The BLTS Archive - Impromptu Bondmates I
Imprompt Bondmates
by Nemo the Everbeing (paradigm_shift@mchsi.com)

---

Published: 05-23-04 - Updated: 05-23-04

Disclaimer: Paramount owns them. I don't. Believe me, if I did own
them, the DVD format would be considerably different. Damn them and
the money they make me spend.

Feedback: Yes, please! I'm always interested in what other people
think of my writing, and especially this, being that this is my first
foray into Trek Slash. At any rate, bring it on!

Author's Note: As I mentioned before, this is my first attempt at
writing Spock/McCoy. I think, honestly, that I was hesitant to write
this genre because it's so close to my heart. It was what got me into
slash in the first place. Finally, though, I felt that I really just
had to try my hand. So, here we go: my very first Spock/McCoy story.
It's going to be long, drawn out, and, I hope, completely worth it and
realistic.

Author's Note: Warning: We're headed into some slashy territory here.
Those who object, well, I'm not sure why you would even be reading
this, but I advise you turn back now before your delicate
sensibilities are hurt.

Having said that, it is my goal to write a S/Mc slash tale in which
both boys remain completely and utterly in character. I believe it can
work. Let's see it in action!

Author's Note2: I enjoy the notion that a human wouldn't react well to
a Vulcan bonding, which would normally require psyonic abilities. So,
don't expect your normal easy bonding. This one is going to be a very
bumpy ride.

Author's Note3: The notion that McCoy can't swim, and is, in fact,
scared of the water, isn't mine, nor is it strictly canon. It was
introduced in the Star Trek novel "Ice Trap", and worked well as a
plot point for this story.

---

"Why, you green-blooded, pointy-eared, unfeeling bastard!"

Commander Spock, who was renowned for his calm, was finding it more
and more difficult not to snap at the irate human at his side. He had
known from the off that the notion of placing them together as a
diplomatic team was inadvisable, but it had not been his decision to
make.

Would that it were.

"Doctor," he said evenly, "my parentage has already been established."

McCoy stared at him in consternation. Then, he expelled his breath in
an angry sigh. "Dammit, Spock, it was a euphemism!"

"Pardon me, Doctor," Spock stated. "If you would not use words in a
manner contrary to their definitions, then these problems wouldn't
arise."

"And if you wouldn't have been so goddamn heartless, I wouldn't have
called you that in the first place!"

"Yes, Doctor," the Vulcan sighed, "you would have."

McCoy considered that. "Okay, maybe so." Spock arched an eyebrow at
that admission, and McCoy flushed angrily. "But that doesn't change
the fact that I have a genuine point." Then, even as his compact frame
seemed to swell with fury, it sagged, and the doctor sat down heavily
on the concrete divider that stood in the street next to them.
"Jesus," he breathed, and Spock had the feeling that, had he not been
Vulcan, he would not have heard the human, "I have seen more
despicable and . . . inhumane things on this planet than I ever wanted
to in my entire lifetime."

Spock had to admit, if only to himself, that the doctor had been
completely accurate in that statement. Harmegeiddon II was a forgotten
Federation colony near the void between the Orion Spur and the Scorpio
Arm of the galaxy. Founded over one and a half centuries before and
last checked on about fifty years ago, the colony was rarely visited
because of its isolationist policies. Still, when parties unknown had
sent out a distress call to the Federation, Starfleet had immediately
dispatched the Enterprise to investigate.

And what they had found had been, as the good Doctor had phrased it,
beyond the pale.

Sometime during that half-century, a formerly peaceful society had
turned into a seething mass of depravity and cruelty. The government
was virtually non-existent, and the only people who kept any sense of
order in the single city on the arid planet were the Mafias of
organized crime. Between their districts of enforced terror were areas
of pure chaos ruled by gangs who raped and plundered seemingly at
will.

Kirk had immediately been informed by the heads of the Mafias that
security forces would be killed, as would anyone armed. The only
Federation representatives that could beam down and remain relatively
unharmed would be a small diplomatic team.

After deliberating, Kirk had decided the two of them would represent
two poles of diplomacy. It was an intelligent idea in theory, allowing
one to take over where to other failed, but the actual fact of their
team was . . . less satisfactory.

In the end, all they could do was concentrate on different areas and
stay out of the other's way. While Spock discussed possible Federation
measures with the most powerful drug cartels, McCoy organized a field
hospital in the burned-out City Hall, drafting some of the multitudes
of poor and starving people on the streets as volunteer nurses in
exchange for care for their families, and Starfleet field rations to
help sustain them.

And now, after three days without the Enterprise (which had hastened
to the nearest Starbase for a more official force to help stabilize
the colony), Spock wondered at the fact that McCoy could still
question his opposition to rampant displays of emotion. After
everything he had seen? Every rape and assault victim he had treated?

Deliberating how to best phrase what he had to say, what he'd wanted
to say for three days, Spock seated himself next to the slumped human.
"That is precisely the reason why I must approach this situation with
logic instead of emotion," Spock explained.

McCoy's bowed head raised slightly to give the Vulcan a narrow glare.
"You want to explain that, Mr. Spock?"

"Doctor, many of the crimes that were not only perpetrated, but
condoned on this planet, organized rape and murder squads, for
example, are born of emotion. Therefore, to approach such a situation
in a similar manner would most likely prove to be—"

"How dare you," McCoy spat, staring at Spock in shock and distaste.
"How dare you try to pin this . . . brutality on human emotion? This
is perversion! This is a malignant cancer on the spirit of this
society!"

"All of which is an apt description of the manifestation of vast
amounts of negative human emotion," Spock pointed out.

McCoy sprung to his feet, nearly quivering with renewed fury. His
voice surprisingly quiet, the human growled, "So, you're saying
there're no cases of insanity on Vulcan?"

"Are you claiming that the state of this planet is a case of mass
insanity?" Spock challenged simply.

McCoy shook his head. "I'm saying that . . . human emotion is not
inherently evil. This is wrong, I know, but I can't blame emotion.
I've seen it as the cause of too much greatness and beauty to blame it
for this situation."

"Yet, you cannot deny its presence in this situation, nor the
validity, however partial, of my statement," Spock pressed. If he was
able to force the overly human doctor into such an admission, then
perhaps he truly had accomplished something on this mission.

It did not appear to have worked as planned. McCoy glared at him in
something that might be termed disgust. "You want to sit there and
condemn humanity, fine. Be my guest. I'm going to the field hospital,
see if I can't do something . . . emotional."

He spun on his heel. In an instant, Spock realized how starkly the
doctor stood out in the grays and sullied browns that seemed to
dominate this planet. His blue medical tunic, even dirtied and covered
in various bodily fluids as it was, set him apart.

Spock could never be sure how it was that he thought that, or why it
was suddenly imperative, but it was.

Then, it was utterly clear. Spock heard an ear-drum shattering crack
so rarely perceived in the civilized galaxy, and surged to his feet.
Time illogically seemed to slow as McCoy was spun smartly, a look of
utter shock on his face and the blue of his uniform quickly being
supplanted by a deep crimson spreading from his shoulder.

"Spock," he gasped as the Vulcan caught him, eyes darting across the
street, but couldn't determine where the shot had come from.

He returned his attention to the injured human, and just in time, too,
because McCoy's knees buckled. His blue eyes were dilated, and when
Spock touched his wrist, he felt that his pulse was thready. Of
course, that wasn't the only thing he felt.

. . . Emotions, surging and confused. Too many, even for the human.
Perceptions were off, sluggish. World moving too slow for logic, but
too fast for comprehension. Something on the bullet . . .

Spock felt a decided sense of urgency come over him. If the doctor
had, indeed, been poisoned, then it was imperative that he be cared
for immediately. "It seems that you will be going to the hospital,
after all," he said, in a tone approaching humor.

It was unfortunate that the doctor didn't recognize the rare event.

McCoy looked up at him, lips slightly parted and eyes full of
confusion. "Why the hell's it foggy, Spock?" he demanded, his voice
slurred and his accent so thick as to be nearly incomprehensible to
the Vulcan.

Spock didn't respond, but slung his free arm under McCoy's knees,
sweeping him up.

McCoy blinked, and then smiled crookedly. "Well, lookee there. I'm
flying."

Spock moved swiftly in the direction of the hospital, his steps
quickening as he felt something warm and sticky soak through his own
uniform.

Then, the second shot rang out, and Spock staggered, his head whipping
around to take in the bleeding hole in his leg. Then, he looked up to
see a group of four people approaching them.

The poison began to spread though his system at an alarming rate, and
he quickly felt that he was moving through knee-deep sludge.

McCoy, who was clinging to his shoulders tenaciously, and was, in
fact, the only point in his world that currently felt real to him,
looked worried, even through the haze of the poison. "Spock, were you
aware that Harmegeiddon is the actual archaeological location known
more infamously as Armageddon?"

"How does that fact relate to our current situation, Doctor?" Spock
queried, using all of his Vulcan concentration to focus on moving.

"It's the end of the world," McCoy concluded softly. "Look, here come
the Four Horsemen."

Spock staggered, surprised that he hadn't even noticed the crack in
the street. The two blue and black clad men tumbled to the ground in a
tangle.

As his body seized up, Spock could still understand their captors as
they spoke.

"I get that they're healthier than almost any other person we could
sell, but seriously, they're Feds! How the hell do we sell Feds?"

"Who says they're Feds? Change their clothes and no one's the wiser."

"Yeah, did you happen to notice the points on those ears? How do we
explain acquiring a Vulcan?"

"It's not the Vulcan I'm worried about. It's the human. He's too old.
I don't care how healthy he is. He's not appealing, not exceptional,
how do we pawn him off?"

Silence for several moments.

"We sell them as an item."

"What?"

"Have you gone heat-crazy?"

"We sell them as a pair. We say they're . . . what, bonded? Is that
the word?"

"Yeah. Bonded."

"Yeah. We say they're bonded. You can't separate them without ruining
the merchandise."

"No buyer's gonna believe that a Vulcan bonded with a human!"

"On this rock? They'll believe it. They'll believe it if it means
owning a Vulcan."

"We make it a status symbol?"

"Definitely. The kind of people who can hawk up the cash for this can
find some sort of use for the human."

"I still think you're heat-crazy."

"And I think you'd better shut up before you lose your share in the
profits by being dead."

"Listen, sorry. Didn't know you felt so strong about it."

"Will you two both shut up? Let's get 'em out of here."

This was, most assuredly, not a good situation to be in.

---

"Sweet Jesus," Leonard McCoy breathed, as he returned to consciousness
and immediately wished he hadn't. He stared up at an unremarkable
beige ceiling in what seemed to be a small closet-turned-cell. As
feelings other than pain returned to his beleaguered body, he also
noted that he seemed to be lying on some sort of hard cot.

"I tend to go by Spock."

McCoy raised his head from his hard pillow to glare at the impassive
Vulcan. "Well, thank you for that," he drawled sarcastically. "My
mistake."

Spock inclined his head slightly.

McCoy rolled his eyes and sighed. He attempted to sit up, but every
muscle in his arm protested and gave out on him, causing him to yelp
in pain before he could suppress it.

Spock was at his side in an instant. "I might note you that you were
shot in the shoulder. It wouldn't be advisable to use that arm."

"Really? I would have never thought."

Spock looked mildly exasperated. "I might also note that your use of
sarcasm seems to become more frequent after such an attack."

"You get shot, and tell me how your attitude fares."

"I believe my attitude is completely unaffected."

That got McCoy's attention. "What? Spock, were you shot?"

"That is what I said, yes."

"Dammit!" McCoy pushed himself up, biting back his pain as medical
instincts kicked in.

"Doctor, I am completely—"

McCoy shot the Vulcan a glare. "When you become Chief Medical Officer
of a starship, you can make that call. Until then, kindly shut up."

Spock arched an eyebrow at him, but did not protest as McCoy carefully
pulled aside the sticky material of Spock's pale beige pants. "Why'd
they change our clothes?" he wondered aloud as he inspected the
emerald wound.

"I believe they were attempting to conceal our identities as
Federation Officials."

McCoy snorted, but continued to work, wishing he had anything more
than his hands and a certain longing for the technology he so often
denounced.

"That is not the only misconception our former captors have imposed
upon us, Doctor."

McCoy allowed the slightest flicker of his eyes upward to indicate his
continued interest in Spock's revelation as he tore off the hem of the
Vulcan's pants to create a makeshift bandage. He almost found himself
smiling as that action caused both of the impassive Vulcan's eyebrows
to shoot up.

"Was it necessary to use the hem of my pants for that?"

"Most definitely," McCoy replied, feeling better simply because of the
reaction he had provoked. "So, Spock, you were saying something about
misconceptions?"

"Indeed."

"Are you going to tell me what those happen to be, or are we going for
a round of twenty questions?"

Spock stared at him quizzically. "Such a method of investigation seems
highly illogical."

"Spock," McCoy snapped, his smile fading, "if I didn't know you
better, I would swear that you were stalling."

Spock looked displeased at that allegation, but even so, his voice was
unusually unsure as he stated, "They believe we are bondmates."

McCoy stared at Spock for several moments of incomprehension before
bursting into laughter.

"I fail to perceive the humor in the situation, Doctor."

"Oh, come on, Spock!" McCoy insisted. "Even you've got to see it!"

"You find the concept of a human and Vulcan bonding humorous?" Spock
demanded.

"No," McCoy insisted, knowing the subject was a touchy one, but not
being able to resist adding, "though Lord knows how your mother puts
up with it. I find us humorous! Can you imagine a worse pair of
bondmates, Spock? We'd kill one another."

"Then you will not find our single option an appealing one."

McCoy's laughter died. "What option?"

"Our new owners will, no doubt, test the validity of their vendor's
claim. If we aren't bondmates, I believe they will kill you."

McCoy gaped like a landed fish, scarcely believing what he heard.
"Spock, you can't possibly . . . I mean, it's insane! We can't
possibly—"

Even Spock looked deeply disturbed as he said, "It is the only logical
option."

"Spock, isn't this a binding sort of thing?"

Spock glanced away. "Most often, yes. There have been cases of a
newly- formed bond being broken, but those were instances of forced
bondings and accidents. And they were severed very quickly after they
were formed by a Priestess of sufficient ability."

McCoy stared at the Vulcan. "In other words, we don't get that sort of
out."

The Vulcan drew himself up. "It is either that, or our captors
discover the deception, and kill you. Logic dictates that I save your
life."

"Dammit, Spock, stop thinking logically and consider what you're
committing yourself to! If I know my Vulcans, and I'd like to think I
do, then this is a . . . sacred thing. A marriage. To tie yourself to
a human, to one as emotional, as unprepared as me . . ."

Spock was watching him carefully, and McCoy felt mortified as he
realized that he was shaking. Clenching his jaw, McCoy forced his body
into stillness. "Take it from one who knows, Spock, a loveless
marriage for any reason is Hell, and if there's no way to divorce—"

"It is an acceptable sacrifice," Spock intoned, moving closer.

McCoy scrambled away, eyes wide.

Spock regarded him with dawning comprehension. "Your motives for
objecting are not entirely selfless," he concluded.

"Ten points to the clever man with the pointy ears," the doctor
snapped, feeling half-hysterical.

"You are frightened of this," Spock almost asked.

McCoy looked away. "It's no secret that I've never been comfortable
with the prospect of someone nosing around in my head, and the thought
of someone able to do it any time they choose, and access everything .
. . Don't you see, Spock? It's the ultimate invasion. I couldn't get
away from it. It'd drown me."

"My mother fared well."

"I'm not your mother."

"In more ways than one way."

McCoy felt a bark of half-terrified laugher burst in his throat and
push out.

Spock almost looked sympathetic as he approached McCoy again. "I do
understand your concerns, Doctor McCoy, but the fact remains that the
only other alternative is one that is categorically unacceptable."
Hesitating, as if trying to convince himself of what he said, Spock
knelt before McCoy. "We have no choice."

McCoy shook his head, forcing his fears down. There was no way in hell
he would be some shrinking violet in this. If Spock could weather it,
then so could Leonard McCoy, no matter how it frightened him.

Tightly, he nodded, and awkwardly copied Spock's hand positioning on
the Vulcan's face, trying to achieve a level of clinical detachment
that simply would not come.

Spock began to speak, and McCoy dimly heard himself mimicking the
words. He hoped he was pronouncing things correctly, but, dammit, he
was a doctor, not a linguist.

Suddenly, it felt like his world was imploding, and at the same time
blowing outward infinitely. He was decently sure that he had mental
flashes of memory, thoughts of a desert he had never seen, yet was
completely sure that he had lived in for years. He saw faces, dark and
austere, which were both completely alien and completely familiar.

He felt like he was falling apart.

'Doctor.' The voice broke in his head like a thunderclap. 'Doctor, you
must control this.'

"Oh, Christ," he dimly heard himself breath.

'Doctor!'

"Shut up!" he shouted. "I can hear you, damn it."

'I believe it would be better if you attempted to work through this in
your mind. Splitting your energies between the physical and mental is
not an extremely intelligent action to take.'

"I don't. Know. How."

'Yes, you do.'

'Dammit, Spock!' he burst out, suddenly realizing that he wasn't
speaking aloud. It was enough to freeze McCoy's mental processes in
panic. This wasn't right. He wasn't some sort of telepath. He was
human! He talked with vocal cords and respiratory system, not his
mind!

'Normally, that would be a correct assumption, Doctor. However, it
seems that a bonding alters your brain chemistry in some way
sufficient to create a semi-telepathic ability.'

'I don't want a semi-telepathic ability!'

'Interesting. Many humans would leap at this chance as a beneficial
opportunity.'

'They're idiots. We're people, not computers! We're not wired to take
in this sort of upgrade!'

'I believe we have just proven that you can.'

'Spock . . .' he managed, but felt so damn lost, and scared, and
humiliated because he knew that Spock knew. The Vulcan could now look
past all of his defenses and barriers and see the Southern gentleman
in space who was completely unprepared for the vastness and alienness
of it all. Before, he could hide behind a mask of gruffness, but here
. . . of all the people who could have to see him so mentally naked,
why did it have to be the oh-so-superior Vulcan? Any minute now, he
was going to comment on it, gloat in his own unemotionally disdainful
way.

Any minute now . . .

"Doctor," he heard dimly.

"Doctor, it is over. Come back. Concentrate on my hands."

Then, McCoy felt pressure. He concentrated on it, on finding its
source, on fighting his way out of his own mind, which turned out to
be much more labyrinthine than he had ever expected.

Suddenly, it was dark, but the darkness was a more natural seeming one
than that of his mind. It was one that he had seen every day of his
life: the dark that existed behind his eyelids.

Slowly, McCoy forced them open.

And Spock's face swam into focus. "Doctor, are you all right?"

McCoy stared at the Vulcan incredulously. "You can ask that with a
straight face?" he demanded.

"How else would I ask it?"

The humor flickering under the comment hit McCoy like a punch under
the jaw, physically knocking him back into a sprawl on the floor, even
as Spock caught his head before he could crack it on the unforgiving
surface. When the wave of foreign emotion ceased, McCoy sagged,
muscles no longer willing to function.

Spock was staring at him in concern.

McCoy shook his head. "I can't do this," he gasped. "I don't have the
first clue how. You feel the tiniest little thing, and it hits me like
a ton of bricks. Your thoughts are in my head, and I can't get a word
in edgewise. I can't turn the volume down and I can't switch the
channel." He jerked at the wave of anxiety from Spock. "God dammit!
I'm human! I have no mental training! I'm just . . . I just . . .
Christ, Almighty. This is going to kill me."

Then suddenly, the thoughts were gone.

McCoy reeled now from their absence, feeling almost empty. Slowly, he
raised his head, which had fallen back to lie against the ground
sometime during the last attack.

Spock seemed to be concentrating. "I am blocking myself from you,
Doctor. I fear that you were correct in your claim that this was
unwise."

"You're admitting that you were wrong and I was right? Is the sky
falling?" McCoy rasped.

"I am admitting that I was never told of the extent that my mother had
to prepare before she and my father bonded. She mentioned that she had
what she called 'extensive training', but I assumed . . ."

"You assumed that a few necessary mind melds here and there were good
enough or us?"

"Essentially," Spock admitted, voice tight with the embarrassment of
not considering all possible options.

McCoy forced his body to rise again, standing on unsteady legs. "So, I
suppose the question now is how fast you can get me trained up. I
mean, you can't just block indefinitely. If they test us, we're going
to have to be able to talk telepathically without landing me on the
floor."

"Quite."

McCoy waited for a suggestion from the Vulcan who usually possessed
all the answers. "Well?" he prompted after several seconds passed.

"What?"

McCoy blew out his breath in utter exasperation. "You can't expect me
to come up with the ideas in this situation, Spock! I'm the human
here, as you're so fond of noting. I don't have the first clue about
how we deal with this."

"Having never done this before, I am also at a loss," Spock concluded
calmly.

The doctor gaped at him. "So, you're saying that there's nothing we
can do, and I'll die anyway when they test us, only I'll die with you
in my head quoting me my odds."

"I had not actually thought of doing that."

McCoy rubbed his temple. "Spock, you were raised on Vulcan. You have
to have known something about this, something to help us out here." He
wracked his brain. "What do normal Vulcan couples do?" he asked after
a thought.

"I would not know."

"What, you people don't talk? No one gave you the birds and the bees?"

Spock raised his infamous eyebrow. "Why would one give me Terran fauna
and insects?"

McCoy fought his quickly flagging temper. "Spock, you just bonded with
me, you should know my phraseology now!"

"Doctor, in my attempts to protect you from my mind, I am blocking
your thoughts from mine, as well as the other way around. I know
nothing more of you than the glimpses and impressions I received
during the initial bonding."

McCoy sighed. "What I meant is to ask is if your daddy ever sat you
down and explained the facts of your sexual functions to you?"

Even through the block, McCoy felt Spock's shock hit him. "Is that a
common practice on Earth?" he queried. "That seems rather . . .
unseemly."

McCoy smiled slightly at Spock's disgust. "How else are you going to
find these things out unless someone you trust gets you in the know?"

"Textbooks, one would assume."

McCoy snorted. Typical Vulcan answer. "Please. Human children barely
read textbooks when they have to, let alone voluntarily."

Spock looked both faintly disparaging and pensive. "So, you are
suggesting that the solution to our problem is possibly sexual in
nature?"

McCoy blanched, realizing that, yes, that was what it sounded like.
"No! I mean . . . I thought . . . some kind of mental . . . dammit,
Spock, I didn't mean it like that!"

"Actually, the notion does have some theoretical merit."

"Oh . . . hell, no."

Spock grimaced slightly, that simple look conveying his thorough
dislike of the entire situation. "It appears that we must put this
theory to the test before eliminating it from our list of
possibilities."

With that, Spock placed a hand on McCoy's shoulder.

McCoy glanced at the appendage in surprise. "What do you think
you're—?"

Spock, with a look of resigned distaste on his face, leaned in and
pressed his lips to McCoy's before the human could finish his squawk
of protest.

Again, the wave of thoughts and images hit McCoy, but this time he had
the oddest feeling that he could breathe underwater.

It became a tide which, once one simply let go and went with it, was
amazingly intense. It was difficult to even comprehend, but an entire
lifetime of thoughts and repressed emotions washed over him, and then
began to intertwine with his own. Landscapes began to merge as grass
grew in a desert and a swamp dried and cracked. Animals he both knew
and didn't slipped in and around the corners of his mindscape, and
people flitted through, speaking on topics he both understood and
didn't.

And somehow, it all made a strange sort of sense.

Inch by inch, McCoy broke the surface and reemerged into the oxygen of
the real world. Things solidified and flowed back into their proper
places . . .

And Leonard McCoy found himself rather hopelessly entangled in Spock's
arms, kissing him with a desperation that seemed like it should have
died out with his divorce.

Both men realized the position they had put themselves in and pulled
away, straightening their clothing fussily. McCoy was quite sure his
entire face had gone bright red in embarrassment, while Spock seemed
to be actually working to regain that cool efficiency he usually
possessed so effortlessly.

When he was finally able to speak, McCoy found himself blurting out
the first thing that came to mind, which happened to be:
"Fascinating."

Spock looked up at him sharply.

Even McCoy was a bit surprised at the suddenness with which that word
had sprung into being in his head.

And how natural it seemed to use it.

"It seems to have worked," Spock noted.

"You noticed that, too, huh?" McCoy asked ruefully.

Spock eyed him and said, "I believe we should attempt to fully reopen
the link now."

McCoy nodded, understanding that time was of the essence. Spock closed
his eyes and then breathed out long and slow.

Once again, the doctor felt that the emotions and thoughts bubbling
about, trapped in Spock's mind, were suddenly unleashed upon him.
Still, after the initial migraine passed in about ten seconds, he felt
his mind working to accommodate the new data. Slowly, he opened his
squeezed-closed eyes, and took in Spock's concerned face, and how he
was not looking at it from a horizontal position.

"Well, what do you know?" McCoy drawled. "I'm still on my feet."

"I would deem that an improvement."

"I would agree."

Spock grimaced slightly as he perched on their single cot. "It
appears, then, that your supposition, however unintentional, is
correct. We must continue this regimen of physical contact if we wish
to make this bond fully compatible with your system."

"Wonderful," grumbled McCoy, "I finally get another shot at marriage,
and it's with the one person in this universe less romantic than my
ex-wife."

Still, as McCoy sat down on the cot next to his dispassionate Vulcan,
he noted that he did so close enough so that their knees bumped.

He simply chalked it up to the bonding finally driving him out of his
ever- loving mind.

---

Sometime during the night, after attempting numerous sleeping
arrangements with just the one cot, and McCoy unwilling to allow the
recently injured Vulcan to sleep on the floor as he had suggested,
both were forced to resign themselves to the fact that they needed to
share the bunk.

It was not an easy task. While neither could be called large, they
were still of average size for two grown men of their relative
species, and trying to fit themselves on the same twin-sized cot
proved to be a definite logistical challenge.

Spock was quite certain that he'd fallen asleep entirely separated
from the human. In spite of his advocacy of physical contact to help
McCoy recover from their recent bonding, he could not bring himself to
fall asleep in such a precarious position.

Honestly speaking, he had no more wish to fully integrate himself with
the doctor than he knew McCoy had to do so with him. The idea that his
logic might very well be compromised by this human's mind was
virtually unacceptable to him, and, while he thought that he could
handle any difficulties that might arise while he was conscious, he
did not want to know what might happen should the link be
reestablished in his sleep.

So, they tried to go to sleep with their backs to one another, not
consenting to any more contact than that.

It did not seem to have worked out as planned.

First came the dream, the quality of which Spock had been completely
unprepared for. It was not that Vulcans did not dream, it was simply
that Vulcan dreams were routine. They were in no way the violent
tapestry that painted itself in Spock's stunned mind:

He was on Vulcan, he was certain, but things were not as they should
be. The cities were collapsed in what seemed to be tremendous
violence. There were fires, and Vulcans milling about in a decidedly
illogical manner. He moved through them, feeling, oddly enough, like
he had a very good reason for being where he was. He moved
purposefully into one of the buildings, and staggered. Could this
possibly be his hospital?

There was so much death. How could he prevent that which was so much
larger than he? Still, in a motion that Spock could not explain, he
pushed up his sleeves and moved about the small, makeshift hospital.

He knew, without knowing how, that this was the children's ward, and
he was the doctor in charge of all of this. It was his job to save all
these little lives.

And he went to work, doing things he shouldn't have the knowledge to
do, working at a pace that could only be described as frantic, as if
he was affected by some sort of emotion.

Which, in all honesty, he was. He was desperate, and despairing of his
race. How could we possibly have done this to ourselves? he mentally
demanded. For all our so-called civilization, how can we be so
advanced if we still have this within us?

Then, the blast hit. Spock was thrown against a wall, dizziness and
nausea sweeping over him in equal parts. A section of the roof
collapsed before his disbelieving eyes. He heard the children
screaming. Shaking his head and looking up, he saw half of the room
completely decimated, small bodies broken and trapped under the
rubble.

And Spock began to weep.

Then, abruptly, he awoke. When Spock opened his eyes, he found that,
sometime during the night, they had both managed to turn themselves
over, and now the Vulcan was unable to move without waking the doctor,
as they had become so entangled.

So, the most logical course of action would be to wake McCoy and work
to extract themselves as a mutual effort.

"Doctor," he said putting gentle pressure on the human's back where
his hands had come to rest.

McCoy twitched, winding his arms more securely around Spock and
burying his head in the Vulcan's chest. "Jesus," he muttered,
obviously still asleep, "there's too much damage. Have to get
everybody out."

Spock raised his eyebrows as he realized the implications of that
statement and repeated his efforts. "Doctor," he called again, more
firmly and with a bit more volume.

It seemed to work. McCoy's heart rate, very apparent to Spock in such
close proximity, sped up as he came out of his torpor, and the man's
blue eyes opened, blinking up at Spock in bafflement. That was almost
immediately replaced by shock. "Christ!" he exclaimed.

"Indeed," Spock concurred, "I believe we were sharing the same dream."

McCoy shook his head, seeming to try to clear it. "The link?"

Spock searched his mind, which immediately responded in echoes.
"Established, on some basic level," Spock informed his human bondmate,
"and more than likely responsible for the occurrence."

McCoy looked away. "That would explain everyone being Vulcan."

Spock understood immediately. "They were actually human."

McCoy glanced at him once more, looking slightly haunted. "Yeah. The
Chara IV colony. They were . . . well, it was sort of like the
situation here. Various factions fought each other, made bombs. I was
doing my Starfleet residency when they sent me there to work in the
relief effort." He snorted. "Nothing on Earth prepares you for that
sort of thing."

"You were assigned to the children's ward."

McCoy nodded. "It nearly killed me every time one of them died, but I
was saving a lot of them, too, so everything . . . I could get through
it. I could ignore the fact that every time I looked at one of those
kids, I saw my own daughter. After the collapse, though . . . they
reassigned me." He shook his head. "I had even pretty much gotten over
the nightmares until Jim sent us to this hellhole."

McCoy glared at the ceiling, seeking to mask his feelings in his
universal gruff façade. Spock was fascinated to realize that, despite
the human's staunch advocacy of the expression of emotions, he seemed
to cover them almost as well as a Vulcan, only letting certain,
obviously more acceptable variety show.

Finding no other alternative, he asked mentally, 'Why is it that you
express anger, yet will not allow yourself to display remorse?'

McCoy blinked at him, then scowled, replying in kind, 'You were in my
head the entire time, weren't you?'

'As you were in mine, had you taken the time to notice.'

McCoy rolled his eyes, still holding that mask of anger.

'Shall I repeat the question, Doctor?'

McCoy sighed, shifting slightly, and reminding Spock that they were
still tangled together on the narrow cot. "Remorse is weak," the
doctor stated aloud. "That's not something I can afford myself right
now."

"Probably an intelligent choice," a voice broke in to their exchange.

Two heads both looked up to the door, which now stood open. Standing
there was a tall, statuesque woman with graceful, pointed ears, and an
icy smile.

Spock arched an eyebrow, ignoring the rather awkward position she had
found them in. "I was not aware that the Romulans had ventured this
far into Federation territory."

"Then there are many things of which you are not aware," she replied
smoothly. "I am Telara, Intelligence Officer of the Romulan starship
Kaleh. I've been an acquisition here longer than anyone."

"A slave, you mean," McCoy corrected her.

Telara shrugged. "Call it what you will. It's my job to teach you
enough to keep you in line." She motioned, a sneer curling her lips,
and aimed directly at Spock. "Now, get up. You can hold one another
later."

When she had turned away, McCoy glanced at Spock and gave him a quick,
amused grin. "Never a moment to ourselves. Some honeymoon, huh?"

"Honeymoon, Doctor?"

McCoy gave him a sharp glance. 'Well, we are technically newlyweds,'
he thought before they let go of one another and severed the bond.
'And it's Leonard, Spock! I think they might question this whole bond
thing if you keep calling me Doctor.'

Spock considered that, released McCoy's hand, and then nodded his
agreement. "It is, indeed, not the ideal honeymoon . . . Leonard."

McCoy smiled at him. 'Once again, with feeling.'

'I do not express feeling. You, more than most, should know that.'

McCoy rolled his eyes. 'Perfect. I just married myself a man who
thinks that the Enterprise computer's the ideal role model.'

Spock arched an eyebrow at his bondmate, wondering at his propensity
for hyperbole. Then, he rose, tested his injured leg, and then crossed
to stand next to the Romulan woman with only a slight limp, who looked
him over coldly.

"Mr. Spock, the man who has helped destroy numerous Romulan ships and
killed dozens of loyal citizens," she stated. "I assumed that you
would be taller."

His other eyebrow joined the first. "I was unaware that our status as
Federation representatives was known here."

She snorted. "The humans who bought you know nothing beyond what they
see with their own eyes. Whether or not they know what value you truly
hold makes no difference to me." Her teeth gleamed in a smile. "I, on
the other hand, am Romulan. I keep my eyes and ears open, and knew who
you were the instant I saw them bring you in."

"Well, I'm flattered," McCoy drawled.

Telara either didn't catch his sarcasm, or deliberately ignored it.
Spock, observing her closely, believed the latter to be the case, as
she replied, "You should be. Few humans, indeed, warrant my attention.
However, your very humanity is, in this case, what intrigues."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" McCoy demanded.

"A Vulcan bonded with you, and as pathetic as the race is, they are
far superior to humans. So, Doctor McCoy, tell me: what it is about
you that has merited such interest from an otherwise greater being?"

McCoy snorted. "Guess it was just my lucky day," he groused.

She arched an eyebrow at the exact same time as Spock. "Indeed," she
murmured, and then turned away from them. "We'll be late. Move,
Acquisitions."

Spock rose, glancing back to make sure that McCoy followed.

"This just keeps on getting better and better," the human groused.

Spock decided that McCoy was still basically intact if he could still
grouse. It was when he stopped that Spock should become concerned for
his bondmate.

They followed Telara out into a larger, plush room. In this stripped
down, broken world, seeing such luxury seemed odd, not to mention
inappropriate.

And there, sitting, seeming in deep conversation, were two new
surprises. One was an alien the likes of which Spock had never seen.
He had gray, slightly scaled skin, with prominent ridges on his
forehead and along the sides of his wide neck.

The other was a Klingon.

"And I say again," McCoy breathed, eyes widening.

The Klingon stood, drawing lips back from his teeth in a grimace. "As
if there weren't enough humans here already."

Telara smiled at him. "Very few, I suspect, who are bonded to
Vulcans."

The other alien rose, crossing the room to circle Spock with a
serpentine grace. "Vulcan?" he queried, shooting a look at Telara out
of eyes the color of ice. "He looks as if he were your species."

She snorted.

Spock arched an eyebrow. "We belong to sister races. However, she is
Romulan, while I am Vulcan."

The alien seemed to have no problem invading Spock's space as he
peered closely. "Physiological differences?"

"More a matter of philosophy," McCoy corrected. "Vulcans repress their
emotions. Romulans don't seem to have that problem."

"We prefer the word 'control' to 'repress'," Spock stated. "It has
less of a loaded meaning."

Brilliant white teeth flashed as the alien smiled. "Of course," he
said, seeming thrilled. "At last, a man who knows the value of words.
Having conversations with this lot has been like carving a statue with
a vole's tail."

Even McCoy looked lost after that choice of phrasing.

The alien, seeming to realize he had lost the understanding of his
companions, shrugged. "It's been a difficult time."

"Especially for a man who likes to talk so much," spat the Klingon.

Telara turned to Spock and McCoy, an ironic eyebrow arched.
"Gentlemen, may I present the other two acquisitions."

The Klingon nodded tersely. "I am Kataq, helmsman of the Bat'leth."

"And I," the alien said, bowing slightly from the waist, "am Gessad,
xenobiologist on the Daltav'u, of the Cardassian Deep Space
Exploratory Fund."

"Cardassian?" McCoy asked. "I don't know as I've heard of that species
before, and I know I haven't seen anything remotely like you."

Gessad's face broke into a smile. "Nor are you likely to. I am all
that's left of my crew, and my home has not yet even been reached by
your people."

"What brought you out so far?"

Gessad's smile faded. "Famine," he replied. "We went out looking for
possible avenues of expansion." He shrugged. "We're not a people
disposed to empire building, but we must do what we must to survive."

"As I have tried to tell you," Kataq stated, "empire building is
nothing to be ashamed of. To expand is a natural state, and there is
much honor to be found in it."

"Yes, well, that remains to be seen," Gessad replied noncommittally.

McCoy was immediately drawn to his fellow scientist, Spock noted, as
well as the convivial and non-threatening appearance the Cardassian
put forth. Spock had the suspicion that the façade was just that, but,
being that he had no evidence, had no reason to warn the doctor away.
He listened as they began questioning one another on relative biology,
watching McCoy's face seem to sharpen in interest as Gessad explained
that his people were renowned architects and craftsmen, raised to have
an appreciation of arts and life. Their minds, he expounded, were
radically different from any other race Gessad had yet encountered,
having a completely different sense of the passage of time, as well as
being drawn to good conversation and games of strategy.

In turn, McCoy tried to explain human life as best he could to the
Cardassian, who listened as well as he spoke.

"I would watch out, if I were you," Telara said softly, standing next
to Spock. "Gessad is an extremely charming man, but I trust him about
as far as your bondmate could throw him."

"You are saying that he is dangerous?"

"I'm saying nothing of the sort. I'm only noting that out of the five
slave traders who promised to deliver him to our owners, only two
arrived." She shot Spock a superior look. "Perhaps xenobiologists
perform different functions on Cardassian ships than we are used to."

Spock did not respond, but stored the information away for future
reference, determining that it would be necessary to keep a closer
watch on the strange, friendly alien from now on.

Suddenly, the doors opened, and a veritable entourage of humans filed
in. Spock felt Telara go tense next to him, and felt McCoy's anger
from across the room as the man in the lead of the column of people
looked over them like prize livestock, or a particularly interesting
museum display.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "these are my newest acquisitions: a
Vulcan, and his human bondmate."

One of the other men peered at them. "Is that uncommon?"

"Very," a woman draped in animal skins and silk explained. "They are a
private sort of people, and don't generally enjoy the company of our
species. Really very interesting to see one so close."

Spock raised an eyebrow at that.

"And the best part," McCoy drawled, crossing his arms over his chest,
"is that they actually understand every word you say. So, talking
about them in the third person isn't actually as polite as you might
think."

Telara stiffened at Spock's side, even as the leader of the human
group glanced at a bracelet he wore, then pressed one of the jeweled
buttons adorning it.

McCoy immediately doubled over, choking out a colorful expletive.
However, when no more were forthcoming, Spock became seriously worried
and crossed to the human's side in a few steps.

The thing he noticed immediately upon arrival was that McCoy's mouth
was open, and he was making strange, soft wheezing noises. Spock
reached out, placing a hand on the man's back, immediately assailed by
terror and a desperate need for oxygen.

He turned his gaze sharply to the man he had interpreted as their
owner. "I request that you desist."

The man smiled, but didn't do a thing. McCoy dropped to his knees.

Spock spoke quickly. "This man is a valuable acquisition. To destroy
that which you bought for such a petty reason is illogical."

The man cocked his head, then pressed the button again.

McCoy drew in a deep, gasping breath.

The man turned to the rest of the group. "I'm terribly sorry you had
to witness that, but without discipline, there would be chaos."

The group tittered, and followed him out of the room.

"Leonard," Spock said when they had left. "Are you—?"

"No." McCoy pulled himself to his feet and almost collapsed before
Spock caught him and guided him to a chair. "Jesus Christ, I feel like
I've been socked in the gut."

Gessad joined them. "Actually, that's essentially correct. They've
developed a device which targets the diaphragm."

McCoy blinked up at the Cardassian. "How the hell do you know that?"

Gessad gave him a smile that suddenly seemed chill. "Information is
available to us, we just have to know where and how to look."  Then,
just as quickly, his demeanor became affable and harmless once more.
"At any rate, this device sends electrical impulses to your diaphragm
that contracts it, and then doesn't allow it to relax."

"Long-distance suffocation," Telara expounded. "It works on all of
us."

"But not quite as well on me," Kataq added. "I can remain active for
several minutes after the initial contraction, so long as I do not
attempt to speak."

Gessad rolled his eyes, "Which never seems to be a difficulty."

Kataq glared at the Cardassian scientist. "I do not waste time on
words that can be heard and used against me by my enemies."

"Gentlemen," Telara broke in, "before we engage in another wordy
debate," she ignored Kataq's glare, "I might point out that we have a
problem, here."

Kataq snorted. "So the humans are targeting one of their own. I do not
feel overly concerned."

McCoy glowered. "Well, I damn well do."

Spock looked at Telara. "You believe they will continue to pursue
him?"

She shrugged. "He ruined one of Amos' tours. Amos is not the type to
forget that."

"Why should we care?" demanded Kataq.

"Because, to watch him more closely, they'll increase surveillance on
all of us," Gessad murmured, hissing slightly. "It will interfere, and
even you should understand the potential ramifications of that."

Kataq turned furious eyes on a very baffled McCoy. "So, why don't we
kill him now and be done with it?"

"That, too, would draw attention," Spock pointed out.

Telara glanced at him appraisingly, and Spock met her stare with a
steady resolve. "Then you've determined what we plan to do already?"

"It is only logical."

She nodded, her eyes fixing on McCoy. "Since you know, you should give
me a single good reason why I shouldn't do what Kataq suggests. It
would create a stir momentarily, of course, but nothing that won't
settle down. So, Vulcan, dazzle me with your logic."

"He is human," Spock stated. "On this planet, that is his finest
asset."

"If you all are talking about what I think you're talking about,
you'll need a beard," McCoy agreed.

Four equally confused glances turned on the human.

McCoy sighed. "You're going to need some sort of cover."

"We shall simply have to keep him out of Amos' notice from here on
out," Gessad concluded.

"You are so quick to jump to his defense?" Kataq demanded.

"His life gives me an advantage I didn't have before," Gessad stated,
drawing himself up. "It's a good enough reason for me."

"I say he is human, and cannot be trusted. He will betray us to his
own species."

"I am his bondmate, and say he will not," Spock stated, in that
unequivocal tone that did not brook any type of dissention.

McCoy pushed himself to his feet, barely even swaying, Spock noted
with the barest touch of pride. "I may be human, but I've got no love
for this bunch," he told them all. "If you don't want to trust me
personally, be my guest, but trust that I want off this rock, and that
I'll do what it takes to get us there."

Telara inclined her head. "Very well. We let you live," she held up a
hand to cut off Kataq's growl of protest, "for now. But, like any of
us," she informed him, "should you show the slightest sign of
betrayal, we will kill you."

"Sounds fair," McCoy told her.

The noise at the door returned, softer than before, and all the
acquisitions fell silent. In came the man Spock now knew was called
Amos, who stared at them in rancor. "You now know the punishment for
disobedience," he snapped. "I do not tolerate acquisitions speaking
unless spoken to, is that clear?"

Nods from the group, though Spock had to take McCoy's shoulder in his
hand and mentally nudge the man before he did so.

"Now," Amos said brusquely, eyes lighting on McCoy, "we will test the
validity of your bonding. If the two of you pass the test, we'll find
you some clothes more befitting two of my acquisitions, and heal what
remains of the wounds you acquired upon capture."

Spock had noticed the fine quality of the garments adorning his fellow
captives, but when he looked more closely, he realized that they were,
in fact, wearing what he could only assume were traditional clothing
of their individual race.

"If you do not pass the test," Amos intoned, "well, there really won't
be any concern for your clothes, then."

He turned and led the way out of the room, gesturing imperiously for
the small entourage to follow. Spock noted that there were no guards
accompanying them, but knew from the previous attack on Dr. McCoy that
they were not necessary.

Surreptitiously, he reached out and brushed the human doctor's hand
with his own. 'Are you prepared?' he queried.

'Probably would be more so if I knew what we were in for,' McCoy
thought wryly back at him.

'We shall pass,' Spock insisted.

'Spock, I'm inside your head. If you're trying to be brave on my
account, don't bother. I see right through you.'

Spock raised an eyebrow, which caused McCoy to fight a smile as it
tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Spock felt confident in their abilities. It was definitely true that
their bond was still very unstable, but they were capable men, and
they had weathered many more difficult trials than this. Logic
dictated that they must have some sort of basis between the two of
them for whatever this man may have devised. The statistics were very
simply in their favor.

Amos spoke up as they reached another door. "I'll have you know that I
am aware of your status as Federation agents. It was one of the
reasons I purchased you." He looked at Spock. "You hadn't met with me
when you were taken."

Spock mentally reviewed the list of Mafia leaders he was to meet with,
and then stated, "Amos Chamberlain."

"The very one. At any rate, before I even bought you I was able to
examine what records I was given of you both very carefully. You will,
then, understand why I selected this particular test."

With that, he opened the door and, before Spock could stop him,
motioned. Immediately, two large men emerged from the shadows of the
room, took hold of Dr. McCoy, and pulled him in.

Spock followed swiftly, but not nearly enough so. The two men grasped
his bondmate, and, with a mighty heave, flung him out, and into the
pool inside this particular space.

McCoy hit the water gracelessly, immediately submerging before coming
back up, choking and flailing.

Spock did not need to ask Amos what he had gleaned from the doctor's
records. He knew.

Leonard McCoy could not swim.

"Save him, Mr. Spock," Amos ordered, "without touching him."

---

Spock stared at the man hard, trying to concentrate as the splashing
and spluttering from the water grew more and more frantic. "I cannot
speak to him without touching him. Our bond is still relatively new."

Amos watched him calmly. "I suggest you learn quickly, because I don't
imagine he'll stay above the water much longer."

Spock turned, gazing at the struggling human. He knew that time was of
the essence, yet also knew what a danger an immediate attempt at the
full bond could pose.

Of course, there were no other logical alternatives he could think of,
and the danger of inaction was for more clear and present than the
danger to McCoy's mind.

Spock turned to gaze at the floundering form of his bondmate. Hoping
that McCoy would understand the necessity of this action, Spock opened
all of his carefully erected mental barriers, concentrating on that
summer almost twenty years ago on Earth. The summer his mother taught
him to . . .

'Swim,' he urged.


It was dark and wet, and Leonard McCoy was absolutely certain that he
was going to die. He had nightmares about drowning, but the reality
was horribly different. There was no control, and no way out. It
seemed that the more he struggled, the worse off he was, and it became
clear that he was in desperate need of air.

'Swim,' a voice urged in his head, but in his state, he couldn't think
who it was. He opened his mouth to respond, only to find it flooded
with water. He gasped in horror, and the water started to fill his
lungs. He flailed his arms, one of which protested fiercely as his
shoulder wound reopened and started staining the water around him red.

'OhGodsocoldsowetcan'tbreathe!'

'Doctor!'

There were no thoughts to describe what it felt like to die, but that
didn't mean his mind wasn't trying to come up with them.
'GodpleasenonotlikethisIdon'twanttodie!'

'LEONARD!'

'Spock!' His bondmate, the one man who could save him, if anyone
could. Desperately, he reached out physically and mentally, praying
for salvation.

And it hit him, knocking him down even deeper. Too many memories to be
pertinent, but he knew that somewhere in this delicately ordered chaos
there were things he had to know. Something about a summer. Something
McCoy, no, Spock had learned one summer . . .

And then, he wasn't honestly sure who the hell he was, but he knew
that he should be kicking. With his lungs screaming, and brownish
blues and greens swirling in front of his wide eyes, he scissored his
legs, breaking the surface. It took all of his flagging strength to
kick his way to shore, even with his knowledge. His movements were
sluggish and his muscles completely unused to reacting in such a way.
He still seemed to be breathing in more water than air, and that was
really beginning to worry him.

The bank seemed too far, but he had to get there. There was no way
around that. Had to reach . . .

And then there were hands grasping and pulling at him, and he was
being lifted out of the small indoor pond. Gently, the hands set him
down on the floor.

Lord, the ground had never felt so good. Of course, neither had
coughing up everything he had eaten or inhaled in the past
twenty-three hours, either. His entire body was chilled and
convulsing, and if he had any dignity before, it was as good as gone
now.

The real problem currently was that he was still totally confused.
There were too many memories that he had the strange feeling weren't
his, but if they weren't, then where did they come from?

Jesus, his head ached.

A voice was calling him from somewhere far away. Something whispering
at him, telling him that things were all right. That he could inhale
now.

He did, and slowly things started to come back into focus. He was
Leonard McCoy, ship's surgeon of the U. S. S. Enterprise. And he
currently had the worst migraine he'd ever experienced in his life.

Groaning, he opened his eyes, staring at the hands that held his
shoulders firmly. Following them with his eyes, he saw wrists leading
to arms leading to . . . "Spock," he croaked.

"I'm here, Leonard."

"So'm I, apparently."

"It does seem that you now know how to swim," Spock offered.

"Yes, it does," a voice rang out, and McCoy looked up blearily to
stare at Amos. "You passed. Congratulations."

"You son of a bitch," McCoy snapped. "You were willing to kill me just
to check that? You could have just asked Spock! Vulcans can't lie!
What the hell kind of man do you think you are?!"

"Calm yourself, Leonard," Spock urged.

"Dammit Spock, if you think—"

'He will not hesitate to kill you,' Spock's voice rang out in his
head, effectively silencing the doctor.

"As I said," Amos elaborated as if they hadn't even spoken, "you've
both passed. You'll be taken, healed, and outfitted, and then you can
do as you like. When you're needed, you'll be summoned."

And then, he turned, and left the acquisitions to their own devices.

As soon as he was gone, McCoy started coughing again, shaking in the
aftershock of all that had happened, at the terror of the water.

Dimly, he heard Spock request that the others wait outside, and Gessad
immediately acquiesced, urging the rest of them out into the hallway.
More or less willingly, they all took their leave one by one.

"Goddamn son of a bitch," McCoy growled, commanding his mutinous body
to stop this pathetic shaking right now. He was less than successful.

"You must relax," Spock urged. "Your body has just been through a
substantial shock. It would be inadvisable to tax it further."

"You telling me you're concerned about me, Spock?" McCoy asked
lightly, attempting to tease.

Spock opened his mouth, and then shut it again. 'It's appropriate that
I should be, Leonard,' he thought. 'You are my bondmate.'

McCoy gaped. Then, in a moment of pure impulse, he straightened and
kissed Spock hard. The Vulcan stiffened in surprise.

'Get used to it, Spock,' McCoy urged. 'You married yourself a human,
you should expect certain spontaneous displays of affection.'

'It might be more appropriate if you warned me first.'

'Hmm . . . you're right. Then again, who ever said I concerned myself
with 'appropriate'?'

'I would certainly never make that mistake.'

The bond had formed without their notice, which, McCoy thought, was a
good sign. The long-range initiation had definitely done him some
mental damage, but this contact-link was slowly becoming a familiar
feeling, sort of safe and warm. He was well aware that he should be
irritated, shocked and scandalized, but it seemed now to be a very
small intrusion.

Of course, the moment he thought that, it inevitably grew. The depth
of the link began a cascade effect; spiraling into territory he didn't
want it, old and painful memories. Nearly drowning as a child while
his cousin died only a few feet away, both swept down by the
under-tow. His more recent encounter with the water, so deep and cold,
with no bottom to hold him up: water filling his lungs and choking off
his air. Burning in his head.

Burning. Chara IV, the day he had arrived there. A terrible fire in
one of the giant, rickety poor-houses. Hundreds of charred bodies,
covered in slick lymph carried in whatever could hold them. How many
had died?

Death. Patients lost, friends buried. Acquaintances. Faces in his
medical records. Too many people died and, somehow, he had simply
grown desensitized. Was that fair? Was it right that something in him
no longer cried out softly in agony every time he confirmed a death?
Every time he was forced to pull the trigger? Every life he exchanged
for another, as if he had that right. As if he had any right.

It was too much. A lifetime's worth of pain, and he just kept diving
deeper, and the link was breaking through walls that had been there
for a definite purpose. Penetrating his soul, impaling it as it
fluttered to escape. He couldn't escape. He was absolutely, totally
helpless, and he hated it. He hated it because it seemed to be readily
apparent to whatever malicious being that happened along. It took one
look at Jim, Spock and him, and always noticed right away who the weak
link was. Then, it proceeded to exploit that weakness, using him to
get to the others. Making him understand how frail he was, what a
liability to the team he posed.

Leonard McCoy suddenly understood very clearly that he was not cut out
to be anyone's bondmate. There were places in him, depths and dark
corners, that were unexplored for a reason. There was pain and fear
and a horrible inadequacy that people could absolutely not see if they
were ever to like or even respect him.

It must be genetic. One of those whispered family secrets was that the
McCoy's ancestors had been Clansmen. They had hanged people who were
different than they were, and though Leonard himself often teased
Spock about those attributes he possessed that racially separated
them, he was secretly terrified that he might actually mean it. That,
somehow, that disease had passed on in the blood, unnoticed until its
foolish progeny ventured forth into the stars.

And he had the audacity to think he could handle this?

'You can.'

'No! Spock . . . what I've said . . . what I am . . .'

'You are nothing that you do not choose to be. There is absolutely no
logic behind the notion of predestination. What your ancestors were
does not affect you.'

'Doesn't it?' McCoy demanded.

'Your words were—'

'Racial slurs.'

'Yes, they were. However, to your credit, I am the only Vulcan you
have ever directed such comments towards.'

'Maybe it's because I felt safe venting to you. Maybe it was because I
knew you couldn't hurt me, no matter what I said. Spock, God, I was so
certain that all I wanted to do was rile you, however I could. I never
imagined that—'

'Leonard, do you hate me?'

'Lord, no, Spock!'

'Then your words mean nothing.'

'Too bad you can't convince me of that.'

McCoy felt his entire world trembling. These were the places he had
wanted no one to see. The modern humanity stripped away to reveal a
man who was still afraid of the unknown. The civilized good in him
gone, leaving the ugliness only forgotten with a liberal dose of
alcohol.

This was a part of him that Spock should never see. The fact that he
was there, that he had punched through McCoy's best defenses made him
sick with fear. He had always known, on an instinctual level, that
Spock was infinitely stronger, physically and mentally, than he could
ever hope to be. Knowing on that level, and knowing it on this
primitive level, however, were two completely separate things. It was
the caveman meeting the astronaut for the first time, and realizing
how tiny and insignificant he really was.

Spock could destroy him now, he knew, with a single thought.

'As could you.'

McCoy was taken aback. However, his mind gasped for that purchase
offered, and he began to understand Spock's meaning. While he was so
caught up with the fact that he was now raw and exposed, he hadn't
noticed that Spock was, as well. That all of Spock's dark corners were
suddenly thrown into the light, too, that his own mind had pushed into
a territory in which it wasn't entirely welcome.

And he understood.

He understood the rigid code of logic, put in place to control one of
the most naturally violent races in the galaxy. They were desert
dwellers, a small hairless being with no teeth or claws to speak of.
The ears gave them some warnings, but the attacks had been fast and
brutal. Soon, so were the Vulcans.

That was what Spock fought. He sometimes feared that he would not be
capable, that his logic would fail and that whatever emotions he kept
under such tight restraint would simply explode, demolishing the
people he cared about.

The people he loved.

And that was the worst part: logic was what held his entire fragmented
being together, keeping warring Vulcan and human parts in check. It
was the great mutual deterrent. Without it, he was certainly doomed to
nothing short of chaos. With it, though . . .

Spock was half-human, and that part of him longed for so many things
with a wistfulness that shocked the human doctor.

'You can compromise,' McCoy urged.

'I cannot. My control is not so strong as you assume.'

'There is nothing that you do not choose to be,' McCoy parroted back
at Spock. 'Strike a deal with your human half. It might surprise you.'

McCoy felt Spock's resolve weakening. The doctor had been placed in a
position that truly affected the Vulcan, truly swayed him. His
influences and inputs were far stronger at this level, where he
appealed directly to Spock's submerged humanity, than they ever had
been from the outside.

He had no idea that he wielded that type of power over his half-Vulcan
bondmate.

Sudden resistance. Cold logic slamming into McCoy hard enough to daze.
Lord, was Spock actually frightened by McCoy's ability to affect
change within him? Was that what this was?

McCoy's mind was forced up, back through layers of consciousness,
making the balance uneven, making things fall out of place. Spock
still existed within a terribly personal level of the doctor's psyche.
He had either forgotten to pull out, or decided not to, but whichever
it was, it was frightening McCoy, because it was far too much like
another instance two years back.

Spock, but not Spock, the man from the mirror universe, who had felt
exactly like his friend, plundering his memories, with no regard to
McCoy's desires. There was no control, no permission, only a violation
that, by all rights, should have landed McCoy in a psych ward.
Instead, it had been weeks of counseling with a very discreet M'Benga.

And now, as it had been then, his head began to fill with excruciating
pain and the terror of the truly helpless. He was horribly reminded
that he had absolutely no mental training, that, at any given moment,
Spock could decide to break the rules and kill him from the inside
out.

And he couldn't even scream.

McCoy began to thrash, even as Spock realized his error. He began to
try to pull out, but the emptiness, the sudden loss, let the pain rush
in even harder, sweeping the human down. For the second time today,
McCoy was drowning, only this time there was no one to save him.

His air was gone, and, as he stared up at the light receding from his
vision, McCoy lapsed into unconsciousness.

---

Gessad gazed at the prone figure of the human, marveling that such a
physiologically pathetic species could have risen so far in an
organization as seemingly vast as the Federation. They had redressed
him in a comfortable human suit from his homeland, yet, still, he
seemed to Gessad very small and weak.

He informed the impassive Vulcan of that fact.

Spock nodded stiffly. He had seemed doubly so ever since bringing his
unconscious bondmate to the Cardassian, hoping for his assistance in
healing and reviving Leonard McCoy. He had taken very little time to
change into his own Vulcan robes in order to stay with his bondmate
and aid in his recovery.

It wasn't a particularly easy task with Kataq and Telara hovering over
them, but that couldn't be helped. They were confined to only a small
area, and diversions were few and far between. It was only natural
that they would develop certain morbid fascinations.

If only they wouldn't press so very close.

It was difficult enough working in such primitive conditions and on a
patient whose physiology was determined by guesswork and questions. He
could use the dermal regenerator to patch up both the doctor's
shoulder and the Vulcan's leg, but beyond that there was little he
could do. He had attempted standard procedures such as slapping the
poor human, but to no avail. However, the medical tricorder that their
captors had left for first aid usage did reveal certain facts that he
found greatly disturbing.

There was absolutely no problem, he reminded himself, which could not
be solved by a disciplined Cardassian mind.

Unfortunately, his disciplined mind was currently telling him that
nothing he could do would be of any use.  Others, though . . .

He looked up at the assembled group, gauging the Vulcan's need for
privacy. Finally, carefully choosing his words, Gessad looked to
Telara and asked, "My dear, can I have a moment alone with Spock,
please?"

"It is unnecessary," she told him flatly.

Gessad nearly hissed in frustration. Damn the woman and her
uncompromising attitude.

To his surprise, it was Kataq who saved him. "I do not care to stare
at an unconscious human. It disgusts me. Come, Telara. We will work on
the communications system." Grimacing at Gessad and their two newest
companions, Kataq exited. Telara, after a moment to show that this was
her choice, and that she did not blindly follow a Klingon's order,
followed.

When they were gone, Gessad looked up on the saturnine features of
Spock. "Well?" the Cardassian prompted.

Spock looked at him coldly. "I cannot tell what you are asking me
simply from one word."

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"That does not clarify the question."

Gessad ran a hand through his hair. "This man is of a race with
absolutely no special mental abilities. Am I correct?"

"You are."

"While your race is telepathic."

"Indeed."

"And you decided that it was a good idea to force the custom of a
telepathic species on a non-telepathic individual?"

"I did not force the issue, but yes, that is essentially correct."

"Well, if you were trying to kill him, I would say that you're
succeeding remarkably."

That got a reaction, albeit a tiny one. For an instant Gessad though
he saw fear on that alien's face, but then, all it seemed to be was a
lifted eyebrow. "Indeed?" Spock queried, his voice soft.

"His higher brain functions are deteriorating," Gessad explained.
"It's been happening for a while now. His physiology isn't familiar to
me, so I can't give you a good estimate, but at some time in the not
too distant future, he's going to die if he doesn't receive
treatment."

"It is treatable, then?"

Gessad shrugged. "If we were on my ship, I could perform an intensive
stem- cell treatment to grow the brain cells required to sustain this
new mental ability. As is, the . . . bond, is it?" The Vulcan nodded.
"The bond is attempting to convert existing brain cells, which is very
simply destroying his synaptic pathways."

"This procedure cannot be done here?"

The Cardassian barked in a short, bitter laugh. "Here we're lucky to
have a dermal regenerator." He met Spock's eyes. "His only hope of
survival is to get him off this backwards rock, and to a hospital that
actually has medical equipment."

"I understand."

Gessad stared at the Vulcan, disturbed by the fact that he didn't even
bat an eye at the plight of what the Cardassian could only assume was
his husband. "May I ask a question?"

"Of course."

"Why aren't you concerned about him?"

"I am Vulcan. Emotions are not indulged in by my people."

That was a fact of which the Cardassian was already aware. In fact, it
made this pair even stranger, in Gessad's opinion. Then again, it was
the natural norm that opposites attracted. "I am well aware," he said
carefully, "that it's not my place to question the nature of another
culture. It's one of the primary foundations of xenobiology. However,
I can tell you now that this man is dying, and he's frightened. He now
possesses neural pathways he can't make any sense of, and, I'm
guessing that he's losing other functions he's used to accessing
readily. If you can't support him emotionally, it doesn't bode well."
Gessad sniffed. "At least, that's my diagnosis."

"I believe we should bring him out of this unconscious state before we
concern ourselves with other issues," Spock stated.

Gessad glared at the impassive alien, but shrugged. "Then I recommend
you figure out how, because I'm fresh out of ideas."

Spock stepped forward. "Being that he lapsed into this state as a
result of a meld, it would seem logical that he could be awoken by
similar means."

Gessad rose from the chair he was currently occupying at the human's
side, gesturing sweepingly. "Be my guest."

He watched with interest as the Vulcan sat next to the human, placing
his finger at points along McCoy's face. Gessad cocked his head in
fascination as it seemed that absolutely nothing transpired. And yet,
somehow, he felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.
Cardassians were not a telepathic people by nature, but with such high
levels of mental training, it was difficult not to sense when mental
currents altered in some way.

Then, Spock broke away, rising. "Doctor McCoy should awaken shortly.
If you'll excuse me, I will go and offer my assistance to Telara and
Kataq."

Before Gessad could so much as voice a protest, Spock was gone,
leaving him alone with the human. With a sigh of resignation, he
resumed his seat.

Suddenly, McCoy's eyes began to flutter. Gessad reached out,
hesitating, and then gently holding his shoulders.

"Spock?" the human doctor rasped.

Gessad's heart went out to the man, it truly did. Still, best to be
neutral in such a situation, for his own sake, if not anyone else's.
"He's not here, Doctor."

Blue eyes fixed on him and focused. "Where'd he go?'

"He said that he was going to see if Telara and Kataq needed any help
with their project."

McCoy closed his eyes. "Of course."

"I'm sorry," Gessad offered.

"My fault, anyway. Pushed him too hard. He likes to make out like he's
got no feelings, but he does, and it galls him to all hell. Man thinks
he should out-Vulcan the Vulcans, if you catch my meaning."

"Overachiever?"

"You could say that."

"Why did you do it?"

McCoy looked at him quizzically. "Pardon?"

"Why him? Out of an entire galaxy of eligible beings, why him?"

McCoy looked disturbed, and Gessad held up a hand. "I apologize. I'm
prying."

"Yeah, you are, but I've been asking myself the same thing." He
scratched his head.

"Are you in love with him?"

McCoy smiled. "That, my friend, is the million dollar question."

Gessad wasn't quite sure that that meant, but knew that it wasn't an
answer.

McCoy eyed him. "I don't actually know," he restated.

"You must have thought you were to bond with him in the first place."

That made the human distinctly uncomfortable, interestingly enough.
"Yeah, you'd think that, wouldn't you?"

""You're not going to tell me what's really going on, are you?" Gessad
asked, the corner of his mouth kicking up.

"Doesn't look that way."

The Cardassian nodded his approval. "Very good, Doctor."

"Please, call me Leonard," the human brushed off.

Gessad gave him a slow blink. "I didn't realize you considered us that
close."

McCoy looked at him in confusion. "It's common courtesy for new
friends to call each other by their given names."

Gessad, realizing his error, relaxed. "I see. On my planet, only your
family or . . . very close personal friends address you by your given
name."

The human looked embarrassed. "Sorry."

"Quite all right, and if it is your custom, than it's one I in which
would be glad to practice." He smiled. "Just don't ask me to tell you
my given name."

"Is Gessad all right?'

"Oh, yes, that's fine."

"Wonderful. Gessad, at this moment, I have the headache from hell, and
a bondmate I can't make heads or tails of. Now, normally, I'd decide
to bury myself in work, but there isn't any work here. Since there's
nothing else for me to do, I'm really hoping we've got alcohol here,
and you wouldn't mind joining me in a drink."

Gessad brightened at the prospect of an actual conversation, while at
the same time feeling wary of what might happen to such a debilitated
man if he imbibed. He ran the tricorder over the human again, trying
to discern how much damage a drink might do him. However, he stopped,
staring at the readings. It wasn't possible . . .

But it would explain certain things, not to mention make the strange
relationship between Spock and McCoy quite a bit more understandable.

Gessad smiled brilliantly. "Why, Doctor," he stated, "I would be
delighted."

---

"How is he?"

Spock raised an eyebrow at Telara's blunt question. "He is . . . not
well."

"Is he dying?"

"So it seems."

She smiled. "You are an interesting man, Mr. Spock. Were your bondmate
an equation, I can almost guarantee that you would be fretting over
him as we speak. Yet, being that he's a man, and therefore attention
to him might be construed as emotion, you completely ignore him." She
turned away, every bit the superior Romulan. "You're worth keeping
alive simply for the novelty."

"I believe you oversimplify," Spock stated, remaining neutral.

"And yet," she countered, allowing the words to dangle.

Spock decided that they did not, in fact, need his assistance.

What he had withheld from the Romulan woman was the fact that he also
felt that he had been derelict in his duty to his crewmember (to his
bondmate). Spock stiffened as guilt hit him hard. He had been able to
control his emotions less and less lately, and now, as the reality of
McCoy's situation began to sink in, all Spock could think was that he
was responsible for what had happened.

The Vulcan desperately sought solitude. He needed to mediate and
regain his equilibrium if he had any intention of approaching this
issue logically.

Finally, he discovered a small antechamber off the main sitting room
that, more than likely, served as a closet. However, its relative
isolation made it ideal.

Spock sat on the floor and tried to center himself. That, however, was
proving difficult. Every time he closed his eyes, he was reminded that
Leonard McCoy had seen parts of him that he had not wished anyone to
see. The man had urged Spock to do something that could have
disastrous consequences, and, to make matters even worse, Spock had
been genuinely tempted.

Because there was a vibrancy to McCoy's mind that had stunned the
Vulcan. There was shame and a surprising amount of self-loathing
there, yes, but there had also been life. It was illogical and
complex, and . . . fascinating.

And, Spock was forced to admit, there was something within him that
longed for that with a surprising intensity.

All of which led to his present dilemma. On the one hand there was
McCoy, who was most assuredly suffering because of this link, and yet
seemed to suffer more when Spock wasn't there to help him, however
grudging the doctor would be to admit it.

On the other hand was his own sanity, which dictated that he stay as
far away from the human as he was capable, in hopes of minimizing the
possible contamination risk his mind posed.

And, on a completely separate and, Spock tried to insist, irrelevant
level was the fact that McCoy was his bondmate. Logical or not, that
meant something, and the longer they were bonded, the more it meant.
It was disturbing to think that there might come a time when being
bonded to one another would seem as natural as breath, but it was
beginning to appear more and more likely.

Leonard McCoy was, to use the colloquial phrase, well and truly under
his skin.

At last, after weighing his options as objectively and rationally as
possible, Spock insisted to himself that he had to do what he could to
save the doctor's life, or at least ease his suffering.

So, using the vague sense that seemed to linger in the air, drawing a
line between them, Spock moved to find his bondmate and attempt to
speak with him.

However, it seemed that someone had beaten him to that particular
goal. Spock located the human in another small room, but stopped
outside the door when he heard the voice of Gessad. "All I'm saying
is, it seems odd that you would choose to spend the rest of your life
with such a, forgive me, distant fellow."

McCoy chuckled. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"If you say."

McCoy's voice became obstinate. "I do, indeed."

"Would you prefer we move on to a more innocuous subject?" the
Cardassian asked with unfailing politeness.

"Was I that transparent?"

"Most aliens are," Gessad assured him. "My people simply observe much
more closely."

"Good to know."

"Do you have any hobbies?"

That earned a laugh. "What?"

"A more innocuous subject, Doctor."

"Oh!" There was a pause in which Spock could only imagine McCoy was
thinking. "Well, I like to sit and chat with friends, mostly. It's
hard to have hobbies when you're CMO of a starship."

"How well I know that."

Spock frowned ever-so-slightly. He was not one to jump to conclusions
on the intentions of others, especially when he couldn't even see
them, but it sounded like there were certain amorous intentions in
Gessad's conversation with the doctor. Given, that could well be the
nature of his race, but the attentiveness and the almost teasing humor
of his speech all indicated that he was, as Spock's bondmate might put
it, making a pass.

Spock was disturbed by that fact that the idea somewhat upset him,
because, after carefully weighing the situation, he couldn't
understand why. For all accounts and purposes, the notion of Gessad
stepping in to fill an emotional void that Spock could not: a romantic
capacity, was not only understandable, but logical. And yet, for all
that, Spock had the irrational desire to discover some sort of
malicious intent behind the alien's actions.

It was most incomprehensible.

McCoy, he realized, was chuckling again and, through that slender
thread that still linked them, Spock sensed that his bondmate was
feeling slightly . . .

Drunk.

McCoy was drinking. Spock didn't imagine that such an action would
help his beleaguered brain in the slightest.

"Sir," the human stated, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you
were trying to seduce me."

Gessad's reply was pleasant, if a bit arch. "And what, pray tell,
makes you think that I'm not? If you'll notice, I've been drinking as
much as you have. In all likelihood, my inhibitions have been
significantly affected."

"In other words, you're trying to pass the buck."

"Pardon?"

"You're preemptively blaming anything you say on the booze, am I
right?"

Gessad laughed softly. "Most definitely."

"Well, I'll have you know that I'm a married man."

Something in Spock was very relieved to hear that.

"Really?" Gessad asked, his voice sibilant and soft. "Forgive the
observation, then, but it's never appeared to be so."

Spock stiffened.

McCoy, too, seemed to go on the defensive. "What do you know?"

"Only what I've seen, what the tricorder told me." Gessad's pleasant
tone remained. "From the progression of the deterioration, I estimate
that you were bonded last night. However, if memory serves, you were
here at that time. It seems obvious, then, that the bond was forged to
save you from execution."

"So," McCoy rasped, suddenly sounding very cornered, "why is it that
you haven't gone and told everyone yet?"

Gessad sounded genuinely hurt. "You think I'm trying to blackmail
you."

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"I'm not," Gessad assured him. "I simply thought that honesty would be
best, under the circumstances."

"So, why have you been playing dumb up until now?"

"Because hearing you lie was most interesting."

"You're a complicated man."

"I am Cardassian."

"Can I assume that it's one in the same?"

"While I normally hate to make generalizations about any given race, I
am forced to concede that point."

"Fascinating," McCoy breathed.

Spock felt that same upset rising within him again. It was one thing
to know that the Cardassian was testing the waters, but for McCoy to
respond was . . .

Completely within his rights, Spock reminded himself. It was not as if
he and the doctor had pursued any such avenues themselves, and, as
Gessad had pointed out, the bond was a necessity, and nothing more.

That did nothing to quell the upset.

Deciding swiftly and against all logic he knew, Spock keyed the door
which slid open to reveal the two men, sipping drinks and leaning
toward one another. Whatever Spock had just interrupted, McCoy looked
distinctly embarrassed, while Gessad just turned a pleasant smile on
the Vulcan.

The Human rose. "Well, thank you for the drink, Gessad. I think I need
to . . . check on the others."

"A pleasure, Doctor," the Cardassian purred.

McCoy nodded tersely and moved past Spock, meeting the Vulcan's eyes
for a second.

'Nice to know you're still alive,' the sarcastic thought burst in his
mind, surprising Spock by its presence without physical contact. In
response to that surprise, McCoy snapped, 'Seems there's nowhere I can
go that you can't find me.'

'Doctor, I feel it would be appropriate for me to apologize—'

'Appropriate?!' McCoy moved past him, radiating pain and anger at such
a level that even Gessad must have felt it. 'Save it for a man who
isn't too busy dying.'

With that, the doctor stormed out.

Spock was stunned. The emotions he had just been hit by were dizzying,
and the guilt it brought was even more so.

"My, did the temperature drop, or was that just me?" a voice queried
behind him.

Spock turned his gaze on the alien, who was pinning him under a stare
of incendiary intensity. He was not certain what Gessad meant, but if
he was referring to the mood, then, yes, it had been chill, and it
just continued to get colder. "What are your intentions toward my
bondmate?" he queried as simply as possible.

Gessad rose in a fluid motion. "I take it you heard the entire
conversation."

"No. However, I did hear quite a bit."

"Then, I believe you'll have no trouble extrapolating my intentions on
your own."

The Cardassian moved for the door, and Spock stepped in front of him.
He didn't say a thing, but their eyes locked, struggling silently.

Gessad flashed him a set of gleaming white teeth in something between
a grin and a snarl. "Very well, if you insist, I'll be blunt: I am
attempting to help an intelligent, attractive, witty man who is
currently terrified because his mind is being ripped apart from
the inside, and his so-called bondmate is too preoccupied with his
cultural heritage to step up to the task." Gessad raised his chin
defiantly, "Or do you deny it?"

Spock opened his mouth to respond, but found that he couldn't. The
fact was that Gessad was utterly correct. Brutally so, in fact.

"If I thought that this bond was anything more than a sham, if I
thought my attentions wouldn't be welcomed with open arms, I wouldn't
even bother," Gessad hissed.

Spock was aware that the alien was dangerously close to him. Inches
away, in fact. So, when their eyes met again, it was across such a
short distance that both the opposition and the intimacy of the moment
were stressed.

"I am Vulcan," was the only answer Spock could utter. "To allow my
emotions free rein—"

"If Vulcans didn't love their mates, your species would be extinct."
Gessad leaned even closer, breathing into Spock's ear, "Union is a
natural state for every race. Procreation necessitates it, and
loneliness spurs it on, even for those who can't procreate. So, don't
even try to . . . pass the buck."

Then, to Spock's great surprise, the Cardassian moved swiftly,
pressing his lips to the Vulcan's. Then, as soon as it had happened,
he stepped back, smiling enigmatically. "I will yield as soon as you
don't."

As the gray-skinned man strolled out, Spock mused that everyone on
this planet seemed to take perverse pleasure in believing they were
superior to him in some way.

And, in some cases, they were also right.

Spock was in a quandary. He was well aware that bondmates did have
intense connections that could only be described as emotional, but his
was such a strange and unwanted bonding that to acknowledge it as
something of such legitimacy seemed completely inappropriate.

And yet, the prospect of Gessad seducing McCoy had caused him to
actually abandon logic and interrupt what was a legitimate and healthy
interaction between them, especially considering McCoy's deteriorating
condition.

McCoy was dying. He had been reminded of it twice, once by Gessad, and
once by McCoy himself. Obviously, the Cardassian had informed the
doctor of the fact, when it had been Spock's place to do so. McCoy was
understandably hurt. It had, after all, been the bond that had put him
in such a position. Then, Spock had abandoned him at a critical moment
because he feared what further connection might do to his own mind.

Spock had feared. After years of trying, McCoy had finally provoked
profound emotion in the Vulcan completely unintentionally. Whether or
not he permitted it, it seemed that this bond would continue to cause
Spock's emotions to surge. Already, he had experienced more guilt,
upset, fear and general negative emotion than had come up in ten
years.

Such a reaction was to be expected if he were in Sarpedion's Ice Age,
he mused, but here, with no telepathic or racial prompting . . .

Then, he came to the only conclusion that seemed remotely logical: he
had, unbeknownst to himself, fallen in love with the gruff,
adversarial human. Do deny that fact would be counter-productive.

Therefore, with that conclusion in mind, Spock realized that he must
act without delay to assure that Leonard McCoy understood the shift in
their bond. Should he hesitate, then the doctor may well decide to act
upon the obvious attraction between himself and the alien
xenobiologist. In fact, such an even might well occur even if Spock
made his attraction known.

Still, logic dictated that to do nothing would produce nothing, and
therefore, he must confront Leonard McCoy in what was assured to be an
extremely volatile situation, no matter what the outcome.

Spock, with a purposeful stride, moved off to find the recalcitrant
human.

---

Meanwhile, Leonard McCoy stood, staring at Kataq's broad back, handing
him whatever tool the Klingon might request.

Of course, requesting equipment seemed to be one of the last things on
Kataq's mind.

He vastly preferred racist ranting.

"I do not understand why you still live. You are not only a human, but
you are a sickly human. You are going to get us killed." He thrust one
hand back. "Stem-bolt."

McCoy slapped it into his palm, and sighed as the Klingon resumed his
tirade. "Your species is without honor. You will sell us out at the
first sign of trouble. Your bodies are fragile, and your demeanor is
that of a sniveling child—"

All right, that was it. He was dying and, dammit, he didn't have time
for this! The Klingon wanted to hurl insults? He better get ready to
scrap with an expert! "You want to know something about my demeanor?
How about the fact that my brain's about to go dribbling out of my
ears, and I can still make time to knock you around this entire
complex."

Kataq whirled. "You challenge me?" he demanded.

McCoy drew himself up stiffly. "If that's what it takes to get you to
shut up and work with me, then hell yes, I'm challenging you."

The Klingon stared at him. "You would die in a fight with a Klingon,"
he summed up.

McCoy snorted. "I'm the CMO of Starfleet's flagship. You think this is
the first time I've been in personal combat with a Klingon? Son, I was
wiping the floor with your uncles before you were even thinking about
a military career."

Kataq lunged, and McCoy, acting more on reflex more than anything
else, swung the wrench in his hand, hitting Kataq hard in the side of
the skull. The Klingon responded with a brutal punch to his stomach.
McCoy dropped to his knees, wheezing in exaggerated pain. He watched
the Klingon approach, obviously sure of victory.

The two things the great warrior didn't count on, however, was the
fact that Leonard McCoy had no intention of playing fair, and that he
had enough alcohol in him to give him a good deal more courage than he
ever would have had, otherwise. He was ready to press his advantages.

Like surprise. He suddenly surged to his feet, using his head to knock
the wind out of the Klingon. Following up that move without delay, he
slammed the winded alien up against a bulkhead, pulled back a hand,
and swung, halting it less than a centimeter from Kataq's nose.

"I could have hit your nose with the heel of my hand right there and
ended it," he snapped. "Breaking your nose at a certain angle would
force the bone into your brain, at the very least making you a
vegetable for the rest of your life. Now, you want to get back to
work, or does this pathetic human have to repeat this little
demonstration?" He really hoped that Kataq passed on a repeat, because
McCoy was decently sure that this entire battle had been about luck,
and, without it, he would be very dead.

And, suddenly, the Klingon threw his head back and laughed. "You are
indeed a worthy opponent, Leonard McCoy! Tiny warrior doctor!"

"Damn straight," McCoy sniffed, using all the bravado he knew.

The Klingon slapped him on the back, knocking the human staggering
several steps before he could regain his footing. McCoy glanced up
angrily, only to be greeted by a toothy grin.

"So you like me now?" McCoy asked sourly.

"Your courage exceeds your size."

"You keep mentioning my size."

"It is not something I can ignore, but I shall forgive it!"

McCoy sighed, deciding that there were some things that just weren't
worth arguing. "Thanks," he muttered.

"You are welcome. Ratchet."

McCoy glumly passed the Klingon the tool.

"So, tiny warrior doctor, what troubles you?" Kataq asked over his
shoulder as he worked.

"The name's McCoy, and do you mean aside from the slavery?"

The Klingon barked in laughter. "I mean that you are without your
parmaqqay, Tiny McCoy."

"My what?"

"Your beloved."

"Oh . . . him. I'm not sure that's the word I'd use."

Kataq glanced over his shoulder. "He is not your beloved?"

"Do you have any clue how hard it is to love a Vulcan?" McCoy asked
evasively.

"Then why did you marry him?"

"You know, I've been asking myself that same question."

Kataq got a strangely thoughtful look on his face. "What has caused
your problems?"

McCoy frowned, crossing his arms across his thin chest. "You a
marriage counselor?"

Kataq scowled. "No. However, I have given advice to many of my
friends, and they now are all happily married."

McCoy shrugged. One willing ear was as good as any. "We're both
damaged goods. That's causing problems. The bond is slowly destroying
my brain. That causing more. He doesn't want anything to do with me.
That's also a problem."

"I suggest you duel."

"What?" McCoy demanded, taken aback.

"I suggest you duel," Kataq repeated, as if it were most obvious. "You
can vent your anger, work out these problems, and arouse your
passions."

McCoy gaped, not able to correlate Spock and anything remotely having
to do with arousing his passions. "He's a little stronger than I am,"
he reminded the Klingon, trying to stay on neutral ground with this
one.

Kataq nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed. Perhaps that is not the best idea,
then. Broken bones seldom lead to romance in other cultures, I have
found."

"Usually not."

"It is a difficult problem."

"You're preaching to the choir." At Kataq's quizzical look, he
translated, "It means that I completely agree."

"Ah." Again, Kataq grew pensive. "Then, if you cannot duel, you must
think. To me, it seems that you are confused."

"Me?! Why am I the one who's confused?"

"You have forgotten why you have married this man," Kataq answered.
"Tell me, what does he make you feel?"

That question, at least, was easy. "Irritation, mostly. Frustration,
inferiority, worry, anger, provocation . . . do I need to go on?"

"No. It seems to me that he is an ideal mate."

"He's a what? Those are the qualifiers of a good match in your
culture?"

"Tell me, if you did not have him to irritate you, would your life be
as stimulating?"

McCoy blinked, opening his mouth and closing it again. Damn the
Klingon, but he had a point. The fact was that McCoy liked arguing
with Spock. He liked baiting him and being baited back. Sure, there
were moments (and more than a few) that he wanted to kill the Vulcan,
but he did keep McCoy from going stir crazy on that starship. They
kept each other engaged during the long stretches between events, and,
though McCoy hated to admit it, Spock had saved his life on more than
one occasion.

Those pointed ears and not-quite smiles, the teasing and arched
eyebrows sent his way. Those moments of revelation, when something
obviously clicked in Spock's mind, and he was off and running.

Suddenly, that same click happened to McCoy, and he was shocked and
dismayed.

Clearly, it showed on his face, for Kataq offered him that same toothy
smile. "Klingons understand love far better than most," he stated
proudly, and went to work again.

"Oh, my God."

Kataq regarded him with bemusement. "Humans use so many words when
dancing around what is obvious to all."

In horror, McCoy stared at the Klingon, his mouth hanging open and his
eyes filled with disbelief. "I'm in love with him," he gasped.

"Yes."

"I'm in love with Spock!"

"Yes."

McCoy sat down on the floor right where he stood, burying his head in
his hands in despair. "I'm going to die."

"It is possible, but it will be a glorious death."

"Jesus."

"Leonard," a voice rang out.

McCoy was on his feet, regarding the Vulcan who seemed to have simply
popped up out of nowhere. The doctor found himself staring like he had
never seen him before, and he really wasn't sure what was going to
happen. "Spock," he breathed, scared out of his mind.

However, that fear immediately made him angry. Why the hell was he
afraid of Spock? How could he give him that advantage? "What are you
doing here?" he demanded gruffly.

Kataq watched them in bemusement. "I can see where your problems have
arisen."

Spock regarded the Klingon quizzically.

"Tiny McCoy is in love with you, and he blusters because of it. You
should act on your mutual passions so you can aid in our rescue
unhindered by your mutual sexual tension."

He plucked the stem bolt from McCoy's hand as the human gawked at him
in utter horror. In response to the shock, Kataq winked at the doctor
good- naturedly. "Now, I will leave the two of you alone."

He strolled away, swaggering proudly.

Slowly, McCoy turned to the Vulcan, who gazed at him with two
drastically arched eyebrows.

McCoy opened his mouth, closed it, and then managed to say, "Well,
this is damn awkward."

"I am forced to agree."

Wracking his brain, McCoy finally blurted, "There is a real good
explanation for all this. It's sort of a . . . a long story, so bear
with me."

"You are in love with me," Spock summed up.

"Apparently not that long."

"I have come to the conclusion that I am in love with you, as well."

"I—what? You're what? How? When? I mean . . . Jesus!" Spock took a
step toward him and McCoy scrambled back. "Whoa, there! Just . . .
hold up, 'cause I'm still . . . processing."

Spock cocked an eyebrow at him. "This would not be the first time we
have kissed."

"Maybe so, but this is the first time it's all had . . . layers."

"Layers?"

"Meaning, Spock!" McCoy found himself flailing his arms, and quickly
pulled them back. "Dammit, this is bizarre."

"I agree," Spock told him, bemusement glimmering in his eyes.
"However, being that the attraction seems to be mutual,
acknowledgement would seem to be the logical next step to take."

And, oddly enough, that comment seemed to relax McCoy, and he found
himself grinning.

"What do you find amusing?" Spock queried.

"You. You just made sex logical."

"I didn't realize I was speaking of sex."

Something seemed to draw McCoy closer, and, suddenly, he found himself
greatly enjoying the fact that Spock was definitely sending off some
sudden, uncomfortable emanations. That, combined with alcohol, helped
the doctor overcome his former squeamishness to a certain degree. "You
definitely were, my fine, pointy eared . . ."

"T'hy'la," Spock supplied, and then seemed very startled by what he
had just said.

"What did you just call me?"

"T'hy'la," Spock murmured. "It means . . . brother, friend, lover."

McCoy blinked, taken aback. "Um . . . oh. My. That's . . . damn."
McCoy seemed to consider, then came to the sudden realization that he
didn't need to. Sometime during his mini-breakdown, he had realized
that he wanted this. It was not only logical, but, dammit, it was
right, in the most gloriously illogical sense of that word. Pulling
together his alcohol- bolstered courage, he said, "Lover, huh? Maybe I
could do that," he said simply. Thinking over what he had just stated,
he revised quickly, "Not, you know, at this very moment, but . . .
yeah."

"Soon?" Spock wondered.

"Spock, if you haven't noticed, I'm sort of flying by the seat of my
pants, here. I'm making this up as I go."

"Is that a 'no'?"

"It's a 'your guess is as good as mine'."

"I see." Spock seemed to be very confused, not sure what he was
supposed to do at that point. Then, surprisingly, he offered two
fingers, extended toward the human.

McCoy remembered that gesture. It was something he had seen shared
between Spock's parents: a Vulcan embrace, the closest thing to a
public display of affection bondmates would permit themselves.

Bondmates.

McCoy breathed, "Well, I'll be damned," and then extended his hand,
pressing his index and middle finger to Spock's.

Spock looked up to him, face impassive, even as his eyes were alight
in a shy sort of almost-love. McCoy felt that tender part of himself
that he really tried to keep under wraps start to rear its head at
that moment. Without asking, he knew this sort of thing was not
something Spock had ever done before.

McCoy leaned in and planted a quick kiss on the surprised Vulcan's
cheek, whispering in his ear, "Don't be nervous."

"I am incapable of being nervous."

"You just keep telling yourself that, T'hy'la."

With his free hand, McCoy reached up, hiding his own nervousness for
Spock's benefit. The fact was: Spock wasn't the only one who really
hadn't tried anything like this yet. McCoy knew that if he thought
about it too much, he would panic, and probably do something
humiliating. So, he just dove on the proverbial grenade, moved those
few inches, and pressed his lips against Spock's.

The bond flared up, even as McCoy tried to stay in the real world.
This was definitely a corporeal matter that needed resolving.
Apparently, Spock agreed, because those kisses were getting harder and
more urgent with every second.

Maybe 'soon' had been a fine time-frame, after all.

In between kisses, McCoy attempted to convey just that. "We need to
find us a room with a bed." Well, that might be problematic. Their
room was a fair distance away, and at the rate they were going, they
weren't going to make it. Amending, he stated, "Or a couch." Spock
slid slender fingers through McCoy's hair, tousling it and causing the
human to shiver in delight. "Or a nice patch of floor."

"You are drunk," Spock managed, though McCoy noted with a certain
amount of smug pride that it didn't mean Spock stopped kissing him.

"Got a problem with it?"

"Alcohol—" a particularly insistent kiss "—impairs one's logical—" and
another kiss "—capacities."

"Spock," McCoy stated, pulling back, and grinning devilishly at the
slightly dazed Vulcan, "you honestly think I'd be logical, even if I
weren't tipsy?"

"You do have a point. However, it still poses a moral quandary. I
cannot determine whether or not you actually would wish this if you
had not imbibed."

McCoy was becoming irritated. "So, you're, what? Proposing that we
wait until I've sobered up?"

"It would be the correct thing to do."

"Don't you ever get sick of doing the correct thing?"

"No."

McCoy frowned, running his hands through straight, black hair,
delighting in the fact that he could make it stand up oddly. His
fingers found the oft-mocked pointed ears, and, at that moment, he had
to admit a certain aesthetic appreciation. As strange and alien as
they were, they could also be called exotic, and it was the word he
currently felt obliged to use.

Dimly, McCoy was aware that Spock was correct. He was definitely more
than a little tipsy, and it was affecting his behavior. If he were
sober, he'd definitely be much more reticent to break their
self-imposed distance.

Still, right now, Spock's swift series of blinks and the slight
parting of lips that McCoy was causing were more than worth this
transgression. After all, wasn't it he who was always encouraging
Spock to be more human?

"Do you enjoy mussing my hair, Leonard?" Spock asked, and McCoy was
surprised to hear him use such a familiar title with no one else
around.

"I do, indeed."

"They will suspect."

"They already do, Honey."

Spock seemed distinctly taken aback. "Honey?" he deadpanned.

"Well, I considered 'Sugar Plum', but you just ain't that sweet."

Spock shifted uncomfortably, and through his hand, McCoy felt
nervousness, discomfort, fear.

'I dislike this loss of control,' Spock explained. 'I feel that I will
lose my dignity.'

Repressing the urge to tell Spock that losing one's dignity was the
point, even though the message was probably still received by the
Vulcan, McCoy tried to see things from his perspective. Spock, like
any good Vulcan, had limited himself to sex once every seven years,
and since his first Pon Farr had been interrupted, that meant . . .

Spock had really never done anything like this before, with men or
women.

And there was that tenderness, again, that seemed somehow incongruous
when applied to the stoic Vulcan.

Still, he saw past that, just like Spock saw through him. "We'll go as
slow as you want," McCoy assured him. "No matter how much it drives me
crazy."

"That would be . . . most appreciated."

"But I still retain the right to call you a goddamn pointy-eared
tease," McCoy added, enjoying the way Spock blinked in consternation
at him as he tweaked the tip of one of the aforementioned ears for
emphasis.

"Then, I retain the right to call you an illogical human with no sense
of timing as to alcohol consumption."

"Oh, hey, that's not fair. It's not like I knew we were going to try
our hands at the fairy-tale romance thing."

"Leonard," Spock sighed. "It is highly unlikely that we could manage a
'fairy-tale romance thing', even if you were not drunk."

"Excuse me? Which one of us is the romantic, here? I'm from the South,
dammit! Rhett, Scarlet, "Gone with the Wind", and all that hoo-hah."

Spock arched an eyebrow. "Can I assume that I was not meant to
understand that reference?"

McCoy grasped one of Spock's hands in his, conveying the meaning
through that. "No, you cannot."

Spock arched an eyebrow, growing cold in his irritation. "I am simply
stating that you would expedite matters considerably if you did not
use such colloquial phraseology."

McCoy gave as good as he got, glaring angrily at the Vulcan. "You
might want to develop an appreciation for my 'colloquial phraseology',
cause I'm not changing it on your account."

"You are exceedingly stubborn."

"I ain't the only one!"

They had been pulling closer and closer during the altercation, and
McCoy was suddenly aware that their argument was actually turning him
on! Immediately he started to step back, but was pushed up against the
nearest wall and caught up in a startlingly fierce kiss. After several
seconds that were muted for obvious reasons, Spock pulled back, pupils
dilated and turning his eyes completely black.

"You having second thoughts about waiting until I'm sober?" McCoy
demanded breathlessly. "Or third thoughts?"

"This is morally impermissible," Spock stated, hands moving heatedly
across McCoy's torso, eyes troubled.

Grinning, the doctor concurred, "Damn straight."

"It is not logical."

"Hell, no."

"You mentioned a couch?"

"Two doors down, if I'm not mistaken."

Spock set his shoulders and McCoy admired the man's determination. It
now seemed rather inevitable that this would be done, and so, he saw
no reason to delay it further. McCoy was smiling at the Vulcan like he
finally won the argument, which probably troubled Spock to no end, but
it didn't actually prompt him to change his course of action, either.

Sliding his arm around McCoy, he moved in the direction the doctor had
pointed him.

"You know something, Spock?" McCoy queried, his voice tinged with a
hint of wickedness.

"What, Leonard?"

"I think I finally persuaded you to act illogically."

"You have no idea how troubling that fact is, Leonard."

"Really, Honey? 'Cause I thought—"

Suddenly McCoy gasped, staggering. Through the opened link, Spock
immediately sensed that something was incredibly wrong. McCoy's
breathing was erratic at best, at in his ears, Spock heard McCoy's
heart start to beat erratically.

The synaptic pathways controlling his autonomic pulmonary system were
being overwritten.

Immediately, Spock pressed into McCoy's brain, forgetting prior
concerns about the meld in the desperate necessity to stop the
collapse of the doctor's heart. He found the source of the problem
easily enough, but not the solution. The telepathic ability was an
autonomic function, and, as such, would take root in the brain stem,
but the prospect of it overwriting such a vital system was exceedingly
dangerous.

He had to reroute the overwrite immediately. Hurriedly, he searched
the human's brain stem, at last determining what he considered the
least necessary function provided by that area of the brain, and hoped
that they would be able to correct the problem should they ever escape
and return to the Enterprise.

He felt McCoy's heart rate stabilize, even as the man lurched into his
arms, squawking in terror.

Spock pulled out of McCoy's mind as gently as possible, returning to
his own body and supporting the human, who clung to him hard.

"Jesus, Spock," McCoy rasped, "the entire world's tilting. What the
hell is going on with me?"

"Your cardiopulmonary functions were being overwritten by the bond."

"So that's what a heart attack feels like."

"Indeed. In saving your life, I was forced to reroute the damage to a
less vital area of your brain stem. In this case, I chose the centers
responsible for your sense of balance."

"My sense of balance?" McCoy demanded, staring at Spock in
incredulity. "I don't have a sense of balance now?"

"It was an unfortunate necessity doctor. However, it is not one that
we are likely to be afforded again. The next bout will have to be
rerouted to a far more damaging area, such as your ability to sleep."

"Jesus."

"It is better than your ability to swallow," Spock offered.

"Jesus," McCoy repeated, looking ill.

"I am sorry, Leonard," Spock said, securing his hold around the
slender human, who, in turn, tightened his grip on Spock as if
clinging to reality.

"I'm going to die," he intoned, his voice flat and choked. "This bond
is gonna kill me, isn't it?"

Spock opened his mouth, but could find no words.

McCoy looked up, the slightest smile curling lips already tightened
with badly repressed fear, "Why, Spock, are you actually speechless?"

Spock understood immediately, and countered, "Of course not, Doctor, I
was merely attempting to come up with an explanation that you would
actually understand." If McCoy needed an argument to keep him going,
then Spock was more than willing to oblige him.

"I believe I was just insulted."

"You were."

"Green-blooded son of a bitch," McCoy murmured affectionately.

"Stubborn, illogical human."

McCoy tried to move, but almost toppled over, skewing helplessly back
into Spock. His eyes closed as he sagged against the Vulcan. "I can't
walk."

"No."

"Spock, how the hell am I gonna get off this rock if I can't walk?"

"The logical answer would be that I shall carry you."

McCoy gazed at him in bemused admiration. "Damn romantic of you."

"Practical, Leonard. Vulcans do not participate in romance."

"Of course they don't, T'hy'la," McCoy drawled, and grinned at Spock
in cheeky defiance, while at the same time shaking in fear.

Spock couldn't help but admire the dichotomy of it.

He swept McCoy up into his arms, realizing that this was the same
position they had been in at the beginning of this strange situation.
McCoy's head thumped gently against his shoulder, even as the doctor
groaned and closed his eyes.

"Whoa, there," he warned, "let's take that whole movement bit a little
slower from here on out, okay?"

"I am sorry. Did I dizzy you?"

"Honey, right now, looking sideways while breathing 'dizzies me'. That
was a bit more like bungee jumping in a hurricane."

"Bungee jumping?"

"You're touching me. You got no excuse not to know what that is."

Spock frowned, but examined the mental images he was being fed through
the bond, staring in shock at the human. "That is a custom on Earth?"

"More of a pastime, really."

Spock blinked, reassured that he would never fully understand the
human thirst for thrill-seeking, especially in such an extreme form as
strapping oneself to an elastic cord and diving off a bridge.
"Completely illogical."

"Bungee jumping and sex, huh?"

Spock noted that, yes, he had stated that both were illogical.
"Apparently so."

McCoy snorted.

"It would be advisable to find the others and inform them of this new
development," Spock suggested after a brief pause.

He glanced down to see the human do a fairly good impression of his
eyebrow- lift. "Like I said," he drawled, "some damn honeymoon we're
on."

Spock found himself in complete and utter agreement.

---

"Good heavens!" Gessad exclaimed as they walked into the room. Or,
more accurately, when Spock walked into the room, and McCoy, feeling
like a prize idiot, was carried in.

Kataq looked astounded. "I specifically told you not to duel." He shot
a glare at Spock.

"We did not," Spock responded to the Klingon's building animosity
towards him, even as he set McCoy gently down on a chair, righting him
as the doctor immediately began to list to one side.

"It's the bond," McCoy added when he was vertical once more. "Targeted
my cardiopulmonary system, but Spock managed to reroute it."

"Of course," Gessad murmured. "The brain stem would be a very likely
target for such a phenomenon."

"What faculties have you lost?" Telara demanded, sitting in an
over-large chair like some sort of judgmental bird of prey.

"Sense of balance. I can't walk."

Gessad blew out his breath in frustration. "That will cause distinct
difficulties. Amos doesn't like damaged goods."

"He will kill Leonard," Spock realized.

"After his performance during Amos' tour? I wouldn't doubt it."

"You know," McCoy groused, "I'm getting damn sick of my life being in
danger."

"I, too, am growing weary of it," Spock commented archly.

McCoy shot him a venomous look which the Vulcan apparently chose to
ignore.

"We must escape immediately, then" Kataq pronounced. "It would be
dishonorable of us to sit by as a man such as Tiny McCoy is given an
ignoble death."

"So, if he were dying in a battle, you wouldn't lift a finger?" Telara
demanded.

"To die in battle is a great honor. Why would I stop such a thing?"

"Typical Klingon."

"Can we please get back on track?" Gessad broke in, thoroughly
exasperated.

"Thank you," McCoy supported.

Gessad shot him a smile before continuing, "It's clear that the times
will have to be moved up considerably. How fast can we be ready?"

"We can't," Telara snapped. "We had a schedule. If we work according
to it, we'll escape without difficulty. But if we attempt to change
the times, we'll run undue risks." She stared down Spock, as if it
were his decision that would decide the matter. "It would be logical
to let one die, if it means that four others can live."

Spock reached down and placed a hand on McCoy's shoulder, squeezing in
reassurance. "Do not lecture me on logic."

"Someone should," she snapped. "You'd let him live for personal
reasons, for your feelings. You are no Vulcan."

"Neither are you, so it is unlikely you would understand the
calculations I've made to determine the proper course of action. To
simply risk five lives to save one that would otherwise certainly be
terminated is an acceptable risk. One cannot give in to a real danger
to prevent a potential threat."

Telara fell silent, but her dark eyes glittered in malice. To his
surprise, McCoy realized that it was not directed against the Vulcan,
but against himself.

The whole universe was against him, he swore to God.

Well, maybe not Gessad, who immediately stated, "I agree. It's worth
the risk if we all get out of here alive."

"Besides," Kataq enthused, "the greater the danger, the greater the
glory."

"Unless that glory gets us killed because of some dead weight," Telara
snapped.

Kataq gave her his toothy grin, which seemed much more pointed when it
was turned upon the Romulan. "Heqhlu'meH QaQ jajvam," he enunciated.

Spock cocked an eyebrow at the Klingon, and McCoy blinked.

It was Gessad, though, who ventured, "Care to enlighten us as to what
that means?"

"It is a great Klingon phrase: today is a good day to die."

"Thanks," McCoy stated, grimacing, "but I'd just as soon live."

"Quite," Gessad sniffed.

"What are the plans for our escape?" Spock prompted. "We must start
implementing them immediately."

"Kataq is in charge of taking care of Amos and his device, since he
can function longer than any of the rest of us after it's been
deactivated," Telara snapped. "Gessad shall sabotage the comm. system
so no one can call for reinforcements before I can take them down. My
job is the guards."

"What must I do?" Spock asked.

"Keep your bondmate out of trouble, Vulcan. If we're going to do this,
we're going to minimize the likelihood that we die on account of him."

"Glad to help," McCoy sniped.

Telara looked at him with loathing.

Gessad rose fluidly. "I'll get to work on the comm. system. Telara?"

"Don't get killed."

"Thank you," Gessad sniffed.

"We'll . . . stay here," McCoy concluded lamely, feeling like a
particularly useless lump. A lump that couldn't even sit up without
aid. Telara may be as cold as a well-digger's ass in the Klondike, but
she was also decently accurate: he was a liability.

Kataq looked at him in sympathy, and McCoy realized that the Klingon
was misinterpreting his remorse to mean that he wanted to get out
there and get some of that glorious battle. "When I am done with Amos,
I shall come back for the two of you. Can you carry a phaser, Tiny
McCoy?"

"Carry? Yes. Aim? It's questionable." At the Klingon's look of
disappointment, McCoy, to his surprise, found himself amending, "But
I'll try."

He grinned, "Then carry one you shall. And your deeds will be the
stuff of songs."

McCoy sighed. "Always been a fan of bluegrass."

Kataq blinked in slight confusion, but didn't ask McCoy to clarify
that. The doctor was silently glad. He doubted if he had the strength
to explain.

Gessad's eyes swept the assembled party. "I'll trip the alarm if I'm
caught. Don't come for me."

"We won't," Telara purred.

"Be careful," McCoy added.

"I am Cardassian."

"Can I assume it's one in the same?" McCoy asked good-naturedly, a
slight smile creasing his face.

Gessad grinned. "Well, I do hate to make broad generalizations."

"But you concede the point."

Gessad glanced at Spock, and for a moment, McCoy was aware that there
was an unspoken communication between them. Then, Gessad looked back
to him and nodded, "Be careful, yourself."

And, with that, the Cardassian slipped out of the room.

Telara rose. "I must get some supplies if I'm to fulfill my part in
this." She nodded to the men, "Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me." She
considered. "Or even if you don't."

And she, too, left.

Kataq watched her leave. "I admire a warrior woman," he muttered, "but
I feel that there is something deceptive about her."

Spock glanced at the Klingon. "I was not aware that Klingons were so
perceptive."

"A Federation perspective often dims one's view of Klingons," Kataq
pointed out. "I believed before our meeting that humans were weaklings
and Vulcans were cowards. But Tiny McCoy has power, despite his
unfortunate size."

"And my courage?" Spock queried.

"Has yet to be seen."

Kataq pulled a short, handmade knife from his jacket.

"Whoa!" spluttered McCoy. "Let's save the fighting until after we
escape, huh?"

Kataq laughed. "This is not for you, Tiny McCoy, nor for your
parmaqqay. This is for Amos."

"Oh. In that case, make sure you say 'hi' from me," McCoy drawled.

Kataq nodded his shaggy head. "I shall."

And then he left, and they were alone.

"Well," McCoy said during the silence that drifted into the room.

Spock was staring at him.

"Yes?" McCoy prompted. "You wanted something?"

"You were very . . . familiar with Gessad."

McCoy regarded him for several seconds before breaking into a slight,
mischievous grin. "Spock, are you jealous?"

"I am incapable of jealousy."

"Uh-huh. Sing me another one."

Spock, who still had his hands on McCoy's shoulders, instantly
inferred his meaning and frowned. "Why must you constantly question
everything I say?"

"Cause you need it, and 'cause I'm a contrary sort of fellow."

The tiniest of smiles tugged at the corners of Spock's mouth. "You are
a very frustrating bondmate."

Looking as smug as a man could who currently needed aid just to sit up
straight, McCoy drawled, "Admit it, Honey, you love it when I push
your buttons."

"It may be true," Spock murmured, "but you will not hear me admit it."

"And, see, that's why I like you," McCoy said, feeling embarrassed,
but this needed to be said, now that danger was looming up to overtake
them. "I would have gone space crazy a thousand times over if I didn't
have you around to frustrate all hell out of me."

"You, too . . . frustrate all hell out of me."

McCoy broke out into a grin. "Well, then, Spock, Honey, seems to me
we're doing pretty well for ourselves."

Spock ran his fingers down McCoy's arm and took up his hand.
Concentrating, McCoy extended his index and middle finger, and felt
them press against Spock's.

McCoy looked up from their joined fingers, fighting down the nausea
that accompanied the movement, and said forcefully, "We're gonna make
it through this, Spock. We're two tough ol' birds who have seen too
many things and fought too many battles to get ourselves killed by
some backwater Mafia boss."

"Although your wording leaves something to be desired, I must agree."

"I like Gessad," McCoy said, aware of his apparent non sequitur, but
wanting to be very clear at this point. "He's intelligent, funny,
witty, talks better than a liquored-up politician, and, speaking of,
he's good to get drunk with."

Spock looked like he wanted to pull out of this two-fingered embrace.

But McCoy wasn't done, "But he doesn't drive me nuts. He doesn't want
to debate every little thing. So, I'd probably get bored with him. Or
he'd get bored with me. Either way, it's not something that lasts. I
gotta have some conflict in my life or I get stir-crazy. That's you,
Honey. Adversarial, Spock? You take the cake, and I love you for it."

Spock stared at him. "What—"

"You heard me," McCoy snapped, "I love you, you damn pointy-eared
pixie. I like Gessad. I like him a lot. Under different circumstances,
that might lead to some other things. But not now, 'cause I might like
him, but I love you, and no alien xenobiologist's gonna change that
unless you really get me mad."

Spock looked bemused. "So, then, you wish me to make you angry, but
not too angry."

"Never said this relationship was going to be easy."

"And I never assumed it would be."

"Good, 'cause I want you in it for a damn long time."

"That, Leonard, seems to be inevitable."

McCoy laughed. "Look at us: about to face down death, and we're
spouting poetry at one another. You do bring out some strange impulses
in me, Mister Spock."

"And I would definitely agree that the reactions you have caused in me
have been rather aberrant, Doctor McCoy."

"So, strange and aberrant, huh? Think we can make it work?"

"Do you wish me to quote you the odds?"

"Don't even think about it, Honey. I may not have a sense of balance,
but I still think I can get one good wallop in if I really try."

"I will endeavor to remember that."

McCoy smiled and leaned in to kiss Spock. Unfortunately, he listed too
far and his head ended up colliding with the Vulcan's shoulder instead
of his face. Voice muffled in Spock's shoulder, he murmured, "All
right, we need to escape if only so I can get my sense of balance back
and ravish you properly."

"Ravish, Leonard?" Spock asked, sounding distinctly amused.

"You questioning my phraseology?"

"Every day."

"Shut up and kiss me."

Spock, maneuvering him carefully, to keep the now constant nausea at a
minimum, pressed his lips to McCoy's.

McCoy hummed softly in approval. As much as he loved to argue with
Spock, this new activity was definitely becoming a very close second.
He couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't some way he could combine
arguing and kissing. It would at least give him hours of amusement,
and Spock did love experiments.

'Leonard, your thoughts are increasingly distracting.'

'Hey, you. Been a while since I've seen you around here.'

'You cannot see me. I am a disembodied presence in your mind.'

'It's an expression!'

'I know.'

'Heh.'

'Leonard?'

'There goes hours of experimentation.'

'You are referring to your desire to combine arguing and kissing?'

'Sure enough.'

'It does seem to no longer be an issue.'

'What are we going to do now, huh?'

Spock pulled back, arching an eyebrow at him. "Leonard, I believe that
you, of all people, can come up with numerous activities that could
occupy our time when we return to the ship."

McCoy's eyebrows shot up, even as he grinned in delight. "Why, Spock,
that was almost overt of you."

"Indeed. You are a bad influence, I surmise."

McCoy reached out and grasped the collar of Spock's robes, keeping his
eyes fixed on the Vulcan's for some sort of center. "Honey, you ain't
seen nothin' yet." With that, he pulled Spock back down into the kiss,
adding a fire to it this time around, wanting him to remember this
during the coming trials.

'Kataq could walk in and see us thus,' Spock noted.

'Spock, if you hadn't noticed, Kataq wouldn't mind. In fact, come to
think of it, he'd be thrilled.'

Spock's mental voice took on a tone of mild amusement. 'A romantic
Klingon.'

'Wonders never cease.'

McCoy struggled to press closer, forgetting his own disability for a
moment in his quest to break Spock's eternal composure.

It didn't work out as planned, though, as he toppled off the couch,
caught by Spock just before his face had a rude and humiliating
encounter with the floor. He stared at the ugly, shag carpeting and
blinked, trying to clear his vision and his head as they both swam.

"I hate this planet," he stated.

"I've gathered this."

"We need to get back to the Enterprise before I keel over and die on
account of all these near-misses we've been having, Spock. A man can
only take so many of those, you know? Bound to be consequences."

Spock righted him once more, looking bemused, though his dark eyes
were sympathetic. "It does seem that the circumstances have
continually blocked our efforts at intimacy."

"The whole damn universe is conspiring against us, you mean," McCoy
corrected.

"Being that we are only currently occupying a small part of the 'whole
damn universe', that is a very risky assumption to make."

"And yet."

Spock considered him. "Perhaps it would be best if you lay down. Then,
at least, you do not run the risk of 'keeling over' as you put it."

McCoy shook his head. "I'm not going to act like some damn invalid."

"Leonard," Spock said with infinite patience, "you are some damn
invalid."

McCoy jabbed a finger at the Vulcan, then swayed woozily. "Now wait
just one goddamn minute! I am absolutely not—"

Suddenly, the entire world seemed to turn upside down as McCoy's
diaphragm contracted painfully. He was aware of Spock stubbornly
attempting to hold on to him, but even the Vulcan could only go a few
moments before his arms dropped away like leaden weights.

McCoy promptly fell off the couch again, and Spock wasn't there to
catch him. He hit the floor hard, and his vision blurred even more as
his head cracked against the carpet with an unsettling thunk.
Instinctually, McCoy curled into himself, struggling to inhale. It was
impossible, though, he realized.

He had stopped counting how many times in the past few days he was
certain he was going to die. It had almost become routine. Even so, he
hated this fiercely. It just seemed unfair that he should die here,
especially considering all the things he was hoping to do with, and
to, Spock.

And now, all of that was never going to happen.

Then, just as suddenly as it had contracted, McCoy's diaphragm
released. He gasped in a lungful of air, heedless of the burning which
immediately flooded his entire chest. It was oxygen, and for the
moment, it was all that mattered.

Actually, for several moments it was all that mattered, and he lay,
gasping in air like a landed fish and thanking whatever twist of fate
kept saving his ass right in the nick of time.

Then, after about thirty seconds, he felt a hand settle on his arm.
"It appears," Spock managed, his voice only slightly strained, "that
Kataq has dispatched Amos."

"Didn't seem to work out quite as well as we'd hoped."

"And yet we are alive, so it is logical to conclude that Kataq was
successful, at least."

"He was," a voice boomed from the door. McCoy didn't turn his head for
fear of throwing up, but he knew the Klingon's voice anywhere. "Come
Vulcan, gather Tiny McCoy. We must hurry."

McCoy felt arms gather him, and closed his eyes to attempt to quell
the reaction that his quick ascent into Spock's embrace caused. When
he was decently sure there would be no more fast dips or lifts, he
opened his eyes and saw the Klingon extent an old-model phaser.
"Here," he said, "you may carry Amos' weapon as we escape. Fight
well."

McCoy smiled wanly. "I'll do my damndest."

So, they moved out. The Klingon led, the Vulcan took up the rear, and
McCoy, the doctor mused, was left hanging in the middle.

Nothing else to do but make lousy puns, was there?

Then, from around the corner in front of them, Gessad moved quickly
and quietly. "The comm. system is most assuredly down."

"It took you longer than expected," Kataq stated.

"Someone must have found our work. I was forced to backtrack a bit."

"That does not bode well," Spock noted.

"No," Gessad agreed quietly, "it doesn't. Hopefully Telara has held up
her end of things. If not, this is likely going to be a very short
escape." He glanced at McCoy, "How are you?"

"More seasick than I've ever been, possibly concussed, and pretty
bruised, but still alive, so I can't complain." He considered that for
a second. "Much."

"Leonard," Spock murmured softly, "I trust in your ability to complain
in any given circumstance."

"Well, somebody's got to say what everybody else is thinking," McCoy
grumbled.

"This is beginning to look bad," Gessad said, interrupting their muted
conversation. "Telara should be back by now."

"It is possible that she was killed," Kataq pointed out.

"Which would mean that there is at least one armed guard on the
premises, most likely looking for us as we speak."

"What would you have us do?" Kataq snapped. "Run and hide like
sniveling rodents?"

"If I thought it would do any good, then, yes, I would have us do
that." The Cardassian sighed. "However, since it's doubtful that
running and hiding would actually keep us from summary execution, I
suppose we might as well die in an attempt to escape."

"Then, on that at least, we agree," Kataq snorted.

"Wonders never cease," the sharp, clear voice of Telara sounded.

Everyone, even McCoy, looked to see her stride towards them briskly.

"I take it from your continued existence that your mission was a
success?" Gessad inquired politely.

"Draw your own conclusions."

"How far to the exit?" McCoy asked.

"And what will we do when we actually escape?" Spock added.

This seemed to make their three companions pause.

Spock arched his eyebrow at them. "I see. Can I propose, then, that we
do not attempt a physical escape from here, but instead reroute the
communications system to broadcast to orbit?"

McCoy looked up at him. "The Enterprise?"

"I believe it should be here by now."

"That's actually a decent idea," Gessad mused. "After all, survival
outside of this compound for such . . . colorful characters as
ourselves would not be a likely occurrence."

"Especially now that we've killed a crime boss," McCoy added.

"This is ludicrous!" Telara snapped. "We would change our well-laid
plans now? After all that we have accomplished?!"

"Even a warrior recognizes that to survive to revel in his glory is
better than death. Especially death at the hands of such dishonorable
mongrels," Kataq said.

Telara's eyes narrowed. "I should have known."

"What, that we'd want to give ourselves the best chances at survival?"
McCoy drawled. "Yeah, you should have."

Spock was already on the move, passing Telara to go to the Cardassian.
"Where is the nearest access port to the communications system?"

Gessad turned. "The one I sabotaged, actually. Come."

McCoy, bouncing unhappily in Spock's arms as they picked up the pace,
found himself watching the Romulan woman who took up the rear. Her
look was positively venomous, and McCoy began to have a distinctly
uneasy feeling about this whole plan.

Too many variables that were just begging to go wrong.

However, despite his certainty that they were all going to die, the
small group reached the access port without incident. After a moment's
consideration, Spock set McCoy on the floor, and he and Gessad got to
work on the panel.

The air was tense as they worked in near silence, only occasionally
muttering in a language McCoy didn't understand, but often referred to
as 'technobabble'. Their hands flew over controls, and unplugged wires
only to put them in other terminals.

Then, suddenly, out of the speakers, a voice crackled, "—ise, please
respond. I repeat, this is the U. S. S. Enterprise, please respond."

It was Uhura.

She had never sounded so damn good as she did just then.

Spock hit a button on the panel in a manner that could almost be
described as hasty. "Spock here," he stated.

"Spock?!" the communications officer gasped. "Thank God! We were
beginning to think—well, never you mind what we were beginning to
think. I'll just—"

And then a voice cut in to the transmission. "Spock?" Kirk's voice
asked, an edge of urgency to it, "is that you?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Is Bones with you?"

"He is, as well as three other aliens that have been imprisoned with
us. It would be prudent to beam us up quickly."

"We've been trying to scan for you, but we think you're in a shielded
location. We're tracing the comm. signal now. If we have to, we'll do
a mass transport, so get everyone as close to the panel as possible."

"Noted, Captain. May I ask—?"

Suddenly, the panel exploded in sparks, and Spock leaped back to avoid
them. Gessad was not so lucky, and was thrown against the wall next to
McCoy, sliding down in unconsciousness.

The remaining three men turned to stare in horror at Telara, who stood
with a Romulan disruptor in her hand. "We are not going to the ship,"
she stated flatly.

McCoy protested, "Now wait just one damn—"

She fired again, and the panel above McCoy exploded, raining sparks on
him as he yelped in pain.

"We are not going to the ship," she restated. "I would rather die on
this planet than in a Federation prison."

"We would not stop you if you wished to stay behind," Spock said,
remarkably calmly, though he edged slowly towards McCoy.

Telara noticed. "If you move another inch," she stated, "the next shot
goes through his throat." Calmly, she pointed the disruptor at McCoy.

Spock stopped.

"Why would you destroy all of our chances of escape merely to ensure
that you alone stay?" Kataq growled. "Let us beam up and leave you to
do as you please."

"I need you here. To survive in a place like this, one must have
money," she said, her lips curling. "Amos cannot be the only Mafia
boss who is interested in collecting rare specimens from other
worlds."

"And what makes you think they won't collect you, too?" McCoy snapped
furiously.

"Because I'm better for them outside. If they capture me, I am a
resource with only one use. Outside I can provide them with so much
more."

"This is foolish!" Kataq snapped, charging forward.

Telara dropped him with one well-placed blast.

McCoy cried out, but couldn't move to check the Klingon's condition.

Telara strode forward, stepping over Kataq's body with lithe grace,
her eyes fixed on Spock. She passed Gessad, who was still unconscious,
and then, viciously kicked McCoy, knocking him to his side and nearly
rendering him unconscious. He gagged and, before he could stop it,
threw up for the second time in as many days.

Telara moved past him slightly, enough so Spock's view of McCoy was
blocked.

"Now, Vulcan," she said, "not to be overly dramatic, but you have a
choice to make. The fact is that I could use a partner in this
venture. You would, of course, be ideal, what with your superior
strength and your capacity for reason. Therefore, you can aid me, and
I promise that your bondmate will be well cared for. If, however, you
refuse, I will kill him myself."

"You are aware that I will kill you, even if you should succeed,"
Spock stated, his voice every bit as chill as Telara's.

"Of course," she acquiesced. "It is only to be expected."

"The Federation is a far better option than this planet."

"You will forgive me if I disagree, Spock. Any freedom is better than
none."

"We would return your to your people."

"Disgraced. To be rescued by the Federation would ruin me. No, Vulcan,
the only logical course of action is to stay here and make what life I
can."

"Even at such a cost to those you have lived and worked with?"

"There is a Romulan saying that states: never make a friend you might
have to kill later. These are not my friends. I would sell them as
soon as look at them."

"Then why offer me a partnership?"

"Because I know that to survive in this place requires more than one
person. You cannot lie to me, Spock, and you are stronger than any
human. You are the ideal choice."

"It would mean leaving my bondmate, and that is something I cannot
do."

"Come now, Spock, surely you don't think me a fool. I've already
divined the true nature of your relationship. You bonded with the
human to save him from execution. He is no more your mate than I am."

"You are correct in your first supposition, but he is my mate, and,
therefore, I shall not leave him."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she murmured in something almost approaching
compassion. "You, of all of them, I did not actually wish to kill."

McCoy had heard enough. This scenario obviously made sense from her
perspective, but he didn't actually care. Their fate wasn't this
damned woman's choice to make.

Besides, she was threatening his bondmate.

So, he did the only thing he could do. He got his feet under him and,
sending himself into a mess of vertigo, pushed himself roughly to his
feet and let gravity and momentum propel him forward. He reached out,
and, filled to brimming with nausea, he slammed his fingers home at
the Romulan's juncture of shoulder and neck in a perfect Vulcan nerve
pinch. Spock would be damn proud.

He waited for the Romulan to fall.

Only Telara didn't.

McCoy stared in cheated horror as she turned sharply and fired on him
point blank. Even over the roaring in his ears, McCoy heard the whine
of the disruptor. It felt strange, like someone had socked him in the
gut, and he felt his body hit the wall, slewing over and down as he
crashed to the floor in a graceless, boneless pile.

The last thing he saw was Spock lunging for Telara.

And then, strangely, he heard a hum.

---

The light was bright as all hell when Leonard McCoy opened his eyes.
In fact, for a second, he was completely convinced that he really was
in some horrible afterlife, and the Devil was leaning over him.

Then, he realized that it was only Spock.

Then, from somewhere outside his field of view a warm voice said, "You
know, Doctor, I've begun to question why they always let you go on
these missions. You never seem to come back quite right."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "M'Benga?" he asked.

"Hmm?"

"Shut up."

Then, a new voice entered the conversation, laughing. "Now, Bones, is
that any way to talk to the man who's patched you up so well?"

"Jim, is that you?"

Kirk's face moved into his sight. "Sure is."

McCoy regarded the assembled mass of people hovering over him in
bemusement. "Guess I know how Dorothy felt, huh?"

Spock looked quizzical, while Kirk smiled at him. "Who does that make
me, then?" the captain teased.

"One would hope the Scarecrow."

Kirk shook his head in good-natured disparagement. "Are you trying to
tell me something?"

McCoy faked innocence. "Whatever would lead you to that idea, Captain,
Sir?"

Kirk laughed again. "And what about our Mr. Spock?"

McCoy got a mischievous grin on his face. "The lion, of course."

Kirk didn't follow, but as Spock surreptitiously brushed his hand
against McCoy's he arched an eyebrow at the grinning Doctor.

Immediately, the bond springing up between them, McCoy became privy to
more information than simply the sexual innuendoes of "The Wizard of
Oz".

Spock hadn't told Kirk about their bonding. M'Benga knew, but Spock
had held off informing the captain.

Smart man.

As if reading their minds, Kirk said, "What I don't understand is how
you ended up as bad as you did. The injuries I understand, but the
brain damage? How did that happen?"

"Brain damage which, by the way, I've fixed," M'Benga added. "A simple
Vulcan procedure."

The subtext of that statement was in no way lost on the doctor.
"Jeffrey, you're a saint," McCoy told him.

"How well I know that."

Carefully at first, and then with more certainty, McCoy swung his feet
over the edge of the biobed and sat up, glancing at the assembled men.

Kirk, particularly, was eyeing him with careful scrutiny.

"What?" McCoy demanded.

"You're being evasive," Kirk pointed out.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're also not a great liar."

McCoy set his face in stubborn lines and Kirk sighed.

"Does this have something to do with certain finds you made on the
planet?" the captain suggested. "The ones we're currently holding in
our brig?"

At that, the entire nightmarish final scene on Harmageiddon II
returned to McCoy's mind. He remembered watching in horror as Gessad
and then Kataq were brought down, and that last image of Spock
grappling with the equally powerful Telara after his own aborted
attempt at a nerve-pinch.

Kirk had said guests.

Plural.

"Can we see them?" McCoy pressed.

Kirk glanced at M'Benga.

"He's sound enough," the other doctor conceded.

Kirk shrugged. "You heard the man. Come on."

Spock immediately stepped up to help McCoy, who found the tactile
contact between them much more awkward on the Enterprise. Here duty
and expectations came back to the fore, while they could be pushed to
the back of his mind on the planet.

'You are finding the concept of our continued bonding to be
troubling,' Spock commented.

'It's tough to incorporate into my sense of how things around here
run.'

'The change would be imperceptible to the rest of the crew, Leonard.
As we have proved, we will not discontinue our . . . discussions, even
if we are bonded.'

'Arguments, Spock. We have arguments. You don't call names in
"discussions".'

'I do not "call names" at any time, Leonard.'

'You implying something, Honey?'

'Whatever would lead you to that assumption, Doctor, Sir?'

McCoy shot Spock a surprised look. 'Was that an attempt at humor?'

'Certainly not.'

Kirk glanced back and caught then staring at one another. "Gentlemen?"
he queried, sounding uncertain.

McCoy shook himself. "It's nothing, Jim. Spock's just . . . full of
surprises, is all."

Kirk eyed him, and McCoy knew that he didn't have his captain at all
convinced, but Kirk decided to let it go for the time being and
resumed his brisk pace.

McCoy and Spock both knew that they couldn't keep this deception up
for much longer. Jim Kirk may be brash, and at times even arrogant,
but one couldn't possibly accuse him of being dim. He already knew
something was up, and before long, he'd be wanting an explanation.

But, for the time being, they had other, more immediate concerns.

They continued on to the brig, only to find it in an uproar. Security
personnel were hustling about, and Giotto stood hip-deep in the middle
of it, barking out orders.

"Report," Kirk snapped, dropping his casual act like an old sweater.
It was a talent McCoy couldn't help but admire.

"We don't know how she did it, Sir," Giotto managed.

"Who did what?" Kirk prompted, but Spock was moving beyond him.

"Telara," Spock stated, and McCoy felt his insides go cold at her
name. At Kirk's questioning look, the Vulcan added, "I apologize,
Captain. I was so focused on Doctor McCoy that I failed to inform you
of the events that transpired on the planet's surface. Telara is the
Romulan woman you beamed up with us."

McCoy also pushed into the room, and immediately saw what all the fuss
was about. Telara lay in a graceful sprawl on the floor, and aside
from the green cast of her skin and eyes, she seemed perfectly poised,
as always.

He knelt at the woman's side, checking her in a more or less cursory
manner. After all, he knew what he was going to find. "She's dead,
Jim," he said, looking up at the captain. "Fried herself on the force
field, though Lord knows how she did it."

"Then the Lord and I share something in common," a wry voice stated.

McCoy spun, shocked to find himself regarding Gessad in another
containment field. "Why is he in there?" the doctor demanded.

"Sorry, Sir," Giotto tried to explain. "When you were beamed up,
things got very confused. I decided to put them all in separate cells
until this business got sorted out."

"As I was saying," Gessad broke in, "Telara accessed the field through
a wiring juncture in the wall. Then, she tampered with the settings
until she made the charge of the force field lethal. A rather simple
and elegant suicide for a woman who refused to be captured alive."

"But why?" McCoy demanded. "Why the hell'd she refuse?"

"To avoid a return to her people in disgrace," Spock stated simply,
regarding her body impassively. "To return to them in anything less
than victory would be utter ruin in her eyes."

"She took the coward's way out," another voice from the next cell
spat.

McCoy couldn't believe his eyes. "Kataq?"

The Klingon looked amused. "Surprised to see me, Tiny McCoy?"

Ignoring Kirk's stifled snicker behind him, the doctor said, "More
that you're here, and not on a slab in my morgue."

The Klingon threw his head back and laughed. "It takes more than a
Romulan disruptor to kill a Klingon." Then, he added, slightly more
sheepishly, "And apparently she was not aware of Klingon physiology
and at what point on my body a shot would be lethal." He shrugged
eloquently. "It appears that luck more than anything was on my side."

McCoy smiled. "Sounds all right to me." He then turned to the captain.
"Jim, these two men saved both of our lives several times over."

Kirk stared hard at their unlikely saviors. "You pick up the strangest
friends, Bones," he told the doctor. Even so, he signaled Giotto, who
dropped the fields imprisoning Gessad and, after a slight hesitation,
Kataq.

The Klingon stepped out and clapped McCoy on the shoulder. "It is good
to see you on your feet once more, Tiny McCoy. I worried that your
days as a warrior were over, and I worried also for your parmaqqay,
should you die."

Kirk looked puzzled. "Your what?"

McCoy pretended not to hear him. "Well, I'm a tough old bird."

"That you are," Gessad murmured.

McCoy turned to him. "You! Last I saw, you got yourself electrocuted."

"An unfortunate turn of events, I admit. I was mildly concussed, but
it's nothing that my people can't fix."

McCoy heard alarms in his head go off, even as the ship clamored with
proximity warnings to echo them.

"Your people—"

Gessad smiled deviously at him. "I'm afraid I was not quite forthright
with you, my dear human doctor. You see, my shuttle did crash, but it
was not alone." He scanned the faces of the other stunned humans in
the brig, and the one Vulcan face, impassive but for the single raised
eyebrow. "I admit that I did not have much hope for relations in this
direction from Cardassia at first, but you have forced me to
reconsider."

The Cardassian stepped away from anyone else and raised his chin.
"Perhaps we will meet again under more official circumstances, Leonard
McCoy. It would be, I imagine, a distinct pleasure."

Then, before anyone could stop him, Gessad grasped the collar of his
shirt, which bore a single brooch. In a voice that rang with a sudden,
unexpected power and authority, he called, "This is landing party one.
Transport."

And before their eyes, Gessad dissolved into a pillar of light, adding
as he left, "Until then, Doctor."

McCoy couldn't honestly say he was surprised. In fact, he was
grinning. Clever son of a bitch did have a taste for the dramatic.

"Until then," he responded to the absent form of his enigmatic friend.

"Did you know—" Kirk began angrily.

"Not a clue. It was just fitting, is all."

The captain rolled his eyes and glanced at the Klingon. "I don't
suppose you have any fireworks show you want to dazzle us with, too?"

"A Klingon needs no such flair. All I ask is that you take me to the
borders of Klingon territory and return me to my people."

It was obvious that Kirk didn't actually like that idea at all, but
this man had saved the lives of his first officer and CMO. A debt was
owed.

Kirk nodded tightly.

Kataq smiled. McCoy realized that, even though he himself had earned
Kataq's respect, old prejudices ran deep, and this was Captain James
T. Kirk, enemy of the Empire.

He should be glad they weren't engaged in a full-on brawl by now, the
two hot-heads.

Wading in to prevent tensions from rising any more, McCoy stepped up
to the massive Klingon and asked, "What about you? You took a phaser
blast to the chest. Klingon physiology or no, that's going to do some
damage."

"A warrior—"

"Wants full access to all his capacities," McCoy stated. "Come on,
Mister. Let's get you to the infirmary."

---

So, the day passed, and McCoy seemed to be refereeing Kataq and Kirk's
silent challenges and skirmishes, attempting to treat the recalcitrant
Klingon, and, at some point in time, corner Jim so they could talk
about what had happened.

That opportunity for the last task finally came at dinner, when Spock
entered the sickbay just as McCoy finished passing the dermal
regenerator over Kataq's chest for the final time. M'Benga's shift was
done, and McCoy had sent Chris home already, so that just left the
three of them.

"That'll do it," he said. "You're gonna need to relax for a while to
give that time to fully heal, but you're going to be fine."

A security guard waited, and then escorted the Klingon to his
quarters. Kataq went along more or less willingly after giving the two
of them one last, less than subtle wink.

And then, Spock and McCoy were left alone in the room.

"We need to tell him," the doctor blurted out.

"I agree. That is why I have contacted the captain and requested his
presence in his cabin for dinner."

"You what?!"

"I believed that you would prefer to tell him in private."

"If course I would, dammit, but I thought you would have talked it
over with me before making this sort of plan!"

"You were not there when the opportunity arose. I apologize."

"Goddammit, Spock! This is completely—" Cutting himself off, McCoy sat
down on the edge of one of the beds and ran a hand through his hair.
"Who knew it would be this difficult? Just thinking about doing this
is making my stomach do jumping jacks."

Spock regarded him quizzically, but didn't ask. Instead he said, "He
is our captain, and, therefore, deserves to know about something that
so highly impacts his senior staff."

"Yeah, Spock," McCoy snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then,
more softly, he added, "I know. It's just . . . it's Jim. I'd hate to
think of him not approving of this." He waved his hand vaguely between
the two of them.

Spock crossed to stand before him and McCoy glanced up at him. "His
blessing is very important to you, then?"

"He's one of my closest friends. Yes, it's important."

"Then to tell him seems only—"

"You say logical, and there'll be consequences."

"—Rational."

For a second, the doctor couldn't decide whether he wanted to shout at
Spock or laugh. At last, deciding on a compromise, McCoy pulled
himself to his feet and kissed the Vulcan hard, enjoying the momentary
surprise he evoked. Then, he pulled back and said, "Let's get this
done, then."

They moved quietly out of sickbay and headed resolutely for the
captain's cabin. As they went, McCoy couldn't help but wonder what,
precisely, he was getting himself into. Once they told Kirk, this
thing between him and Spock was going to be official. They would be as
good as married.

Married.

It was an interesting thought. After all, they were pretty much
married in the Vulcan sense. To make it real for McCoy, though, what
they really needed to do was go through the entire wedding rigmarole.
Suits, party and all.

And he would like nothing better than to have Jim Kirk be the one to
preside over the ceremony.

Jesus, was he in deep, or what?

Before he knew it, they had reached their destination. McCoy froze in
front of the door.

Spock regarded him. "Leonard?"

"Did it just hit you that we're actually doing this?"

"No, I have been aware of that fact since I arranged this meeting with
the captain. I cannot understand how you would not be aware of it."

"It's—" McCoy blew out his breath in a frustrated sigh, "—never mind.
Lord save me from literal-minded Vulcans."

And then, suddenly, the door opened, and Kirk was peering out. "I
thought I heard you two out here. Are you having a good time standing
in the hall?" At their continued glares at one another, he added,
"Apparently not." At their continued silence, Kirk demanded,
"Gentlemen, are we having dinner or aren't we? Because if we're not, I
do have several duty rosters that need my approval."

Spock slowly turned to Kirk. "We have something to discuss with you,
Sir."

"So I gathered," Kirk murmured wryly.

The three of them filed into the captain's cabin, and McCoy shifted
uncomfortably from foot to foot, very aware of the thin ice they were
skating on. This all had to be done very delicately so as not to—

"The doctor and I were bonded on the planet, Sir," Spock stated.

There went delicacy.

Kirk blinked at them in shock, then threw his head back and laughed
for several moments. Once or twice he attempted to speak, but the
words were almost immediately aborted by yet another fit of laughter.

Finally, Kirk's laugher slowed, and he said, "My God, Spock. Here I
thought you had no sense of humor. How long have you been waiting to
say that? Good God, that was one of the funniest . . ." at their looks
of dead earnest, his words trailed off, and his jovial expression was
replaced by one of utter shock. "You're serious."

McCoy managed a "Yeah."

Spock fared better and said, "Indeed. The bond, without the correct
medical supervision, was, in fact, the cause of Leonard's
incapacitation in the first place."

Kirk seemed to be having difficulty taking it all in, not that McCoy
could particularly blame him. "You called him . . . and the two of you
are . . . gentlemen," he said, regaining some of his natural,
authoritative tone, "I think you can appreciate my shock."

That forced a bark of laughter out of McCoy before he could stop it.
"Jim," he stated, "you have no idea."

That got a slight smile on the captain's face, even if it was rather
rueful. "So, do you love each other?" he asked, looking slightly
worried about stepping on toes.

"Yeah," McCoy told him. "Took a long time getting there, but yeah."

Kirk glanced at Spock, silently asking him the same question.

Spock merely nodded, but that was enough.

And, slowly, a grin broke over Jim Kirk's face. "Well then, Spock,
Bones, you'll forgive me for saying it, but it took you long enough!"

McCoy felt a grin spread over his own face.

For the first time in what seemed like an eon, things were looking up.

---

McCoy poured a glass of bourbon and offered it to the Vulcan currently
standing awkwardly in the middle of his quarters.

"No, thank you, Leonard. I don't drink."

McCoy poured a little more in the glass and carried it with him to his
couch. "Now, that's something we're gonna have to work on. Can't have
a proper wedding without champagne." He grinned deviously, adding,
"Not to mention a proper bachelor party."

"You wish to be married, then?" Spock asked, still looking
surprisingly stiff.

McCoy scowled. "Didn't know you'd—would you damn well sit down? You're
giving me the jitters just looking at you—act like it was some sort of
death sentence."

Spock crossed the room and sat next to him. "It is not a death
sentence, Leonard. I just think that shipboard relationships are often
inadvisable."

"So you want to carry on the good stuff without the commitment? Is
that it?" McCoy snapped, not liking where this was heading one bit.
"Live our lives unofficially sort-of married, but not going the whole
way?"

"On Vulcan, we are officially married," Spock pointed out.

To cover up the pain rapidly spreading throughout his system, McCoy
crossed his arms, growling, "And now you're having great big second
thoughts about that one, aren't you?"

"I am not," Spock said, in a surprisingly sharp tone. Then, much more
quietly, he added, "My parents may, however."

McCoy faltered at that.

Sarek.

Not exactly a man Leonard McCoy ever wanted to cross the wrong way.

Sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, "Listen, Spock,
if you're really not wanting to do this, I'm sure there's some way
that we could—"

Then, to his great surprise, Spock leaned over and kissed him.

"I wish nothing more than to marry you, Leonard McCoy," he stated very
deliberately. "But we also must consider the potential ramifications
such an act would inevitably bring about. A bond between two people of
the same sex is not unheard of in Vulcan culture, but to add to that
idiosyncrasy the fact that one of us is human and the other only
half-Vulcan." He shrugged eloquently. "It is not something that shall
be looked upon favorably."

"Spock, are you planning on moving to Vulcan any time soon?"

"No."

"Good.  Neither am I." Reaching out and pressing his index and middle
finger to Spock's, McCoy said, "At this moment, I'm not thinking about
how Vulcan, human, or any other society is going to look on us. I love
you, and that's God's honest truth."

"As I love you," Spock murmured, glancing down at their fingers.

"Good to know." McCoy used his other hand to tip Spock's chin up to
look at him. "Spock, the other stuff's important, and Lord knows it's
not going to be sunshine and roses convincing everyone that this thing
between us is okay. But we'll burn those bridges when we come to
them." He shrugged. "I don't honestly see how else we can play this."

Spock nodded. "I do not wish to admit it, but what you say is quite .
. . logical."

"Damn straight." Then, slowly, a mischievous grin spread across
McCoy's face. "Now, Spock, Honey, I do believe you've had a ravishing
coming your way for a while now." As Spock's eyebrows both shot up,
McCoy's smile grew. "Care to give this thing between us a whirl?"

Then, to McCoy's delight, Spock smiled back at him. True it was that
tiny, smug little Vulcan smile of his, but dammit, it was still a
smile. "That, Doctor, is the best idea you've had all week."

As McCoy kissed Spock and his hands began to wander south, he mused
that the mission on Harmaggeidon, for all the hell and nausea it had
caused, hadn't turned out half-bad, after all.

Maybe their next vacation could include beaches and little drinks with
tiny umbrellas, though.

---

continued in Impromtu Bondmates II 'Long Day's Journey into Night'