compatible partners." McCoy laughed. 'Well, then... as I've always contended... Logic be damned, Spock!" Spock gave him a mystified look. "Doctor, I cannot pursue a relationship that will inhibit efficient performance of my duties. Weare engaged in exploration, frequently of dangerous situations. Physical and mental efficiency are absolutely necessary." McCoy shook his head in quiet amusement. "Spock... I have this friend who keeps telling me that there are always possibilities. He's a very smart friend. Mind you, he's not always right, like he thinks he is. But in this instance... I think we can work this out." "Indeed?" "Yeah. Indeed,"McCoy mimicked. "I see several possibilities right off the bat. One is that you'll get used to me." As Spock raised a skeptical eyebrow, his voice grew indignant. "Well, you might! Or you might learn that letting your human half out to play once in a while doesn't kill you, dammit! You can't tell me you came here and crawled in bed with me out of purely logical motives, Spock. That was human compassion I was getting from you not to mention human lust. You think I don't recognize those?" "Compassion," Spock intoned, "is not only a human emotion, Doctor, nor does logic preclude its exercise. Logic, in fact, requires it. You were suffering from cold and fear and remembered pain. To attempt to provide you with a degree of comfort was indeed a logical course of action." He paused, raising the joined forefingers of his steepled hands to his upper lip. "However, I must admit that I was unprepared for the... aphrodisiac effect of your own affection for me. It was quite remarkable." He cast a speculative glance at his companion. "It remains so," he added softly. McCoy having no reply to that but a pleased and embarrassed grin, Spock went ..

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tion of fever in his own skin. He pressed into the coolness. McCoy welcomed the heat, felt it kindle his own skin. He slipped a hand between their chests to circle the small, olive-colored teats, turning up the thermostat. "Any particular time you'd like to start that preliminary study, Spock?" Spock was once more thoroughly in control of himself, but was deliberately allowing his body to enjoy the doctor's attentions. "As you are still somewhat threatened by visiting Vian scientists," he replied, shifting his stance to ease his right leg between McCoy's knees, his thigh lightly massaging the human's genitals to attention while his hands worked up and down McCoy's spine, "I would surmise that the present moment would be an excellent starting point." McCoy, eyes closed, moved his feet apart and slid a few inches down to give Spock freer access to his bulging crotch. He swallowed hard and burrowed his forehead into Spock's shoulder as the Vulcan obliged him by switching to a hand, the long fingers stroking him gently through the fabric of his Fleet trousers, and sending sparklers of delight through his nervous system. "You know, Spock," he got out between gasps, his blue eyes open now and glowing in the room's simulated twilight, "those damn Vians sure are unpredictable. Show up any old time. Day or night. I just never know." "That should provide frequent opportunities for gathering data." Spock pressed harder and was rewarded with an involuntary upward lurch and a moan from his partner. "Yep," McCoy babbled, "ill-mannered folks, those Vians." He grabbed for Spock's hand, urging it to work faster, harder, but Spock simply imprisoned the hand in his embrace, and continued tending to McCoy's erection at his own sedate pace. McCoy groaned and squirmed against him. "No manners at all," he went on. "No knock, no signal. Just pop right in. Uninvited, too. And then haul you off and..." "Doctor."Spock halted his activity. "Yes, Spock?" McCoy was beginning to pant.

way to find out... McCoy smiled, stood up, and walked over to him. Spock rose as he approached, and stood quite still as the doctor reached two fingers of his right hand to trace along his left eyebrow, as he had done so many times the night before. "Every way, Spock," he breathed. Then, slowly, as if afraid of frightening off a unicorn, he let the hand circle around to the back of Spock's head, and moved in closer. He planted a lingering kiss on the Vulcan's cheek. Spock seemed to be in calculator mode, his expression set in stone. "Ughts dim," McCoy ordered, and wrapped his left arm around the first officer's waist, drawing them tightly together, groins pressing. Slowly, deliberately, he kissed the side of Spock's face, working past the high cheekbones, inching along the ear. The Vulcan breathed easily, steadily, thoroughly impassive. McCoy's lips reached the tip of the ear; he took it stealthily between his teeth and bit down, none too gently. Spock's breath sucked into his lungs in a gratifying gasp, and he shivered and closed his eyes. "I believe," he said, enfolding McCoy at last in a return embrace, "that a certain amount of..." He broke off with another implosion of breath as McCoy's fingers began attending to the other ear. "... of experimentation... would reveal... the answer... to your question, Doctor." "Mm. Sure sounds logical to me," McCoy murmured happily. "And how much further research do you think it might take, Science Officer?" He shifted his weight, letting his nipples rub slowly across Spock's. Spock blinked and leaned into the pressure. "Proper research," he replied, reaching his left hand under the doctor's tunic and running it slowly over his lower back, "could require... quite some time." "'Quite some' is not a very scientific estimate, Spock." "No," Spock replied, abruptly lifting McCoy's tunic over his head, and dropping it to the floor in a very un-Vulcan, untidy heap. "It is not. This suggests that a preliminary study would be in order." Spock's own blue tunic joined McCoy's. The human's chest was cool, soothing against the sudden sensa. .

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up into him, bearing down ever more firmly. For perhaps the first time on their long voyage he willingly, faithfully, and even cheerfully followed his physician's prescription, and let his human half "out to play," enjoying the exquisite sensation of the soft belly skin against his rigid organ as he once again made cautious, eager, amazed love with Leonard McCoy.

"Doctor,as I believe I have pointed out before, you talk toomuch." "Leonard, Spock. The name's Leonard. Thought you Vulcans had better memories than that. Am I gonna have to bite those ears off after all?" "Leonard." "Yes,Spock?" "Your logical course of action at this point in time would be to... shut up and kiss me." "Okay, Sp... mmmf..." McCoy broke off as Spock decided that action was in order, the human having once again failed to respond correctly to reason. Spock kept the doctor's mouth fully occupied as he casually picked him up and carried him to the now familiar sleeping alcove. Once there, he allowed a rather dizzy McCoy a brief breathing space while he swiftly disposed of the remainder of their clothing. He paused a moment to gaze in some wonder at the lean figure waiting for him there on the bed, remembering the illogical sacrifice, the unexpected insubordination; remembering how the doctor had looked, sounded, smelled when the Vians finished with him. Was McCoy right? Would he really, if it were necessary, be able to send this man out to death? Or had this liaison already thrown wild cards into his logic patterns? A cool dampness closing upon his swelling cock caused him to actually jump. McCoy grinned up at him with a selfsatisfied air. "Spock," he declared, "you got a damn short attention span for a Vulcan scientist. I don't think that's normal. I think maybe I'm gonna have to run a physical on you." "Indeed?" "Yeah. Lie down and breathe deep." "Certainly, Doctor." Obediently, he lay down flat on top of McCoy, his palms pressing McCoy's into the mattress, his knees capturing the doctor's legs. As ordered, he breathed deeply, taking in the sharp, suddenly invigorating scents of the human: iron and salt and soap and ethanol and aftershave. He began to move in harmony with his breath, slow, even, deep, sliding his body across his lover's, barely touching at first, then, as McCoy began to squirm and press ..

.......... McCoy ran a hand idly and contentedly along Spock's ribs and up over the muscles of his shoulder, now fully relaxed. The first officer wouldn't mind. Not for a' few more minutes, anyway. For a few more minutes, he could hold him like this, enjoying the feel of the smooth, dry skin, admiring the power in the lean body that had just given him so much pleasure. For the time being, he gave free rein to his upwelling emotions, some analytical part of his brain cataloging them for him as they surged through him. Gratitude; love; lust; joy; wonder... All of them at just about hurricane force. He sighed and rubbed his cheek against that of his catatonic lover. No wonder Spock couldn't handle that. A pity, though. For him, it was just exactly this roller coaster that made life worthwhile. McCoy felt the pulse at Spock's temple jump up a notch. He'd be coming around soon. Time to pull himself together. He closed his eyes and visualized a stormy lake, letting his breath be the waves of emotion that kept the surface roiling with whitecaps. Gradually, he brought all three breath, waves, emotions under control, until the lake lay placid, rippling gently, reflecting the broken image of a golden moon. He tried to calm it still further, his goal a mirror surface so quiet that he could count the moon's craters in it. So quiet that it would be no burden to Spock. Almost there. Almost... He could just make out the bright southern crater. Quieter. So quiet that Spock would simply go to sleep when he emerged from this sex-induced stupor, and would not have to leave him. Would not leave him here in the dark. Would not leave him lying here in the dark, on this slab... on this cold slab... in

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ing. Momentarily surprised out of his weariness, Spock examined his partner carefully. Was McCoy all right? Why had his emotionallevel dropped so precipitously? It didn't take him long to determine what McCoy was doing; he was engaging in meditation himself. Excellent. Perhaps the doctor meditated in order to induce sleep, and once he was asleep... The little waves pushed at him. Not hard now, but pestering. His jaw twitched as his mind once again tried to raise its non-existent shields. He sighed and closed his eyes with a useless and therefore illogical wish that Leonard would hurry up and go to sleep. Out of nowhere, a tremendous rogue wave of fear and desolation crashed into him. His eyes flew open, his hands clutched at his temples, and he rolled abruptly away from his bedfellow, falling to the floor with a startled cry that was echoed by another. He looked up to see McCoy's wide blue eyes blinking owlishly down at him over the edge of the bed. "Geez, Spock," he exclaimed, "I'm sorry. Are you all right?" He reached a hand to help the Vulcan up, but stopped himself when Spock flinched away from him. "Oh. Guess that's not gonna help, is it?" he asked rhetorically. Spock pushed himself up into a sitting position, rubbing his hip to increase circulation and prevent bruising. "No," he replied, almost testily. "I'm sorry," McCoy repeated. "I really thought I didn't kick anymore." Spock gave him a long-suffering gaze. "You do not." "But... Well, then... Spock, what are you doing down there?" Spock mastered a surge of impatience. "You do not kick, Leonard, but your emotionalleak suddenly amplified approximately forty-fold." McCoy blinked again. "Oh. A gusher." "An apt, if overly colorful metaphor." "Sorry. Must've been quite a shock." "Yes." "I was trying to keep it down." "I see."

the laboratory.The lake water turned black and roared around him in a sucking, surging whirlpool. It reached for him greedily, yanked at him, but his wrists were chained to a rock. The water sought to claim him, dragged at his legs; it would pull him in two, but it would have him... He cried out... .......... The first thing Spock noticed as he once again became aware of his surroundings was the wash of emotions beating at him from the quiescent body beneath him. He winced and called illogically upon his shields; he was illogically disappointed, though not surprised, to get nothing but a short-lived flicker that dimmed the unwanted waves of elation and fear and determination only slightly before allowing them to attack him in full force once more. McCoy's body lay tranquil despite the emotions that it was giving off. He was not asleep yet, but perhaps he soon would be. If he could get through a few more minutes of this, the doctor would be safely asleep, and he could extricate himself from the jarring contact. He could go to his own quarters, where he could get warm, and sleep for a few hours. He could come back and check on McCoy before morning, ensure that he was not troubled by the Vians. Spock ground his teeth as a jolt of pride assaulted him, twined incongruously with a loud burst of affection. Shields... No shields... Therearealways possibilities,my son... Humans had no shields; yet they sometimes did have to shut out emotions. How did they do it? When highertechnologyis unavailable,onemust resurl to more primitive means. Perhaps meditation. He went back to the earliest lessons, concentrating on his breath, focusing his attention on a single point eight inches in front of his eyes, down inside McCoy's mattress. It worked; slowly, the roar ebbed to a nearly tolerable level. He found himself unable to maintain even that simple meditative state, however, as the need for sleep ate away at his concentration. He braced for a renewed surge of unwanted emotion as he lost his hold on the trance, but when it came, it was surprisingly weak. Still unpleasant, but not overwhelm-

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affectionate, if rather short-lived, kiss upon his lips. McCoy laughed. 'Thanks, Spock. Now get on home before you fall over. G'night." He paused, and asked, "Are you gonna be able to get there okay?" "Yes,"Spock replied seriously. "It is not far." He seemed to wake up a bit as he eyed McCoy carefully. 'Will you be all right? What about... your visitors?" "I'll be fine." It was the sort of partial truth that was so useful with Spock. This thing wasn't going to last forever. He would be fine. Eventually. Spock looked unconvinced. "Go on, Spock. I'm planning to dream about you, Hot Stuff." He tapped his forehead. "I'm not gonna leave any room in here for those assholes tonight." Spock had not known that humans could plan out their dreams. Sleep clamored for his attention. ''Very well," he told McCoy, "but do not make your dreams too energetic. You require rest." McCoy grinned. "Is that an order, sir?" "No. It is... advice. And a request." "A request?" "Yes. I would like you to keep yourself in fit condition to continue..." "Spock,"McCoy interrupted, "Go to bed! And that is an order. From your kindly familyCMO." "Yes, Leonard," Spock replied, and left the doctor's quarters. It was not until he arrived at his own door that it occurred to him to wonder why, if Leonard could direct his dreams, he had chosen to put himself back into the laboratory the night before. McCoy's latent martyr complex could be asserting itself in new and possibly dangerous ways. Inside his own warm, dark quarters, Spock disrobed quickly and lay down in his sleeping alcove. Perhaps the doctor required psychiatric attention. But McCoy was the ship's only psychiatrist. A conundrum. He would have to think about it in the morning, when his logic circuits were refreshed and working properly. He felt he was missing some crucial bit of this equation. Perhaps he should also mention the matter to the Captain. Jim had known McCoy a long time. Per-

"I thought maybe it'd be okay if I could just keep my brain kinda calmed down until you fell asleep." Spock's only reply was a sigh that turned into a yawn. "Not a very successful experiment, I guess," McCoy said dejectedly. Spock reached for a blanket and wrapped it around himself. The room was sufficiently warm for McCoy. "Nor," he said slowly, "was my own." "Huh?" "I was attempting to put up with your emotional input long enough for you to fall asleep. I believed I might, as you hypothesized, begin to accustom myself to the situation. Unfortunately, however, I found it even less tolerable than on the previous occasion." "Oh." After a moment, McCoy chuckled. "So,we were trying to wait each other out." "Evidently." There was a glum silence, into which Spock yawned again. McCoy shook his head with a wistful smile. 'Well, now we know. Sleeping together's just not gonna be part of the package. It's a damn shame," he sighed, ''but so it goes. Go home, Spock. Go to bed." Spock nodded, and began to pick up his clothing and dress himself in a sleepy daze. "Um... that's my shirt,lover." Spock stared at the tunic he had been about to pull over his head, and noticed the stripe-and-a-half at the end of the sleeve. McCoy grinned and tossed Spock's own tunic to land draped over the Vulcan's shoulder. "Can't have you wandering around the ship impersonating an inferior officer. Now that would really start some talk!" Spock nodded again solemnly, and finished making himself presentable. "Good night, Leonard," he said quietly, and started toward the door. There was something about that phrase, though, that nagged at him. He turned back around with a puzzled wrinkling of eyebrows, and remembered. He returned to the bed, where McCoy was now sitting up looking bemused and just a little forlorn. Spock steeled himself and took the doctor's face between his hands to plant an .. 117

haps he would know what should be done for him. Jim had apparently not been spending much time with the doctor since their escape from Minara, however. The captain normally ate meals with McCoy, and also came to him for ethanol and conversation one or two evenings a week. Spock had seen no sign of such visits lately. It seemed odd behavior for long-standing friends. Jim had formed this friendship with McCoy when he was a lieutenant on the Farragut and had been injured so severely that there had been doubts as to his walking again. The surgeon had given him back his legs and his confidence, and it was that history of authority over Jim that no doubt accounted for McCoy's relative immunity to the captain's command presence. McCoy said what he believed, with an exquisite disregard for rank a useful trait, even if both Spock and the captain found it sometimes personally annoying. He wondered what Jim would think about this new dimension to his friends' relationship. Would he oppose it as inconsistent with the spirit of Starfleet regulations? Or would he approve, rejoicing in their good fortune? Would he be jealous? If so, of whom? Had Jim ever found McCoy sexually desirable? Had he ever found him sexually desirable? What would it be like to have Jim's muscular body surging eagerly under him as McCoy's had done? Or over him? Jim, he suspected, would prefer to be a "top." What would McCoy think if he knew that Spock was even thinking about this? He had said he could not give Spock an exclusive bond, that he would want women. Was it true? Did it matter? What level of fidelity was expected of him? What level of fidelity did he want himself? Spock noticed that his mind was babbling, stopped it, and sank instantly into the complete, undistracted, dreamless and restorative sleep of his people.

returning from the survey. He really should have used an antigrav lever on that last root. But with Maya standing just a few meters away the chance to do something manly had just been irresistible. He hoped the resulting grimace had appeared more manly than idiotic, but he had his doubts. "Thank you, Mr. Scott," he told his Chief Engineer, standing at the controls, and nodded at the waiting cadre of blue- and red-shirted ensigns. "Enjoy your shift, people." He exited the transporter room amid a chorus of eager acknowledgment. The atmosphere of the planet below was oxygen-rich and invigorating, with just a touch of nitrous oxide produced by the local vegetation. After reports from the first team, the crew had been jockeying for planet duty. McCoy's report had assured him there would be no harm in breathing the stuff. "We'll just have a real amiable bunch for a while," he'd said. "But keep 'em down to a half-shift a day." That not only prevented overexposure, but ensured that everyone who wanted to volunteer could get a chance on the survey work. Kirk entered the turbolift and automatically told it, "Bridge." He leaned against the rail, and felt another twitch in his back. "Cancel," he told the lift suddenly. "Sickbay." He knew this particular twinge well. He'd save both himself and McCoy a lot of trouble and the bridge crew a good deal of snapping if he had Bones take care of this now instead of tomorrow. When he arrived and asked if McCoy could take a few minutes to deal with his muscle spasms, Nurse Chapel informed him that the CMO was not presently seeing patients but that she thought Doctor M'Benga could probably see him right away, and started to lead him to the examining room. "Just a minute," he said, stopping her with a firm grasp above the elbow. ''What do you mean, McCoy's not seeing patients? Since when?" She frowned slightly. "Since about the last three days, Captain." "Why not?" "He's... for medical reasons, sir." "What kind of medical reasons?"

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He paused seH-consciously, "Oh, but I guess I should warn you that 1..." "McCoy,sit down." McCoy's brows knit together in puzzlement, but he obeyed. "As I said, I came down for a treatment, and I was told you aren't seeing patients." McCoy was silent. "Well?" "Um, yeah, that's right." "Why?" "Well, I'm... not really fit to treat anyone just now." "Not fit? You took yourself off duty as unfit, and you didn't tell me? You didn't think the captain should know something like that?" McCoy blushed. "Not off duty, Jim... just away from the patients for a little while, that's all." "Why? What's wrong?" "I... well, I don't want to scare anybody..." Kirk's eyes widened with alarm. "Bones! It's not that xeno-whatever again, is it?" McCoy grinned crookedly. "No, no. Nothing like that. I'm okay. I've just been having these little episodes is all." "What do you mean, 'episodes'?" "I'm having a little post-traumatic stress trouble, Jim. I zone out every so often. And it's generally considered bad medical practice to have an out-of-body experience in the middle of an examination, so I'm having Geoffrey tend to the actual patients for a while." Kirk was silent for a minute. "Why didn't you tell me this?" McCoy sighed. ''Well, I figured it would blow over in a few days. I didn't see any call to worry you." . Kirk shot him an exasperated glower. "Dammit, Bones, I'm the captain of this ship, and I'm your friend. On both counts, I think I'm entitled to know something like this!" McCoy chewed his lip for a minute, shoulders slumping under the reprimand, his gaze fixed inside his coffee cup. "Yeah," he said finally. "Yeah, you are. Sorry, Jim. I just... I was just kind of hoping it would go away and I wouldn't have to bring anybody else in on it..."

"I think you should really ask him that yourseH, sir. Sorry," she smiled apologetically. "It's private information." He opened his mouth to voice an objection, thought better of it, and replied, "I'll do that. Where is he?" "In Pharmacy, Lab 3. But, sir, don't you want Doctor M'Benga to..." She stared after the captain's retreating back and sighed, "I guess not." In Pharmacy Lab 3, he found McCoy hunched over an analyzer, examining spectra lines. "Take a coffee break," he told the physician. McCoy glanced up, his scowl at the interruption switching to pleased surprise as he recognized the intruder. He straightened up and rubbed a knot in his lower back. "Jim! Good to see you! How's it goin' down there?" "Like clockwork. Come on, Bones, let's get some coffee." A peculiar set to the captain's eyes informed the doctor that he was about to be called on the carpet, and Kirk was trying to avoid doing it in front of McCoy's technicians. "Sure, Jim. Give me ten seconds, here." HI:!pressed some codes, sending the data for correlation, and ejected the sample. "Okay," he smiled, "I could use a coffee about now. My office okay? We've got quite a backlog down here, I'd rather not take the time to head down to Rec." "Fine with me," Kirk nodded. The short trip down the corridor and through sickbay to McCoy's office was made in silence. As soon as the door had slid shut behind them, McCoy activated his "emergency only" light, and punched up two coffees. "I really did need this," he said, handing one to Kirk and waving him to a chair as he settled behind his desk and sipped nervously at his own. ''Well, Captain, as a keen medical observer... I'd say you look a little agitated. What's up?" "That's what I want to know, Bones. I came down here to have you plaso my back for me and..." "Is that acting up? I told you to go easy on the lifting, Jim." He rose and reached for a plaser lying on his desk. ''Well, let me have a look, I can probably fix that up right now." .. 119

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. "This," Kirk teased amiably, settling back in his chair, "from the man who's always telling everybody - including our favorite Vulcan, whom it drives to distraction - how important it is not to keep things bottled up." McCoy's posture continued to display his dejection. "Sorry," he said again, looking everywhere but at Kirk, "I don't seem to be handling any of this very well..." "Handling... what exactly?" Kirk inquired gently. McCoy stared at him. "Something in that last mail transmission?" Kirk prompted. The doctor shook his head in both denial and disbelief, and continued to examine the captain's face closely for several seconds before replying. "Minara," he said softly, astonished that Jim had to ask. "Minara." Jim's face said clearly Oh. That. As if it were a fall from a horse, or a skiing accident. There was an uncomfortable pause. "They took you, too," McCoy broke the silence, his voice defensive. ''Don't you have... dreams about it?" "No," Kirk said simply. "Idon't." "No, you wouldn't," McCoy mused as if to himself. ''You damn white-knight types," he went on, his tone almost accusing now. "Go in, slay the dragon, get slashed and burned in the process, and go home and sleep like a baby. So long as you don't actually get killed." "Bones..." "I'm sorry." McCoy was growing more agitated. "Like I said, I don't seem to be handling this very well." "Bones..." "Know what I wish? I wish I could have your personality type. Just for a few weeks. Just to see how it feels to be so damn resilient. To be able to just walk away and go back to work when you've had the stuffing blasted out of you. Instead of coming apart at the seams. Getting the goddamned williwoos. You'd think-" "Bones!" Kirk broke in firmly. "Stop it! Stop kicking yourself. And me." McCoy flushed and was silent. "I don't think either of us has anything to be ashamed of about Minara," Kirk said heatedly. "And I don't think either of us

needs to apologize for who we are. And I am not going to let you make me angry with you for saving my life! So stop this and tell me exactly what's going on with you." It was clearly an order, and had the desired effect; McCoy switched visibly to medical mode. "All right. Ever since we beamed back up from Minara, I've been experiencing vivid dreams re-enacting the time I spent in the Vian lab. Three days ago, I started having random flashback hallucinations while I was awake as well." He licked his lips, and went on, almost defensively, "It's not that uncommon for humans who've been subjected to torture." Kirk nodded. "Prognosis?" "Uncertain." 'Worst case." "Worst case... indefinitely continued unpredictable flashbacks; paranoia and/ or other emotional disorder leading to inability to perform my duties; early retirement on Starfleet disability." It was unnervingly like talking to Spock. "Okay. Best case." "Best case, I get a good night's sleep tonight, I never see another damn Vian the rest of my life, real or imaginary, and sometime, just once before I die, I beat Spock at chess two games in a row." Kirk grinned. That was more like it. "Bones, you're sounding better already. See, it really does do you good to talk about it. You should take your own prescriptions more often, McCoy." "Yeah," McCoy grinned back. "Yeah, I guess I should." Kirk grew serious again. "So, what about treatment for this?" "Well, I'm hoping it'll just run its course and I'll be done with it." The captain's eyes narrowed. "You're not going to do anything about it?" "Not for now, no. There isn't any useful chemotherapy for this over the long term. If it doesn't start clearing up on its own in a few weeks, I'll have to take leave and maybe try hypnotherapy at some Fleet medical facility. But... well, they don't have a very high success rate with this kind of thing. So I'm hoping it won't come to that." "There must be something you can do."

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"I'm doing it. I'm keeping busy, and spending a lot of time in my bunk." Soaking up emotionalsupport from your first officer,he did not add. "Jim... I'll let you know when it's time to worry." He held Kirk's bright gaze for a moment, then added, "Or to start looking for a replacement." "That's an unacceptable solution, Doctor. You'll have to do better than that." McCoy smiled at him. "I'll do my best on that one, Jim. Count on it." "I will. But you keep me posted. That's an order." "Yes,sir, I'll do that." "Daily reports," Kirk clarified. "Over brandy okay?" Kirk smiled and leaned back in his chair. "You've been hanging around Spock too much, Doctor. You're turning into a mindreader." "No need to get insulting, Jim." Kirk sat up straight again, a slight frown crossing his face. "Speaking of Spock... do you think he could be having any repercussions from Minara, too?" McCoy hid his startle with a fairly convincing cough. "Idon't think so, Jim. Why?" "He just seems to have been making himself kind of scarce lately, that's all. He usually comes around for chess most evenings, but he hasn't stopped by for the last several days." "They didn't hurt him, Jim. I think he's fin e." "Yeah, but... I'd feel better if you made sure. His human side may be in trouble. It was hard on him, you know, watching you..." Die. It hung in the air. "Yeah. I remember. I was there. All right, I'll talk to him." McCoy caught Kirk's gaze. They might as well have it out now. ''What about you, Jim?" "What about me?" "Well, you've been making your self scarce around me since we left Minara, and you just told me it's not because you're busy with a chess tournament. Anything you want to get off your chest?" Kirk's stiffened. "Like what?" he asked warily. "Like maybe... a reprimand."

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"What?" That had clearly caught the captain off guard. McCoy met his eyes calmly, in control now, wrapped securely in his duties as therapist. "I thought you might have a little something to say to me about insubordination." "Bones!"Jim gave him a hurt look. ''You really thought I'd put you on report for pulling all our butts out of the fire? What do you think I am?" "The captain," McCoy responded quietly, "And an angry one at that. Look at you. Now that you're thinking about it, you're tighter than a highwire." "Angry?" Kirk rose and paced the room. "Well of course I'm angry! When I think what those bastards did to you, I'd like to... crack their fool heads together and hear their tiny little brains roll around inside. But not at you, Bones." "You sure?" "Yes.I'm sure." McCoy pushed his tongue thoughtfully against the inside of his cheek. "I'm not," he said. "You're telling me you're not bothered that I took away your right to command?" "1..."Kirk stopped pacing and looked at McCoy with a chagrined smile. 'Well, maybe a little." McCoy snorted. "That's better. So describe to me exactlywhat it is that's pissing you off." "Bones... I came here to have my back worked on, not for a psych session." "Well I'm prescribing one. We can have it out now, Captain, over coffee and off the record, or I can make you an official appointment in sickbay. Your choice. But I'd really prefer this way, Jim," he smiled. "Come on." He tapped a finger on his chin. "Give it to me right here." Kirk stared into his cup for a minute. "All right," he sighed. "I guess... Dammit, Bones, I expected you to trust me." "Trust you?" "Yes! You knocked me out before I could..." McCoy waited. "You should have trusted me... to have a plan," Kirk finished.

"Did you have a plan? Other than to go with them yourseH, I mean." "I...No, but..." "But you're the Captain, and it was your job to get us out of there and you failed," McCoy said bluntly. winced and closed his eyes. "Kirk ~"" " .&.1.&,...

knocked you out. It was your decision; I'd have let you make it." "Right. And what about zapping Spock?" McCoy reddened. "Well? Was his ability to command impaired, Doctor?" Kirk could see the cogs turning as McCoy scrambled for an answer. When the blue eyes lit up, he knew the doctor had latched onto one. "Apparently so, Jim," McCoy replied with a distinct note of triumph. "He was letting sentiment interfere with his logic. In my book, that's not normal behavior for Spock" "And that would be your testimony before a hearing?" McCoy blinked in startled dismay. A hearing?He hadn't thought of that. But, of course, Fleet regs would require a hearing. He could be in deep trouble. He licked his lips and replied firmly, "Yes,sir. It would." Kirk shook his head slowly. "It would never hold water." "I suppose not. But it's all I've got. Otherwise, I'd just have to plead guilty." Kirk nodded. Guilty of an excess of loyalty, an excess of love. He wanted to hug McCoy. Almost as much as he wanted to smack him. ''Well, lucky for you there's not going to be a hearing, then, isn't it?" McCoy smiled. "Yes,sir," he replied. ."But " if you ever do anything like that agam... "Understood, Captain." "Good." Kirk relaxed out of his military posture and settled back into his chair. "So, about that daily report you're going to give me. Your quarters this evening, say about 2100?" "Urn, actually, how about tomorrow after first shift?" Kirk raised a brow in inquiring innuendo. "Anything going on I should know about?" Probably."I should turn in early," he explained. "I need to make up some sleep." True enough. He did need a lot more sleep than he'd been getting. He wasn't actually planning on getting it, but he did need it. He changed the subject. "So,you trust me to look

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Kirk opened haunted eyes to meet his gaze again. "You have to understand, Jim. I knew you didn't have a plan. I don't think you knew it, but I did. Because there was no way out of that one. It was Kobayashi Maru time, but you couldn't see it." McCoy sipped at his coffee. "I know you better than anyone in the galaxy, Jim. And you never could see a nowin situation, because you don't believe in them. Spock and I could see it, though. We knew the only thing to do was cut our losses. We just had a little disagreement about what the least objectionable loss would be. We agreed about you, though. And you know that when Spock and I agree on something, you can bet the farm on it. We were right, too. That speech of yours was what saved us all, Jim. Only... I doubt it would've worked if they hadn't been just about finished with their little experiment by then." Kirk stared at him. "And next time you think we've hit a no-win scenario, Bones? What then?" McCoy shrugged. "Idon't know, Jim." "You'll just knock me out and do whatever the hell you think best? Is that what it comes down to?" Kirk pursued. "Well... I suppose that's a possibility, yes," McCoy replied. "But frankly, I don't think you have to worry about that, Jim. It was essentially a medical decision I made there, remember. I was acting legitimately in my capacity as CMO, doing what I considered to be in the best interest of the captain and crew of my ship. You were sick-" "No, I wasn't. Gem-" "You were still in pain," McCoy interrupted in turn. "In my professional opinion you were in no condition to command, and I took appropriate medical action. I'll stand by that decision. And honestly, Jim," he raised his right hand in a gesture of oath-taking, "if you hadn't been injured I wouldn't have ..

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danger. But they didn't do anything about the psychological damage." His eyes went dark and distant. "Probably didn't even occur to the bastards," he glowered. "Bones... I'm sorry. I should have known what you were going through. I feel like an idiot. And not much of a friend." McCoy blinked. "Don't," he said, "It wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault. Or mine. Or Spock's. It was them. Only them." He cleared his throat. "I'd better be getting back to work now," he said abruptly, tossing the plaser back onto his desk. Kirk rose and stretched his back. With a satisfied nod, he told McCoy, ''Thanks. Your place tomorrow, then. 1800?" "Fine," McCoy responded as he escorted him to the door. But instead of following him out and heading back to the lab, McCoy fetched himself another cup of coffee and stared at the medical paraphernalia decorating his walls, his mind busying itself with thoughts of Gem. He tried to remember what it had felt like, whether she had indeed worked on his mind. He couldn't recall anything like Jim had described. Just the physical relief her touch brought as he lay there drifting in and out of consciousness, until he had finally roused enough to understand what was happening. Then the panic and the strain of trying to stop her, the relief of succeeding, the renewed agony from the effort, and finally, the grateful sinking into oblivion. And then the faint smile of welcome on Spock's face when he roused again... He glanced at the chrono. In just about eight hours now, Spock would come to his door, and take him to bed. To bed and much too far away from Minara for Lal and Thann to track him. A pleasant thrill crawled up his spine and lodged at the back of his skull, under a whorl of hair that seemed to fascinate the Vulcan, judging from the time he

at that back, or do you want Geoffrey to do it for you?" "You, if you're up to it. You know it best." "I'm up to it," McCoy responded, standing up and waving Kirk to the narrow bunk the doctor used when some emergency kept him in sickbay through the night. ''Take off your shirt and get comfortable." He pulled a chair up to the bed as Kirk obeyed, and began running skilled fingers over the muscular back until he located the problem area. "Okay," he said, activating the plaser, "this is going to take a few minutes. Talk to me, and if I stop answering, call Chapel." "Okay." After a short pause, he asked, "So,Bones... How many Klingons does it take to change a light bulb?" McCoy gave a good-natured groan, but they continued to trade old worn-out jokes, and he completed the procedure with no mental absences. He finished up with a therapeutic massage of the muscles around the injury, stood up, and tossed Kirk's shirt onto his back. "Okay, Captain. Layoff the workouts for two days, and that should be good as new." As he pulled his tunic back over his head, Kirk gazed thoughtfully at McCoy. The physical sensation of the doctor's warm, confident fingers working on his injuries had brought vivid memories of Gem to the surface. "Bones, I almost hate to bring this up, but..." McCoy just looked at him quizzically. "Well it just occurred to me... I think I know why I'm not having the same adverse reaction you are." McCoy frowned. "Oh?" he inquired reluctantly, embarrassed at the memory of his earlier outburst. Kirk's hazel eyes gleamed. "Yeah," he said eagerly, "I think... Bones, I think Gem somehow took care of the emotional effects as well as the physical damage. I remember, when she was finished, there was this sense of... well-being." He waited. McCoy just watched him, cautiously. "She didn't get that far with you," Kirk finished. "She passed out. The Vians used that device of theirs to repair the worst of what they'd done, so you were out of actual ..

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The office door chimed. "Come," he told

it. The door slid open to reveal Gem. He stared as the graceful figure flowed toward him in her diaphanous clothing and reached a hand toward his head, which suddenly ached abominably. She touched him and the pounding in his temples grew distant, muf-

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fled. He smiled gratefully up at her, just in time to see her collapse into Lal's arms. The Vian carried her away, their figures growing tiny as they vanished into the dark. Thann stood in front of him, black control box in his right hand as he beckoned with the left. "Come, then," he intoned. McCoy stood, shaking, terrified that he would not be able to walk, that if he couldn't walk, this melonheaded demon would take Spock instead, sleeping or no. Right in front of his eyes, while he stood here paralyzed, he would take Spock and... Against a tremendous weight, he managed to turn his head to look at his friends companionably sleeping their drugged sleep over in the circle of light. Strength returned to his limbs and he walked resolutely to join the Viano McCoy returned to reality to find Christine Chapel shaking him by the shoulder. Matter-of-factly, she laid a hypospray on the desk and handed him a soft cloth. He stared at the cloth for a moment, at a loss until he felt the dampness against his hot cheeks and realized that he had been weeping with fear. He wiped away the evidence, and picked tip the hypos pray . Stokaline, plus a mild antidepressant. He nodded, and she took it from his hands and injected him, rubbing the shoulder to speed the medication on its way. He thanked her quietly, rose and headed back to the lab. Once again, he had won, he reflected gratefully. But how many more times could he do it? And when at last he failed? What then? For if he failed once, he would go on failing, again and again. He was horribly sure of it. What would he do then? Take refuge in insanity? He would not be able to live with that particular failure, he knew. Not that. He picked up a spongy blue-grey sample of some kind of Bendakan mold and forced himself to concentrate on preparing it for the analyzer.

to twilight and something Terran and orchestral emanating from the sound system. The room was pervaded with the scent of Saurian brandy -- a somewhat less objectionable odor than that of either Romulan ale or bourbon, the doctor's other common choices of beverage. By the level in the room's atmosphere, Spock estimated that McCoy was presently savoring his fourth dose of the substance. "Spock,"the doctor smiled over the edge of his glass, blue eyes lighting up with pleasure. "C'mon in." As soon as the door had slid shut, Spock turned to activate its privacy lock. When he faced around again, McCoy was standing just twenty centimeters away from him. "Shields up, lover," he demanded softly. "Iwant a hug. Now." Spock complied. As McCoy's head dropped against his shoulder, Spock could feel tension draining off the human's back in sheets. They remained in a quiet embrace nearly a minute before McCoy straightened with a final squeeze on Spock's biceps. "Thanks," he said, relief evident in the smoothing lines around his eyes. "I needed that." He motioned Spock to a chair. "Altair water?" Spock nodded. "Thank you." McCoy procured Spock's drink, handed it to him, and padded back to his own chair and brandy. "You had a difficult day?" Spock inquired. "Oh, not too bad. I'm just really tired." He grinned. "You been wearin' me out, Spock. I just don't have the stamina to keep up with a Vulcan, I guess." He took a long swallow of his brandy. "I think I better turn in early tonight." Another swallow. "And alone," he added pointedly. "Unless you..." He broke off uncomfortably, obviously suffering from an ambiguity of emotional drives. "Unless?" "Unless... well, unless you're feeling... I mean, unless you really... Oh, hell, Spock, I mean if you particularly want to... you know, join me tonight, then, sure... it's just that I really could use some serious shut-eye." "In fact, there is a certain experiment I would like to try tonight, Leonard."

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McCoy felt a stirring in his groin, working against his general fatigue, as his mind started trying to picture what Spock might have in mind. "Maybe tomorrow'd be a better idea, Spock," he prevaricated, trying to think like his own physician. "I'm really tired. Besides, I think you should go beat Kirk's pants off at chess tonight. He's gonna think you don't love him anymore. Today he was hinting around that something might be wrong with you 'cause you hadn't been around in a while. I told him I'd check you out." "I will make an appointment with Jim for tomorrow evening. Tonight, I would like to try my experiment." "Spock..." "You did not sleep well after I left last night," his guest stated. McCoy blinked his surprise again. "I would surmise that you dreamed of the Vians again." McCoy nodded reluctantly. "And how many times did you see them today?" The doctor's mouth grew tight with irritable refusal, but then he shrugged and searched the ceiling in thought for some time, counting on his fingers. "Four," he admitted at length. "About the same as yesterday." Spock rose, stepped over to McCoy's chair, and extended his right hand. "You must sleep. Come to bed." McCoy resisted. "Spock... if I go to that bed with you in it, it doesn't seem very likely that I'm going to do much sleeping." "You will. Come." "Yeah, I'm sure I'll come, I'm just not sure..." Spock grasped his wrist and pulled him bodily to the sleeping alcove. He drew back the bedcovers, removed his boots, and lay down, pulling McCoy onto the bed as well. Shivers of anticipation coursed through the human, tangible through Spock's low-level shielding, but he suppressed his own body's response and maneuvered McCoy like a doll until they lay spoon-fashion, Spock enveloping his companion, his legs and arms pinning McCoy in place. Then he pulled the

blankets back over them, and ordered the room into darkness. McCoy tried to turn to face his partner, but was held firmly in position. He waited for Spock to initiate things, to start petting him or removing his clothing, but Spock did neither. Instead, he said softly, his warm breath washing over McCoy's ear, "Sleep. I will wake you when La1and Thann appear, before they can harm you. They will soon tire of the attempt, and will go away." "Spock...you're talking nonsense." "Yes. In the language of your own subconscious. I believe it will be quite effective. Sleep." "Spock, I want..." "No." "No?" "You did tell me that I have the right to say no." "Well,yeah, but..." "No. Sleep." "C'mon Spock, how do you expect me to sleep with you right here, with your arms around me? This is makin' me horny as hell." "I can correct that situation," Spock replied, and placed his fingers lightly on McCoy's face, in meld configuration. The response was dramatic. "No, dammit!" the human cried, twisting his head away and struggling in earnest. Abruptly, as if burned, Spock drew his hand away from the doctor's face and this time allowed' him to twist around to face him. McCoy was breathing hard and trembling. "Don't do that. Don't ever do that," he rasped. "I apologize." Spock reached the offending arm to caress his partner's shoulder. "Leonard, I would not attempt to force a meld upon you, under any circumstances." McCoy, growing ever more attuned to the nuances of Spock's face and voice, detected a hint of both disappointment and hurt in those words. With a weary sigh, he turned on his back and let his head rest comfortably on Spock's shoulder, his arm dropping to give the Vulcan an affectionate and apologetic pat on the thigh. "Sorry, Spock. Yeah, I know you wouldn't do that. I really do know you wouldn't. I just... I don't know,

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II I panicked, that's all. Guess 01' Lal and Thann are getting to me more than I thought." "That is precisely why I wished your permission to establish a shallow mindlink," Spock replied evenly. "It would assist you in falling asleep and would apprise me as soon as a nightmare begins to form." McCoy shook his head, swallowing audibly. "No. Thanks, Spock, but no." "There would be no invasion of memory. I would require only a simple connection to the subconscious..." "No, Spock" Spock knew from experience that there was no persuading the doctor once his voice had taken on that particular tonal quality. "Very well," he conceded. They lay comfortably together for some time. Eventually, McCoy turned to Spock again and kissed him impulsively, running a hand up inside his shirt. Spock calmly retrieved the hand and pinned it back to McCoy's side. "C'mon, Spock," McCoy complained. "No. I do not wish to be aroused. I wish to remain on guard." "But..." "No. Twice now, you have rendered me unconscious while you allowed Lal and Thann to take you away. You will not do so tonight, Leonard." "This is ridiculous." "The only aspect of this that is ridiculous is your continuing and remarkable resistance to logic." "What are you talking about?" "It is illogical to prevent me from repaying my debt to you. This time you will sleep and I will watch for the Vians." "For how long?" "As long as it is necessary, of course." "Spock.. are you saying we can't have sex again until I get over this? Because that's crazy. This could go on for weeks." Months, his subconscious whispered. Years. Spock pondered. "In that event," he said slowly at last, "we will have to reconsider our strategy. But there is no harm in trying the experiment at least tonight. You do not require sexual exercise three nights in a row." "Says who? You're not a doctor." ..

"The ship's library..." "Oh, no," McCoy groaned, "Now what have you been reading?" It was time, Spock realized, for an ultimatum. Casually moving his right hand to the juncture of the doctor's neck and shoulder, he ordered, "Go to sleep, or I will pinch you." At that, McCoy laughed and surrendered. "Okay, okay, anything but that!" He really was tired. Obediently, he closed his eyes. Spock's hand began making soothing circles in his hair, well away from his link points, and he let the circles carry him into sleep. Five times that night, Spock woke him, interrupting the Vians' laboratory tests. On their sixth appearance, just as McCoy finished telling them, "The choice has been made," Lal glanced over at Spock, sitting alert on the slab, then looked at Thann. Thann gazed hungrily at McCoy, shifted his eyes to Spock, and looked back at Lal. Then, miraculously, just as Spock had predicted, the two robed figures shrugged, pivoted, and walked away into the darkness. Wide-eyed with astonishment and gratitude, McCoy turned to stare at Spock Improbably, the Vulcan winked at him.

Spock kept watch over his lover the next night as well, awakening McCoy each time the human's flickering eyelids indicated a dream state. Eventually, however, when Spock woke McCoy for the third time at 02:23, the doctor protested groggily, "Aw, Spock... we were camping down on Centaurus and... dammit, it was just getting good. I had a zetil eating out of my hand. Right out of my hand... A blue-green one." "Iapologize, Leonard." McCoy nuzzled his shoulder. "Oh, it's okay. Maybe I can pick up where we left off in a minute here... It's good luck if it sings in your hand..." He gave a sigh as he grew more alert instead of retreating into sleep. "You know, Spock, this really is a problem." "Yes. It is inevitable that I will disrupt pleasant dreams as well as nightmares. I am sorry, but without a mind link in place, I can-

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"Know something?" he asked sleepily, eyes closed. Spock refrained from commenting that he knew many things, and waited patiently for the human to answer his own question. "You sure are one hell of a security blanket." Spock's left eyebrow went aloft and stayed there as he tried to ascertain the connection between Security, bedding material, and the mythical human underworld, but McCoy was asleep even before he could discover that he had won a round.

not distinguish them in the early stages." The loss of a few dreams, however, did not seem to him a significant disadvantage when weighed against preventing the debilitating nightmares. And McCoy had reported a reduction in daytime flashbacks as well, quite probably the result of an increased quantity of restful sleep. "Spock... you do know that humans hnve to dream?" Spock turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "Have to dream?" he repeated. "Yeah. You can't keep stopping all my dreams. It'll make me crazy. And I don't mean that metaphorically." "That is a problem," Spock agreed. Something else he had left out of an equation. He wondered again if this intensified human contact was interfering with his mental processes. He had not known that fact, but he should have researched this problem well enough to discover it before implementing a hypothetical solution. "Yep. So... any solutions pop to mind?" "If you would allow a link.." "I thought we settled that one. Forget it." "Then I do not know. How long can you safely go without dreaming?" "Varies. Several days to a week, I'd guess." "I would not expect you to be fully healed within that time." "No, probably not. Look, Spock, I need to dream. I probably even need to dream about the Vians. How about you just let me dream unless it's a really bad one?" "But I cannot recognize..." "Nonsense," McCoy snorted. "You sure recognized it the first time." "You screamed," Spock pointed out. "Well, then I'll probably scream. Or kick. One way or another, you'll know, all right." "Not until the dream is well advanced." "That's okay, Spock," McCoy smiled, propping himself up on an elbow to run his thumb along Spock's eyebrow in the nowfamiliar gesture that indicated serious entreaty, among other things. "That's when I'll need you." "Very well," Spock agreed reluctantly. McCoy settled back down onto his pillow, one hand tucked under Spock's arm. ..

"So, Bones..." Kirk took another appredative sip of the rich, red 2230 McCoy had opened in celebration of a full working day without a single hallucination. He paused to enjoy its sweet, slow burn as it moved over his tongue and down his throat and burrowed into the corners of his body. "That sounds like progress to me. But I'm just a layman. Is it?" McCoy was grinning happily. "I think so, Jim. I think so." "Good. That's good news." There was a slight p~use .while another swig of brandy was launched on its way. Kirk stood up and began to toy casually with the few little curios floating in magnetic fields in McCoy's shelf space. "And how about Spock? Is he okay, too?" - . "Spock?Sure, he's all right. Why?" "Well... I know you told me he was fine, and you were right, he's been back to pretty much the usual routine, but he still seems... preoccupied. I'm winning too many chess matches all of a sudden." Kirk replaced the blue shell he'd been examining and began to pace McCoy's quarters. "I'm not blind, Bones; I've noticed he's spending a lot of time with you. And the last two nights I was looking for him and he wasn't anywhere to be found, and I came by here and you had your privacy lock engaged. So... are you treating him for something? I know you can't break confidentiality, but..." He halted. "Bones, he's my friend; if something's up I want to know."

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right. Or, more precisely," he jerked a thumb toward his bed, "over there." Kirk stared as the meaning got through. "You mean... you and Spock.. are sleeping together?" McCoy grinned, fighting embarrassment. "Well, to tell the truth, that's about the only thing we're not doing together." Kirk finally sat back down. "I don't understand." "Turns out you can't sleep with a Vulcan after... he climaxes. So no, we don't exactly sleep together. If we make love, he goes back to his own bed afterwards. If we don't, I sleep and he... I don't know, composes Vulcan haiku or works on multidimensional spacetime equations or something." There was a very long silence. "Well," McCoy prodded at last. "Aren't you going to say anything?" "Idon't know what to say." "How about' congratulations'?" Kirk remained silent for some time before he 'finally took another sip of brandy and got out, "Congratulations." He gazed thoughtfully at his friend. "McCoy, I've know you for fifteen years. I've spent shore leaves with you for five of those years. And I never knew you were..." He shook his head in disbelief. McCoy's mouth quirked up into a grin. "I wasn't. Jim, maybe I'd better start at the

McCoy took refuge in his brandy for a moment. It was going to have to come out eventually. There was probably no time like the present. "You're right, Jim, I have been seeing a lot of Spock." McCoy gave a little shrog. "Sitdown, Jim." Kirk stayed put, clearly steeling himself for bad news. "Go on." McCoy grinned self-consciously. "Factis, Jim, I've been seeing... all of Spock." The little joke made absolutely no impact on Kirk. "And?" he demanded. "And?" McCoy echoed. "And... how is he?" Kirk clarified. McCoy stared at the captain. He had never known Jim to be so obtuse, certainly not about sex. "Well?" Kirk queried again impatiently. "Is he okay?" "Okay?" McCoy blurted before he could stifle it, "He's fantastic!" As Kirk's look of relief at that answer slowly changed to concern, McCoy realized that he himself was blushing. Sheesh. Kirk was looking at him oddly. "McCoy... are you okay?" "I'm... yeah, Jim, I'm okay." "You don't look okay. You look like I just turned into aVian." McCoy snorted at that. "No. Believe me, you'd know if you had." ''Then what's the matter with you?" "Nothing. Jim, you don't understand... Spock... Well, Spock's been seeing all of me, too." There was a short silence, and McCoy breathed a sigh of relief. Well, it was out now. "You mean... mind meld?" Kirk asked. "Is that why you two have been making yourselves scarce? He's been treating you for this trauma thing? With some kind of mind meld?" Jeezus. "Jim, please. Sit down and drink that up." Kirk ignored that suggestion. McCoy sighed again. So much for subtlety. Time to drag out the old sledgehammer. "No, Jim, I don't mean mind meld. I mean... body meld. You're right, Sherlock. Spock's been spending his nights here, all

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Spock was engaged in meditation prior to his usual visit to McCoy's quarters when his door unit bleeped despite the fact that he had engaged his privacy lock. Alert for a ship emergency, he quickly emerged from his trance, deactivated the lock, and responded, "Come." Expecting the Captain or duty officer, he was surprised to see McCoy step into his room, not exactly inebriated but certainly exuding a considerable fragrance of Saurian brandy. "Exactlywhat I had in mind, Spock," the doctor said as he strode into the room. Spock merely raised a puzzled eyebrow.

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shirt in the same way. 'We'll see if I can keep 'em straight," he commented. Spock had him against the hard Vulcan bed now and pressed him down to sit on it and removed his boots. Sitting next to him, he removed his own boots, and turned to gaze with dilated eyes at the doctor's round, lined face. For a moment, he thought that he would be content simply to sit like this and meditate upon his lover's face for hours, perhaps days, perhaps his lifetime... But anticipation was rolling off the doctor's human skin now; Spock reached out to touch his chest and the contact was electric and violently stimulating. He pressed McCoy down upon the bed, and quickly stripped off the doctor's trousers, and then his own. McCoy grabbed for his pants before Spock could toss them across the room, and retrieved a tube from his pocket. "A Scout is always prepared," he said, offering it to Spock. One...two... "You were never a Scout," Spock objected, decoding the reference with no difficulty, "neither as a Terran adolescent, nor as a Starfleet officer. Nor," he added, "as a small two-man vessel with modest warp capabilities. " "Oh, yeah?" McCoy retorted happily, "We'll see about that." He grabbed Spock's hand and placed it firmly against his already weeping cock. "Here's the control bar. Fly me, Commander."

"Coming, I mean," McCoy grinned at him. "I think you've been baby-sitting me just about enough for a while. Time for a good roll in the hay, Buster." While Spock pondered that one, McCoy walked right up to him and began running his fingers through the Vulcan's thick, silky hair, counting aloud. "One... two... three... four... five! I win. It means,'fuck me,'" he explained. "Hay is warm and soft and it smells nice. Kinda prickly, though," he added as if remembering, "and it sticks all over you." He kissed Spock full on the lips. "Take me to bed. Now.". "Activate privacy," Spock managed to order his door, before his mouth was suddenly full of McCoy. "Leonard..." "Uh-uh," McCoy stopped him. 'We're going over to that bed, and we're gonna make love as long as we want to, and then you're gonna go to sleep in your own bed in this oven of yours, and I'll go back to mine." He smiled at Spock and smoothed his raised eyebrow. "I'll be in better shape to travel by then than you will, I bet, and..." "Leonard..." Spock tried again. "No. I know what you're thinking, but I'm a big boy, and I can handle them by myself at least for one night. Anyway, the way I feel right now," he pressed his groin urgently into Spock's crotch, "nothing they can do to me would be worse than not making love with you." He grinned again. "I know you think I'm lying to you. Go ahead and check. Drop those shields a sec." Spock did precisely that, his hands holding McCoy's face, and felt the sincerity of his partner's words, the urgency of his desire, the amazingly inflammatory tenderness toward himseH. He deliberately left his shields at a low level, allowing the emotions to flow into him, enjoying them, allowing his body to respond, enjoying the response. McCoy was determined on this course of action; it was only logical that they both enjoy it as much as possible. And it was abundantly clear that his partner wished to be taken. He let his hands slide down McCoy's arms to his waist, and began slowly pressing the doctor toward the sleeping alcove as he pulled off his shirt and tossed it onto a chair. McCoy laughed and cheerfully disposed of Spock's

.......... "This is damned undignified, Spock," McCoy protested a short while later, his legs folded around the Vulcan's shoulders as Spock rocked slowly into him, pressing his thighs down toward his chest and his ass conveniently up -- with every exquisite thrust. "Indeed," came the predictable reply, "but it does have certain redeeming qualities. For instance, it enables... this." Spock reached around McCoy's legs to hold the doctor's face while he kissed him thoroughly, the action of their mouths echoing that down below. "I find it eminently... satisfactory," he continued, when he pulled away for air. Spock was, in fact, finding this the most suc-

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cessful of their experiments thus far. The deep penetration was highly pleasurable. More than that, however, he enjoyed being able tc watch McCoy's face as the doctor's sexual excitement mounted, to observe as well as feel his partner's joy in him. "However, if your dignity will not tolerate this configuration," he went on hoarsely, grunting as he once again drove himself deep into his lover, "I will stop." "Over my dead body, you'll stop," McCoy retorted, shuddering. as a wave of pleasure took him. He grabbed at Spock's hair, pulled him down to plant hungry kisses all over his face. "Oh, god, faster dammit." Spock complied, speeding up the rhythm slightly, enjoying the way it made McCoy throw his head back and writhe. It pleased him that McCoy was being more assertive this evening, both because it indicated that the doctor was healing, and also because it was... exciting. Illogically, since it was clearly improbable, he wished that McCoy would reconsider and allow their minds to merge so that he could feel exactly what his partner was feelfug. "Wait!" McCoy cried out underneath him, and Spock halted, surprised, his penis only centimeters into his lover, poised for another deep thrust. It was entirely unlike the doctor to ask for respite; thus far in their sexual activities, McCoy had been much more inclined to urge him to more rapid or stronger activity. He watched the doctor's face carefully. Perhaps this position was uncomfortable for a prolonged encounter. McCoy's chest heaved; his eyes were closed, and his adam's apple jerked twice as he swallowed. These could all be signs of anxiety, Spock knew, but they were also normal accompaniments to their lovemaking. "Are you all right, Leonard?" he queried. "Shall I disengage? Would you prefer another position?" McCoy opened his eyes and smiled broadly. "Yes, hell no, and no," he replied. His tongue flicked over his lips in a mannerism Spock knew did indicate anxiety, then he reached up to take Spock's right hand from where it was twining in his hair. For a minute, he stroked the palm softly with his thumb,. then parted the fingers and

placed them roughly into meld configuration on his face. He gazed into Spock's dark eyes with a mixture of determination and apprehension. "Goahead, Spock," he said quietly. "Do it." Spock blinked. A craving for mind fusion, brought on with his own sexual arousal, warred with concern. Why the sudden change of heart in his companion? An inner voice whispered to him to do as he was bid... as soon as the meld was completed, after all, he would have the answer to that question. But something seemed wrong... He slid carefully back into his lover, who groaned with pleasure, twisted his fingers in Spock's hair, tried to widen his legs to welcome him. Spock's mind hungered for similar union, similar welcome. "Leonard," he said cautiously. He had to be very clear about this; miscommunication on this point, he knew, could be disastrous. "Are you asking me to perform a mind meld with you?" McCoy smiled grimly and nodded. "Yeah. Go ahead." Then he quickly went on, "But... Um, what kind of a meld'll this be? I mean... how deep... I mean... Hell, I don't know what I mean..." Spock lifted his hand from McCoy's face and stroked his hair. "As limited or as extensive as we choose," he replied. "At a first attempt, I would recommend limiting the connection to present thought and sensation. There is no need to include the memory banks." That would be less satisfying, but also a great deal less threatening to McCoy, whose relief at that explanation was tangible. "Okay," McCoy said, closing his eyes again. "Go on." His gruff playfulness gone, the human lay still, anxious, very like a sacrifidal victim, and Spock did not like being cast in the role of a knife-bearing high priest. On the other hand, once the meld was initiated, he was certain, McCoy would see that his fears had been unfounded; the experience would be pleasurable, exciting and fulfilling. He shifted his hand back onto McCoy's link points. "Are you certain?" he asked once more. "Yeah," McCoy said again, stoically but not very successfully trying not to flinch.

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wonderful dual sensations flooding him, the extraordinary Vulcan awareness of his physical body, his sharpened senses, a remarkable sense of centered well-being. As their bodies heaved close to orgasm, Spock reinforced the links to ensure that they would hold through the impending violent flood of physical and emotional release. It was then, in carefully avoiding a memory access point, that Spock's attention was drawn to the site. Something about it disturbed him, and he reached closer to it. Immediately, anxiety began emanating from McCoy, reverberating around them, and the doctor's mind recoiled, attempting to withdraw, to push him away. There was a terrible dissonance between mind and body, messages of ecstasy pouring in from their skins while fear churned up at him from within the mind itself. Spock wired assurance to his partner, asked for explanation, received none. He sent delicate tendrils to explore the oddly distorted links. Raw edges met him, curled away from him, cried out at the contact. Spock was stunned, and it was several moments before he understood what was wrong. He immediately dismantled the mindlink. Back in.his solitary body, Spock found his arousal vaporized as he considered what he had found, and he slipped out of McCoy's body, eased the doctor's legs to the bed, and lay alongside him, unconsciously taking up a protective embrace as he had done on their first night together. McCoy blinked at him, disoriented. Spock was tracing McCoy's round eyebrows, kissing his forehead, a feeling of fierce protectiveness welling up in him. He struggled for control, and gained some. "Who did this to you?" he demanded. "Huh?" "You have been the victim of a forced meld. Who did this to you?" he repeated. "Spock,calm down." "I do not wish to calm down." "Spock..." McCoy gazed earnestly into Spock's eyes, seeking something, "Good God, Spock, what am I doing to you?" That was unexpected, but he refused to be distracted. "Who did this to you?" he insisted.

Spock pressed firmly on McCoy's link points, and began reciting the ritualistic words to induce a hypnotic state in which the meld could be formed. "My mind to your mind; my thoughts to your thoughts..." His mind slid eagerly, joyfully out of its solitude, dancing to join with Leonard, to show him this new dimension he could not have imagined before... Spock's vision blurred and his senses numbed briefly while his neurons adjusted to dual lines of input. The physical connections settled down first; within moments, the world began to take on shape and texture again. He could see Leonard, and simultaneously see himself just as Leonard saw him. He could feel every point of contact from both sides. He gave a contented sigh. Leonard, ever the sensualist, was going to enjoy this, especially the amplified dual orgasm. He would allow themselves a few moments to anticipate the pleasure before he began moving in his partner again. He turned his attention to Leonard's mental state. The adjustment to instant thoughtcommunication might be quite unnerving. He could feel McCoy's exhilaration in the discovery and enjoyment of the strong, focused Vulcan emotions now surging directly within him, and his astonished delight at the sensation of full control of that power. Exultation echoed through their joined minds. With human-heightened excitement and sure knowledge now of exactly what his partner wished, Spock resumed their love-making, thrusting into McCoy's body even as his mind anchored itself within McCoy's and deepened the connection. He did so carefully, gently, aware of his partner's skittishness, keeping his word by giving a wide berth to the memory links despite his own craving for that joining as well. McCoy sensed that craving, and they held an instantaneous discussion, McCoy urging him to go ahead and take what he wished, Spock resisting, arguing patience, there would be more nights together, they need not move into deeper levels of mind fusion until McCoy was entirely comfortable. McCoy surrendered gratefully to that logic, and concentrated on the strange and .131

ficers I could name, I know enough to follow reasonable medical advice. I'll see a healer." "When?"Spock asked suspiciously. McCoy grinned. "I'll start working on it first thing in the morning," he promised. "I'll find out where the nearest qualified practitioner is, and I'll start the paperwork for leave. Will that do?" Spock nodded solemnly. "Two conditions, though," McCoy went on. Spock merely raised an eyebrow in inquiry. "Come with me when I go." "Ofcourse, Leonard." "And... come with me now. For crying out loud, Spock... I mean, I suppose I should have known making love with a Vulcan would be a frustrating proposition, but all this starting and stopping is ridiculous." He grasped Spock's hand and once again placed it upon his half-engorged cock, giving it a push for good measure. "Now this time, Commander," he admonished, "you concentrate and finish what you started, you hear me? I want synchronous orbit, and I want it now." Spock actually smiled. "Of course, Leonard." He captured McCoy's hands in his own and pressed them onto the bed. "Proceeding with sensor check," he announced, and kissed McCoy's eyes, and then his ears. "Sensors functional and engaged," he reported. McCoy couldn't believe it. His eminently logical, rational Vulcan was actually playing pretend with him. "Communications check," Spock murmured, and dove into his mouth. When he released him, McCoy gasped for breath, succumbing to a fit of giggles. The laughter gave way to a delicious shock as Spock intoned, "Charging phaser banks," reached for the lubricant and begin stroking both McCoy and himself back to full arousal. "Charge complete; engaging thrusters," Spock went on, maneuvering McCoy's legs back up over his shoulders and positioning his penis again. "Ready for impulse on your command." He waited, motionless. "Impulse, for chrissakes," McCoy gasped, his sides aching. "Impulse!"

"What does it matter, Spock?" "The invasion of an unwilling mind is an unpardonable crime. A Vulcan who would do such a thing is highly dangerous and must be apprehended." "Well, you're not going to apprehend this one." "We must." "No, Spock. It was a long time ago. And in another universe." "Another universe..." Spock searched his face. "My...alternate." McCoy conceded the point with a reluctant nod. "And I don't know about you," he added, rubbing Spock's shoulder affectionately, ''but I'm not about to go after him. One afternoon on the I.S.S. Enterprisewas enough for me." There was a short silence while Spock regained full control. ''This should have been tended to immediately by a qualified healer. Why didn't you tell me?" "I don't know...," McCoy began, then reluctantly corrected himself, 'Well, yeah, I do. Spock, nobody likes to talk about rape. I just wanted to forget it ever happened." "You must see a healer as soon as possible." "Gh, no. No, sir. I don't want anybody poking around in my head, Spock. Um, present company excepted, I mean." "I do not have the skill to repair this." McCoy sighed. "Look, Spock, the thing is nearly a year old. Isn't it scarred over or something? Most things heal up if you don't go pickin' at ' em." After a short silence Spock simply repeated, "You must see a healer." It was almost a plea, and Spock's face was full of agitated frustration. The emotional display made McCoy uneasy. He ran a hand up and down Spock's spine and searched into the dark eyes for a moment. He saw Spock return to his logic and begin marshalling his arguments. "Okay," he said, before the lecture could begin. Spock's surprise was clear. "You agree?" he asked tentatively. "Yeah. I think you know what you're talking about. And unlike some Starfleet of-

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Later that night, after he had tidied up his spent lover and tucked him in for the night, McCoy settled comfortably into the armchair in his own quarters. With the lights at half-moon, a recording of Vulcan lytherette sonatas he had filched from Spock's collection wafting gently over his ears, and a shotglass full of nicely aged bourbon in his hand, he marvelled over the evening's events. He could not remember when he had last laughed so much, when he had last abandoned himself so thoroughly to silliness. How odd and wonderful to do so with Spock. He was healing at last. By the contented well-being flooding his body, mind and heart, he knew that very soon he would be leaving the laboratory on Minara behind him for good - if he had not already. Before too long they would find a Vulcan healer somewhere around the sector, and then the remnant ache in his brain, which he had been attributing to tension headaches for the last year, would be lifted from him as well. McCoy was quite certain now that the healer, when they found one, would also confirm his own suspicions about Spock that their recent burst of intense sexual activity had reset Spock's hormonal clock back to the early stages of his aborted pan farr. Spock would need to bond, and soon. McCoy would propose himself for Spock's bondmate, the prospect of an intimate mental link no longer so frightening after this evening's taste, and Spock, logical and loving, would accept him. The healer would no doubt also be able to advise him on dealing with his lover in pan farr. They would

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him because of all the secrecy and ritual hoohab with which the Vulcans fenced it in. It conjured up an image of violent, uncontrolled, dangerous and painful sex. Something to be endured, gotten through. But now he wondered. If tonight was any indication... Could it be that the.real reason no Vulcan would talk about panfarr was that they just got so downright silly in heat that their dignity couldn't admit to it in more sober times? Well, if all went well, he'd find out soon enough. At any rate, loneliness was at an end for him. For them. The details housekeeping arrangements and whether they would display their relationship publicly -- were simply unimportant and would take care of themselves. All was well with his universe. He downed the remains of his bourbon, feeling the smooth fire flow through his system, rose, and put himself to bed. When La1 and Thann arrived in the small hours of the night, beckoning him to come with them, he stood up with no fear whatsoever and simply thumbed his nose at them. They threatened him with that little black device of theirs, but it malfunctioned, springs and wires popping out of it from all sides, bits and pieces falling to the floor and rolling gaily away into the black cavern. He laughed at his tormentors, turned on his heel and strode firmly back to his sleeping friends. He touched Jim's shoulder and the hazel eyes opened, smiling welcome and gratitude at him. Then, in front of Jim and the Vians and God and everybody, he knelt beside Spock, and woke him with a lover's kiss. Looking back across the room, he saw the Vians still standing there at a loss, puzzling over their stupid machine. La1gave the device a little shake and looked up at Thann; Thann tipped his head sadly to one side. Lal dropped the disintegrating gizmo onto the floor, and the two of them turned as one and walked away. McCoy felt his soul fill and swell with satisfaction. He walked over and picked up the remains of the machine. As his friends joined him at the edge of the light, he dropkicked the damn thing into infinity.

"Proceeding on impulse," the first officer reported quietly as he began to press into McCoy once more. Dissolving in laughter and joy and lust, McCoy reached for Spock's ass to assist in the acceleration to warp speed.

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medical leave if he had to - and together they would get through it. He grinned to himself. Pan farr. Those words had always had a sinister sound for . .

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