The BLTS Archive- Carnvaile 3
Dance of Obsession
by MizzMarcee (MizzMarcee@yahoo.com)

---

Warnings: This story contains explicit m/m sexual encounters, bondage,
non-consensual sex, and hurt/comfort. If you are under the age of 18,
or this is not your cup of Java, please surf elsewhere. Thank you!

Disclaimer: Copyright December 2002 by MizzMarcee (aka, Marcee Evans).
This story is an original work of amateur fiction based on Star Trek,
which is owned by TPTB (i.e., The Powers That Be, namely Paramount,
Viacom, and all its entities). I have absolutely no intention of
infringing on the intellectual property rights of TPTB and make no
money on this whatsoever. The author's copyright only extends to the
original material in this work.

Text bracketed by the symbols ~~ indicate private thoughts.  Text
bracketed by slashes // indicate thoughts shared in a mind meld.

Series note: This story is the third part of the Carnivale series.
This story runs in the same universe (albeit a year later and taking a
slightly different slant) as Skazetelnitsky's fine story--'The Taming'
and Karmen Ghia's wonderful sequel--'The Taming 2, The Return.'

Acknowledgment: My sincere appreciation to T'Thrill, who was not only
my beta, but served as my co-conspirator, enduring hours and hours in
AOL Instant Message chats to help brainstorm ideas and help rewrite
passages of this story. Thanks also to Jane Skazki for completing an
early beta of this story and offering some very helpful advice. I
really appreciate your feedback!

---

"There, aren't ye the beauty," Montgomery Scott murmured to himself
as he finished lighting the last of the candles that he just placed
around the double bunk. The burly engineer stood up and looked around
the cabin.

Everything was in place. He had been thinking about this idea all
day, perfecting every detail until he knew exactly what to do once he
got off his shift.

For once, it was advantageous for his plans that Pavel Chekov was
assigned to work with Mr. Spock at the end of the shift. Although the
extra work came with the territory for an ensign who was on the
command track in Starfleet, more than once it had interfered with
their private plans. Sometimes, it seemed that the first officer
pulled Pavel onto these assignments on purpose. It was as if the damn
Vulcan had checked the duty roster and made sure that Pavel's time
was occupied with science experiments and the like whenever the
engineer was off duty. Scotty and Pavel had had precious little
private time together over the past two months. If the Scotsman
didn't know any better, he'd start to feel jealous over how much of
Pavel's time Mr. Spock was monopolizing lately.

This time, however, Pavel's extra assignment was actually welcomed--
by Scotty at least. It gave the engineer the extra time he needed to
put the finishing touches on his own private plans for later that
evening.

"Lights off."

The lights in the quarters turned off and Scotty surveyed the
candlelit room. Breathing through his nose, he could discern the
spicy scent beginning to waft throughout the cabin. The flickering
light gave a seductive feel to the room and, visualizing what he
planned to do with Pavel later that evening, Scotty felt his cock
stir.

"Later," he whispered with a low growl.

Satisfied with his handiwork, he leaned down and carefully peeled the
covers back from the bunk, taking care to smooth out the fabric as he
went. He then fluffed up the pillows and piled them along the
headboard and the far side of the bunk. He chuckled to himself. The
collection of pillows was his young lover's doing. Scotty quickly
discovered the Russian's penchant for making a sort of nest out of
the pillows when sleeping. The cushions also had the added benefit of
making their love nest cozy and intimate. Scotty soon became a
convert; enjoying the imaginative ways they incorporated the various
cushions into their lovemaking.

After checking one last time that the lube and his other props were
tucked away within easy reach of the bunk, Scotty pulled off his
uniform and undergarments. Grabbing the half-empty bottle of Scotch
that he had set on the end table, he padded barefoot to the closet
and opened the door. Standing naked before the closet, the burly
engineer considered each garment. This was their special closet--the
one that held the various costumes that the manager of Caesar's Club,

Mr. Ahkardi, gave them, free of charge. Mr. Ahkardi had felt horrible
after Pavel was injured during Carnivale, so when he offered both
selections of garments used during the festival, Scotty didn't have
the heart to turn down the generous gift. They had already made use
of a number of the outfits during the past two months they had shared
together as a couple.

Scotty took a long drink and then set the bottle of Scotch down on
the floor. Running his fingers down the sleeve of a nearly
transparent cloak, he let out a soft sigh. It was a personal favorite
of his and the young Russian knew it. Two weeks earlier, when Scotty
had returned to the Enterprise after attending a conference on
Starbase 12, Pavel was waiting for him in their cabin wearing the
transparent cloak--and nothing else. After a week away from his young
lover, it didn't take any more stimulation than that for the engineer
to scoop Pavel up in his arms and make mad, passionate love to him
all night. Of course, they paid for it the next day while on duty,
both totally exhausted in every way possible. But it had been worth
it.

Scotty pulled Pavel's costumes to one side and looked through the
ones Mr. Ahkardi had sent that matched his own body measurements. He
eliminated the wizard costume right away. He needed something a
little more...what, he wasn't sure! Provocative, perhaps. He studied
each costume, trying to find one that fit his mood that night. His
hand brushed against smooth leather. The engineer pulled the
remaining costumes aside and studied the garment before him. The
image that popped into his mind as he gazed at the black leather
caused his cock to jump. Hmmmm...domination. Aye. That fit his mood
tonight. He had never tried that particular fantasy with the lad.
However, knowing the Russian's highly imaginative and creative mind,
he was certain Pavel would quickly get into the role he envisioned
for that evening.

The engineer ran his hand down over the dark leather of the jumpsuit.

Chuckling to himself, Scotty pulled the garment out. He fingered the
silver chains and zippers that accented the smooth, black leather.
Perfect. This was exactly what he needed.

He stepped into the jumpsuit and pulled it up to his hips. It took
Scotty a while to loosen the laces of the pouch that protruded from
the groin area of the garment. Once he judged he had loosened it
enough, he carefully pulled the pouch over his genitals until he was
snugly encased within the leather. Scotty then pulled the garment up
over his hips.

Elbowing into the sleeves, he pulled and tugged until the garment fit
like a glove around his body. He zipped up the front, leaving an
opening just below his throat. Running the palms of his hands down,
from his front, along his sides, and over his hips, he was amazed,
once again, at how wonderfully form fitting the garment was around
his entire body.

Scotty fingered the pouch holding his genitals in place, feeling the
heat of his cock through the smooth leather. As his cock expanded
within the pouch, he loosened the laces a bit more. The Scotsman
grinned as he tied the leather laces in a bow, suddenly deciding to
ask the lad to untie the pouch with his teeth when the time was
right.

Cupping the bulge in his groin, he gazed at himself in the  mirror.
"Mmmmm. Ye are going 't make a fetchin' sight to th' lad,  that ye
are."

He turned around, studying the area where the leather ended to expose
his backside.

"Ye still have a becomin' arse, Montgom'ry--even for an ol' salt like
yeself."

Scotty chuckled wickedly to himself as he closed the door to the
closet. After replicating a few more props that would set the mood
for the evening, and retrieving his bottle of Scotch, he moved back
to the center of their quarters. Each step massaged the warm leather
surrounding his balls and cock, making him all the more aroused
amidst the glowing candles and the waiting bed.

"Ye better come home straight away, lad," he murmured as he set the
new props on the nightstand by the bed, feeling the leather
tightening around his arousal. He took another drink from the bottle
and savored the taste as it burned down his throat. It was good
Scotch--the real stuff, not that synthahol junk which was reserved
for those who couldn't hold their liquor. He had found a supplier at
the engineering conference and was saving the bottle for a special
occasion. This seemed like that sort of occasion.

After using his sleeve to wipe off the lingering moisture from his
upper lip, he growled darkly, "Mr. Spock better let ye come home
soon, laddie, that's all I can say. Or maybe I'll just come down and
fetch ye meself. Aye, and I'd give him a piece o' my mind fer keepin'
ye away from me, that I would."

Scotty nursed the bottle of Scotch, waiting for his absent lover's
return. His jealousy seemed to grow the more he waited and drank.

---

Pavel Chekov blinked tired eyes as he peered over Mr. Spock's
shoulder at the monitor in the science lab. He was exhausted and, for
a moment, felt his concentration stray away from the jumble of
information paging across the screen.

What wouldn't he do for a reprieve from this session? They had been
at this project for nearly four hours now, with no end in sight. All
he wanted to do was get back to his quarters and spend the night with
his lover. In the past two weeks, since Monty had returned from his
engineering conference, the two of them had not had much free time to
themselves. Either some emergency in the engine room conspired to keep
them apart or Pavel was pulled into a research project, like tonight,
as part of his training. He knew Starfleet came first in both of their
lives, but sometimes Pavel just ached for some time alone
together--just the two of them. Their next shore leave couldn't come
soon enough.

Spock's voice pulled him back to the moment as the tall Vulcan
stated, "Right here, you notice the variation of the signal."

Pavel noticed Spock point to the anomaly on the monitor and he
squinted slightly to focus on the information before him. "Da. I see
what you mean, Mr. Spock."

"I have run an analysis of the anomaly but the computer has found no
match to identify the object, or an explanation for how it can move in
such a manner in space."

"I can map the coordinates using the navigation computer," Pavel
offered, trying to hide the fatigue in his voice. What he suggested
would take at least two hours to set up. Was this evening ever going
to end?

"I concur. It would be most advantageous to obtain an accurate
trajectory of the object." The Vulcan turned and looked up at Pavel
as he continued, "I will forward these readings to navigation and we
can..."

Pavel watched as Spock's expression changed ever so slightly. To
those who didn't know the tall Vulcan very well, the change would
have gone unnoticed.

The Vulcan continued to gaze at him. Then, to Pavel's complete
surprise, Spock stated, "I will ask Ensign Dickenson to work on this
during the night shift. That is all. You are relieved of duty,
Ensign."

Relief coursed through Pavel, pleased to find his work session cut
short for once. But it was soon followed by uncertainty as he
wondered if he had committed some offense that caused such an abrupt
change in the Vulcan's plans. Mr. Spock was not one to back down from
a challenge and he usually welcomed Pavel's assistance. They had
become a team of sorts--mentor and student. It hadn't been easy, but
eventually the young navigator had become proficient enough to back up
Spock at the science station.

Confused, Pavel asked, "Mr. Spock?"

"You are free to go, Ensign. It was a stressful day today and I, at
times, forget that you need your rest."

"Aye, sair," Pavel answered.

He turned to leave the now vacant science lab. At the entrance, he
looked back and found the Vulcan had moved directly behind him.

"Sair?"

Spock seemed to hesitate at first. Finally, he said, "May I ask a
personal question, Mr. Chekov?"

Pavel nodded his head, mystified by the first officer's behavior.

"Is all well with you and Mr. Scott?"

Pavel felt his cheeks blush. "Yes, sair. We are both very happy."

Taking Pavel by surprise, Spock reached out and ran his fingertips
along the Russian's brow.

"I am very gratified to hear it," the Vulcan replied softly, almost
tenderly. "And your sleep cycle? You have appeared fatigued recently.
Have you remained free of nightmares?"

If anyone else had asked him that, Pavel probably would have given
some cheeky remark. But he recognized the expression on his mentor's
face. It was the same expression of understanding and concern he had
seen on Spock's face when the Vulcan offered to help him through some
difficult times a year earlier.

"I...I still get them occasionally," he admitted, knowing he couldn't
fool Mr. Spock by lying. He looked away, feeling foolish and weak. He
knew he couldn't control the nightmares, but that didn't stop Pavel
from feeling there was something wrong with him. He was unable to
explain why his sleep continued to be troubled more than a year after
his capture by the Klingons.

"At what frequency do these nightmares occur?"

Pavel hesitated. He didn't want to answer, but knew there was very
little chance he could deceive his mentor. "I...I do not know," he
finally replied, feeling guilty as he formed his half-truth. Looking
up at the tall Vulcan, he continued, "There is no pattern to it. Maybe
they occur once a week...sometimes less frequently than that."

"However, at times more frequently than that, Ensign?"

Pavel looked away again, slowly nodding his head.

"Does Mr. Scott know?"

"Nyet," Pavel replied sharply with a shake of his head, "And I cannot
tell him. Ever. I cannot breach a Level 5 security. Even you should
not know what happened, sair."

Spock's fingertips brushed down his cheek and Pavel calmed,
remembering the comfort and clarification the Vulcan's attention had
given him during those dark, troubled days. He had feared he could
never allow another to touch him, ever again. Not after what the
Klingon had done to him. Not once he was aware of what the Klingon
wanted from him. True, he had never actually been penetrated, but
after he returned to the Enterprise, just the thought of someone
touching him caused all of the fear and revulsion to come crashing
back. Mr. Spock helped him work through his feelings of self-
recrimination. After some time, and many sessions with the Vulcan, he
could allow himself to be touched without flinching away. And, with
his mentor's help on that one night--when they took things further
than either expected--he had been able to work through his conflicting
emotions and find love in the arms of another male.

However, the nightmares were another thing entirely. The Klingons
told him that Kahrag was dead, but his damn ghost seemed to pop up in
Pavel's dreams when least expected. It was lucky for him that Monty
was a heavy sleeper.

"You are correct. From Starfleet's point of view I should not know
what happened to you," Spock said finally, "No one on this ship,
including the captain or myself, has Level 5 clearance. However, it
is obvious you are still affected by your imprisonment at the hands
of the Klingons. Keeping silent has not helped you find closure to
those troubling events."

"They...they made it very clear during my debriefing, sair. I am
forbidden to breach the security clearance on the mission." Pavel
looked away and, in a quiet voice, added, "If they knew of the mind
meld..."

He felt warm fingers slide down to his chin and gently tilt his head
back. Spock's dark eyes met his. They gazed at each other in silence
for a long moment. Then, as if coming to a decision, the Vulcan pulled
his fingertips away from Pavel's face.

"I understand, Pashakam. I have kept what I know of the events you
endured on that mission in strict confidence. However, there is no
need for you to face this alone when I can assist you in the same
manner as I have before. The security breach has already occurred and
it is my wish that you not suffer."

Pavel nodded with a slight smile at Spock's nickname for him. He
hadn't heard it uttered since a year before, just after this whole
mess began. "Thank you, Mr. Spock. I appreciate your concern."

"You are welcome. You are free to go. May your dreams be peaceful
this evening."

"Thank you, sair. Good night."

Pavel tripped the sensor and the door slid open. As he made his way
into the corridor, he glanced back to see Mr. Spock still gazing at
him--an eyebrow cocked high on his forehead.

The Russian sighed wearily and began walking down the corridor. It
seemed he had more than his share of mother hens lately. Between
Lieutenant Uhura and Doctor McCoy--and now Mr. Spock--he didn't know
who was worse. The attention was starting to irritate him.

As he walked down the corridor, he mumbled greetings to the crew who
happened upon his path. The others didn't seem to notice anything was
amiss. He knew most of them just accepted his various moods and left
it at that.

Thankfully, a turbolift was waiting for him and he entered. The door
slid closed, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Pavel reflected on his Vulcan friend and the kindness shown to him
over this past year.  And, except for the one night when Spock had
helped him come to terms with sharing a physical relationship with
another male, their work together had remained unchanged in the
months afterwards. Perhaps Vulcans were smart to keep their emotions
separate from sex. It was something Pavel found difficult--separating
sex from his emotional needs. But Spock's being able to do so had made
it easier for them to share that one night together.

It still amazed Pavel that it had been Spock, of all people, who had
given him back the ability to be touched, the ability to love, and to
make love. On that night, Spock had allowed him to take things
further. The Vulcan had responded to his need, had placed those warm
hands on him and had eased him through the fears that threatened to
consume him. He helped restore Pavel's ability to feel the pleasure of
the touch from another, and feel the release he so desperately needed,
without the guilt of surrendering to his desires. Spock had turned out
to be a giving, compassionate lover. Had they not parted the way they
did, with an understanding it could never happen again, Pavel would
have been tempted.

"Pashakam," he whispered and felt himself smile at the name. It was,
indeed, very nice to be cared about. It was certainly a far cry from
his early childhood, when he would be locked in their tiny apartment
in Moscow, all alone, and was never sure when his mother would return
from her latest binge--hours, or even days later.

Da...it was very good to have friends, although sometimes they had an
annoying way of prying into what he considered his private life. He
understood Spock's concern, and that of his friends. And, deep down
where it mattered, he actually did appreciate it. Not that any of
them, other than Mr. Spock, actually knew what happened over a year
ago. But they knew something was wrong--that he wasn't the same Pavel
Andreievich Chekov who left that one fateful day, an excited young
officer selected for a special mission, and had come back altered,
shaken to his very core. Even now, he couldn't escape the images in
his head or the voice that still haunted his nights.

~~He's dead. He can't hurt me.~~

Pavel shook his head. He knew he was just tired. His emotions always
ran dangerously close to the surface when he was fatigued. A hot
shower and an evening alone with Monty would definitely lift his
spirits. He had to get his mind off of the Klingon ghost. It was time
to exorcise him once and for all. Unfortunately, Spock's questions had
caused those memories to bubble to the surface again.

He took in a deep breath and, closing his eyes, he muttered  darkly,
"Damn you, you fucking Klingon!"

Pavel pounded his fist against the hard metal wall. The sudden pain
in his hand felt strangely good--like it was something he could
control, unlike the nightmares.

Opening his eyes, he tipped his head upwards and shouted, "Damn you.
Leave me alone. Why can't you just leave me the hell alone?"

He collapsed against the wall, pressing his forehead against the hard
metal. Closing his eyes, he took in a couple of deep, steadying
breaths in an attempt to get his emotions back under control.

Pavel felt the motion of the lift begin to slow. He pulled himself
straight. While brushing the heavy bangs from his brow with his
fingers, he noticed that the lift was making a stop before his
intended destination.

~~Damn.~~

Sighing deeply, he straightened his tunic, hoping that the lift was
stopping for someone who didn't know him well. He didn't think he
could deal with any more questions this evening.

The lift slowed and then came to a stop. The doors opened with a soft
whoosh and a figure in gold rushed in. Pavel groaned inwardly as the
door closed behind the newcomer and the lift began to move again.

"Sair."

"Mr. Chekov," Captain Kirk said with a mischievous grin, "I see you
escaped."

"Escaped, sair?" Pavel looked up into the captain's bemused face.

"I thought for sure Mr. Spock was going to monopolize all of your
time this evening in the science lab. I'm glad he decided to give you
the evening off."

Pavel shrugged his shoulders. "He decided to ask Ensign Dickenson to
continue researching the anomaly during the night shift. He claimed to
forget that we ensigns need to get at least some rest before our next
duty shift."

"Sounds like Spock. He'd work twenty-four/seven if I didn't force him
to take some down time for relaxation. And what does he do to relax?
Work on his projects in the science lab. Not my idea of relaxation, if
you ask me."

Pavel looked up as Kirk broke out into a hearty laugh. He had never
seen this man so relaxed before, so casual in front of him. It tended
to throw him off-balance. He wasn't sure how to react to this side of
his captain.

Before the Russian could answer, Kirk placed a friendly hand on his
shoulder and added, "You're looking a bit tired this evening, Pavel.
Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

"I am fine, sair," Pavel replied quietly, "I...I did not sleep well
last night, that's all."

The captain gave him a stern look. "Just last night, Pavel? You
seemed to be fighting off fatigue for far longer than that. Am I
right? How long has this been going on?"

Knowing the captain saw through his half-truth, he shrugged and
looked away.

Before Pavel could come up with some kind of answer, Captain Kirk
added, "If this is a personal matter, my apologies. But whatever it
is, remember that your duty readiness affects the entire ship."

"Aye, sair. I understand, sair," Pavel replied sullenly as he felt
the turbolift slow to a stop.

The door slid open, but before Pavel could exit, he felt two hands
grip his shoulders, holding him motionless.

"Just don't let it go on too long. I can't have my men falling asleep
at their posts. I need you sharp and alert on the bridge--both you and
Scotty."

Pavel chuckled. "Believe me, sair, Mr. Scott does not have any
trouble sleeping."

The captain dropped his hands as the lift slowed toward their stop.
The two men exited the lift and walked together along the empty
corridor. Pavel hoped they'd run into another member of the crew,
someone who would distract the captain with a question. He'd welcome
any interruption to get away from Kirk's present scrutiny. But because
it was after the time for a shift change, and most of the crew who
were off-duty were either relaxing in the rec room or already in their
quarters, they encountered no one who could divert his captain's
attention.

"All right, then," the older man continued. "I expect you to get a
good night's rest tonight. If the problem doesn't right itself, then I
want you to report to sickbay first thing in the morning and let Dr.
McCoy give you the once over."

Pavel stifled a sigh as he looked everywhere but at his captain.

~~As if it were that easy! Just order a good night's sleep. Aye, aye,
captain, sair!~~

Once more, he felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder, stopping him
in the middle of the vacant corridor.

"Chekov?"

"Aye, sair. Sorry, sair."

He looked up into the captain's face. Pavel recognized the stern look
of his commanding officer, all bluster and business. Yet under the
gruff facial expression, the hazel eyes betrayed something else...

Pavel blinked and then looked away.

"I don't want to make it an order but I will, if I need to."

"Aye, sair. I understand, sair," he replied with a nod of his head.

"Good. As long as we understand each other."

Kirk stared at him for a long moment, as if the captain was trying to
read his very thoughts. But then, with his hand still remaining on
Pavel's shoulder, he turned and directed them both once more toward
the area of the ship that held the officer cabins.

They walked along the corridor like that for a few moments. Pavel
tried not to mull too hard over the captain's words and actions since
their encounter on the lift. Perhaps Captain Kirk had enjoyed a drink
with Dr. McCoy that evening and that was the reason for his casual
behavior. Perhaps it was simply concern for one of his subordinates.
Before Pavel could speculate any further, the hand lifted from his
shoulder.

They came to a stop upon reaching the entrance to the cabin Pavel
shared with Montgomery Scott.

"Well, then," Kirk murmured softly, his smile genuine. "Here we are.
Good night, Mr. Chekov. Sleep well."

"Thank you," he replied back, meeting the other man's gaze. "Good
night, sair."

Kirk nodded his head, turned, and continued on down the corridor.

Pavel watched the older man walk away. When he was certain the
captain was not within earshot, the Russian let out a deep sigh.

~~Another mother hen, that one.~~

He closed his eyes, centering himself. Pavel focused on an image of
the man he knew would be behind the door to their cabin. Monty was
there, waiting for him. He felt his sour mood lift with the thought.
Of course, Monty outdid all of the other mother hens combined, but he
loved the burly engineer with his entire soul.

Pavel smiled to himself as he entered the code to their cabin and
waited impatiently for the door to slide open. He couldn't wait to be
reunited with his lover. He was in the mood for some serious
pampering.

---

For almost thirty minutes, Scotty had stared repeatedly at the door
to their quarters as he nursed the bottle of Scotch. He could feel
his arousal press against the confines of the black leather pouch of
his garment in anticipation of his plans that evening. He took another
long drink from his bottle and then stared at the door once more. He
conjured up the image he had happened on one night when he went
looking for the lad. Pavel and Spock had been alone together in the
lab; their heads were barely inches apart as they leaned over one
piece of equipment. In his Scotch-induced haze, he began to wonder if
perhaps their work would someday lead to a more intimate relationship
between them. It was bad enough to know that Sulu had had the Russian.
Now that Pavel was his, he couldn't stand the thought of another man
spending time alone with the lad--let alone touch him. Not even if he
were the first officer. "That bastard better let ye come home to me
soon or I'll be comin' 't get ye meself," the Scotsman growled darkly.

As if on cue, the door to their quarters opened with a silent whoosh
and the young man in question entered the candlelit room.

"Monty?"

"Aye," Scotty murmured low, welcoming the quick closure of the door
behind the Russian. They were finally together--alone. The Scotsman
placed his bottle of Scotch on the nightstand next to their bunk and
then ordered, "Over here."

He could make out Pavel's form, still standing near the entrance,
apparently taking in the candles and seductive scent of the room.

"It appears you hev been busy," the Russian stated, a hint of
amusement in his soft tenor voice.

"Aye. It is about time ye got home," he snapped, getting into his
role as master. "I have everything prepared. Come here."

Pavel walked carefully amongst the lit candles that were set around
the floor between the entrance and their sleeping quarters.

"Take off yer uniform top."

The Russian stopped in the middle of the room. Scotty watched as his
lover's head cocked to one side; Pavel was apparently considering his
command. Through the shadows of the soft candlelight, he could see the
inquisitive look in the lad's dark eyes. After a moment, the young man
grinned as he slowly pulled on the hem of his gold tunic and slid it
up to expose the black undershirt beneath.

"All of it. The undershirt, too."

Pavel let out a little chuckle and then whipped off both shirts in
one fluid motion. He balled up the tunic and undershirt together and
tossed them towards the entrance, safely away from the lit candles.

As the Russian reached for the fastener to his pants, Scotty called
out harshly, "Hands up and crossed behind yer neck. I want 't take
care 'o the rest of yer clothes meself."

Pavel complied, twisting his arms up, locking his hands behind his
neck.

"Now come over here 't me."

The young navigator complied, walking the rest of the way to Scotty
until they were nearly chest-to-chest. The engineer could feel his
lover's breath as the Russian stood silently, expectantly, in front
of him.

"Keep yer hands where they are. Dinna move a muscle."

Scotty ran his hands down the well-defined chest of his lover. Oh,
how he loved to touch this body. Just touching Pavel made his cock
lurch against the tight pouch of his jumpsuit. And to think he now
possessed this body.

The engineer rubbed a responsive nub until it became hard as a
pebble. He ran his other hand down the young man's flank until he
cupped a firm buttock. Pulling the willing body against him, Scotty
moved his lips next to Pavel's ear. "Ye are mine tonight, my slave.
Ye are going 't give me much pleasure, respond to my every d'sire 'n
need without hesitation," he growled low. "Understood?"

The words had the desired effect as Scotty felt the Russian's arousal
poke against his thigh where their bodies touched.

"Aye. I see ye understand completely," the engineer murmured softly,
for a moment forgetting his role and leaving more affection in his
voice than he intended. Looking down at the lad, his mind returned to
the plans he made for them that evening. After all, he was in charge
here. It was time to show the lad who was boss.

Snapping back into the role he chose for himself, Scotty placed his
hands on the younger man's shoulders. Pressing down on the Russian,
his voice suddenly turned menacing as he ordered, "Down! On your
knees. Now!"

Pavel looked up at him, the young man's eyes widening at the harsh
order.

"I said NOW!" Scotty repeated, pushing down hard on his lover's
shoulders until the Russian yielded and dropped to his knees with a
loud grunt.

Towering over the hunched man, Scotty grasped Pavel's jaw and tilted
the dark head upwards so it was level with his crotch. "Untie me."

Dark eyes glanced up.

"Ye are not 't look at my face. Understood?"

His lover's eyes diverted away, but not before the engineer saw the
glint of excitement he was eliciting within the young man, as Pavel
nodded his head.

"Good. Now, untie me. With yer teeth."

Scotty gripped the Russian's wrists as the young man leaned forward.
The engineer pulled Pavel's hands forward and clamped them down onto
his own hips. As he did this, he felt his lover's lips close in around
the leather pouch. Letting out a low groan, he felt his cock swell
within the tight confines from the other man's ministrations. He
almost allowed the offense to pass unnoticed. Almost. After all, he
was in charge here. He had ordered Pavel to untie him, not to
stimulate him at that particular moment. Taking back control of the
situation, Scotty hissed darkly, "Quit yer stalling. Th' laces. Get to
it. NOW."

He watched as the Russian clenched one of the leather laces between
his teeth and pulled. The end went taut and then the bow began to
unravel. As the laces loosened around the erection, Pavel dipped his
tongue between the bindings and went after the exposed flesh still
trapped inside of the leather pouch in a frenzied pitch.

"Slowly!" Scotty barked. This was not a night to be rushed.

The Scotsman pushed the younger man away and then undid the wet laces
himself to loosen them further. When the Russian reached forward to
help, Scotty slapped Pavel's hands away. "Did I say ye could help?"
Scotty snapped.

"N...nyet."

Scotty clamped his hands on either side of Pavel's face and angled
the dark head upward to look at him directly.

"Did I say ye could talk?"

Pavel stared at him, wide-eyed, blinking. The young man started to
say something, but seemed to think better of it. Finally, he shook
his head, lowering his eyes in a submissive expression.

"Better. Much better. Remember this lesson well or I will discipline
ye without warning at th' next offense."

Scotty finished loosening the laces, allowing his erection to bob
free from the confining leather. Placing his hands at the back of the
dark head of hair, he led his lover's face to his aching groin.
"Service me," Scotty commanded.

The Russian's hot mouth licked hungrily across the head, lapping up
the moisture found there. All the while, Scotty kept a firm grip on
the lad's head, keeping in total control of Pavel's movements.

"I know ye were with Mr. Spock t'night, lad," Scotty hissed.

Dark eyes flashed upwards and then, as if remembering the earlier
warning, glanced away.

"Ye were with him t'night instead o' me," the engineer continued, his
voice growing more threatening. "I want nary a thought of ye leaving
me fer someone else. Ye are mine. Ye are not at the beck 'n call of
Spock or anyone else. Understood?"

Pavel stopped his attention to the bobbing cock and looked up at his
lover, his surprise evident in the youthful face. Scotty noticed that
it was a beautiful face turned toward him, and he was determined that
it would belong to no other.

"I said ye weren't ta look at me," Scotty shouted angrily, "But ye
nary listen, do ye?" The Scotsman felt his rage building. For a
moment, he considered that he was taking his role too seriously. But
then, the image he had conjured up earlier as he waited, of Pavel and
Spock alone together, eliminated any thoughts of backing down.

Instead of obeying right away, Scotty saw a flicker of amusement play
across the Russian's face before he looked away. That look further
infuriated the Scotsman. So, the lad still thought of this as a game.

In Scotty's inebriated mind, this was no longer a game, but a lesson,
a lesson that his lover must learn.

He hauled Pavel back up onto his feet. As if not knowing what was
expected of him, the Russian left his arms hanging loosely, his eyes
focused on the floor, waiting for the next order.

Scotty spun the youthful body around to the bunk, forcing the Russian
down onto his back. Climbing on top, the Scotsman positioned himself
until he was straddling Pavel's hips with his legs. Pinning his
lover's wrists over Pavel's head, the engineer hissed, "I will teach
ye to trifle with Mr. Spock. I will teach ye to bat yer eyes at
another man."

The spark of delight seemed to be fading in the Russian's eyes. Aye!
He was getting through to him well enough!

The engineer leaned down until he was nose-to-nose with Pavel.
Looking the Russian directly in the eyes, Scotty hissed, "I know what
ye were doing with that Vulcan devil!"

As if suddenly reaching his breaking point, the Russian shouted
angrily, "Stop this! Stop this, Monty!" Dark eyes fixed on Scotty's
face in total rebellion. "I...I didn't do what you are accusing me
of! I was just working with Mr. Spock on..."

"And did I say ye could talk? I warned ye...!"

"I don't care!" the young man raged, his body struggling to get free,
his eyes flashing a warning. "I don't like this game! Get off of me! I
want you to stop!"

The young man was no match for Scotty's bulk. While still pinning the
Russian's wrists down with one hand, Scotty reached over to his
assortment of props with his free hand and quickly found what he was
looking for. After attaching one end to the post by his head, he
opened the release and slid the cool metal bracelet around Pavel's
right wrist and tightened it.

"What...? What are you doing? M...Monty?"

Scotty ignored the horrified look that passed across the Russian's
face as the other loop closed around the lad's left wrist. "A game,
ye say," the engineer sneered. "I dinna recall telling ye this was a
game, slave."

"Don't...please don't do this! Please stop, Monty!"

"Silence!" Scotty seethed in a low voice.

The Russian began tugging at the restraints, which only incensed
Scotty further. With a loud grunt, the Scotsman yanked on the chain
that attached the restraints to the headboard, forcing his slave's
arms far up above his head until the young man's fingertips were
nearly touching the wall. Scotty then anchored the chain down to keep
the lad firmly in place.

"Tis time ye learned who is in control here," Scotty murmured as he
ran his fingertips over the Russian's bare chest.

Scotty scooted backwards until he was sitting more on the Russian's
upper thighs. His hands found the fastener to the Russian's pants and
ripped it apart. Hearing Pavel's startled gasp, he smiled. Moving his
hand inside of the Russian's pants, the engineer leaned down to graze
on the finely sculpted chest beneath him. Finding the prize he sought
with his hand, he started stroking the organ as he sucked on a nipple.

Pavel's body stilled beneath him, the struggle over, it seemed.
Sitting up on his prey, Scotty enjoyed the sight of the lean body
before him. The candlelight flickered against the bottle he had set
on the stand beside the bed. In triumph, he reached for the bottle
and took another long drag, feeling the hot liquid swirl in his
mouth.

With his lover subdued, the Russian was all his for the taking.
Tonight, this youthful body was his to control and he was going to
consume it in every way possible until the lad begged for mercy. Aye,
he liked that idea. Force the slave to beg for forgiveness for his
transgressions; beg for forgiveness for being the little slut that he
was. That certainly worked into his plans for that night.

Leaning over, he began to claim that which was his. Starting at the
two dark orbs staring up at him, he began administering long, wet,
licking kisses to the body.

---

His experiments done for the night, Spock vacated the science lab and
made his way down the corridor. His destination was Dr. McCoy's
quarters for, as the doctor put it, "a chance for them both to let
their hair down."

Considering the length of his own hair, Spock was at a loss to know
how it could be brought down lower other than through the natural
growth cycle.

~~Apparently another meaningless human idiom.~~

The doctor's invitation had surprised him considering they had spent
the past few weeks at each other's throats over the most trivial of
matters. It was as if McCoy counted on getting him into an argument,
as if the doctor needed a good debate to get his day started, just
like the captain needed his coffee. Certainly after working together
on the Enterprise all these years, the Vulcan had become adept at
deflecting McCoy's tirades. But recently, Spock found he did not
desire to deflect the doctor's arguments. In fact, he seemed to look
forward to their next debate, as if the exercise sharpened his own
mind in unexpected ways.

Not that McCoy was any match for him in the arena of debate, Spock
mused, as he strolled thoughtfully down the corridor. But what the
human lacked in logic, McCoy certainly made up for in passion.

Spock joined a number of other crewmen on a lift. As always, the crew
stood silent as they journeyed to their respective decks. The Vulcan
welcomed the silence as it allowed him to switch his thoughts from
McCoy to concentrate on the problem he and Ensign Chekov worked on
together that evening. The anomaly reacted in a most illogical manner.
Spock had hoped that a fresh perspective would solve the mystery.
Unfortunately, they made little progress that evening. Normally, Spock
would not have reassigned the project to another crewmember. He was
perfectly content to work with the young Russian-- actually preferred
it as the ensign had become quite proficient in the sciences. But it
was apparent that Chekov was in need of rest.

The lift stopped at Spock's deck and he exited the tiny chamber. As he
moved through the corridor to McCoy's quarters, his thoughts  remained
centered on the ensign. Chekov's nightmares concerned him. As a
Vulcan, he knew he should take the ensign's assurances that all was
well at face value. However, as someone whom he considered to be a
friend, and as the one person who knew what the young man had
experienced, his Vulcan logic failed him. Although he did not delve
into a mind meld that evening as he touched Chekov's face, he was able
to discern the warring emotions that were hidden just beneath the
surface. Confusion. Frustration. Fear. It was unsettling to know that
the ensign was facing such personal conflict in silence. Although
Spock's current affections were focused elsewhere, he still found
himself concerned about the ensign's well being--both from a
professional and personal standpoint.

The Vulcan arrived outside of McCoy's cabin. He smoothed his uniform
and took a cleansing breath. Tonight was not the time to  worry about
a certain ensign. Chekov had retired for the evening and, if all was
as well as the young man said, to very capable hands.

Spock signaled his arrival. He did not have to wait long before the
door opened with a soft whoosh.

"I was starting to think you had changed your mind," McCoy said with a
small grin as he greeted Spock at the door.

"I was detained in the Science lab," Spock replied as he continued to
stand out in the corridor.

"I figured as much." McCoy paused, and flashed a wide smile, one that
seemed to radiate from the ice-blue eyes, as he added, "Well, are you
going to just stand out there all night, Spock, or are you going to
grace us with your presence?"

"Us, Doctor?"

McCoy nodded back into his cabin and then turned again to  Spock.
"Yeah, us. Jim stopped by just a few moments ago for a  nightcap." The
doctor studied him for a long moment and then  continued in a low,
teasing voice, "That's okay with you, isn't it?"

Spock wasn't certain how to take the other man's comment, so he chose
to ignore it by entering the cabin.

"Apparently it is," McCoy muttered. Spock noticed that McCoy was
trying to suppress a wide smile, resulting in a tiny smirk. "Jim, we
have company."

As the door closed behind him, Spock entered the main portion of the
doctor's cabin.

"Well, Mr. Spock," Kirk called out. "I see you made it after all. I
was beginning to think you were planning to spend all night in the
Science lab."

"Make yourself at home, Spock," McCoy offered, nodding to the sitting
area where the captain was located. "And tell me what I can get you. I
don't have a wide variety of liquor on hand, but Jim can tell you that
I can mix a mean mint julep when I want to."

"At least you're not offering Romulan Ale, Bones," Kirk said with a
rueful grin.

"Indeed," Spock offered. "I recall our last encounter with the Ale
contributed to a rather unfortunate incident on Bennett's Planet
involving Mr. Chekov."

The Vulcan noticed Kirk's expression shift suddenly from relaxed to
pensive. Then, just as quickly, Kirk's grin reappeared.

"Since making Romulan Ale off-limits on shore leave, I hope we won't
experience anything quite like that again," the captain said with a
shake of his head. "And as far as I can tell, even Sulu and Scotty
have put their personal differences aside for the good of the ship."

"Well, Scotty and Chekov seem happy enough," McCoy added from the
replicator.

Spock remained silent, deciding not to add further comment. Seeing
that the only seating available was the couch, he sat down on the end
closest to the captain.

"Spock? You still haven't told me what you want to drink," McCoy
called emphatically.

"I prefer tea, doctor."

"Tea, it is."

After Kirk took another sip of his drink, the captain  continued,
"Still, I rode the lift with Chekov tonight after he was  done helping
you in the science lab. He seemed nearly asleep on his  feet."

"Jim, I hope you didn't ride him about the honeymoon not being over,"

McCoy said with a groan as he handed a cup of hot tea to Spock.

"I can't have my crew falling asleep at their posts, Bones. You know
that."

McCoy, as if to steady himself, placed a hand on Spock's shoulder as
he settled himself on the couch beside the Vulcan. It was a  maneuver,
in Spock's opinion, that was quite unnecessary. However, he found that
even after the doctor's hand had been removed it was as if he could
still feel the warmth of that touch against his flesh. Spock sipped
his tea silently, allowing his two friends to carry the conversation
for the time being. He found it disquieting that he did not trust his
voice at that moment to respond in his normal tone. Besides which, it
was not his desire to give additional fuel to the rumor mill
surrounding the young Russian and Mr. Scott. The men's private lives
were just that--private.

The doctor turned to Kirk, concern evident in his voice, "Has that
been a problem? Have you caught Pavel asleep at his post?"

"No," Kirk answered, "At least not yet. But there's something
bothering him. He told me he didn't sleep well last night, but this
isn't the first time he's seemed fatigued."

With this, Spock's deep concern for the ensign surfaced again.
Something needed to be done. It was apparent that the ensign's hands
were tied and he perhaps was too embarrassed to seek help. But if left
untreated, the nightmares and lack of sleep would eventually diminish
Chekov's effectiveness at his duties. Given the ensign's vital role
aboard the ship, the situation could potentially put the young man, in
fact the entire ship, at risk.

"Well...if you and Spock wouldn't overload the kid with so many
assignments," McCoy stated gruffly, "Perhaps Chekov would be able
to..."

"...Doctor, I can assure you that I have made no request of Ensign
Chekov that he should be incapable of handling," Spock stated calmly,
interrupting the doctor in mid-sentence. After a pause, he added,
"However, I, too, am most concerned about his well being."

The Vulcan noticed Kirk's gaze shift to him.

"Spock?"

"I questioned him tonight about his apparent fatigue. I believe the
ensign has been experiencing restless nights for a number of weeks,
perhaps longer."

"My thoughts exactly," Kirk interjected. "I told him if the problem
didn't right itself tonight that I'd order him to sickbay for a
complete exam."

The captain's gaze shifted to the doctor.

McCoy looked to Spock and then to Captain Kirk. Shrugging his
shoulders, the doctor replied, "Look, I'm no mind reader. I can't
help him unless he tells me what's eating him. All I can do is
prescribe a sleep inducer to temporarily help him over the rough
spots."

Spock leveled a gaze at McCoy. "It is my opinion that a sleep inducer
may remove the symptoms but it will not solve the underlying problem."

"Well, thank you for your expert opinion, Doctor," McCoy groused,
emphasizing the last word in a thick Southern drawl.

Kirk waved McCoy silent and Spock sensed the captain's gaze falling
on him. However, prior to turning back, the Vulcan noticed a sly grin
form over the doctor's lips.

Before Spock could venture a reason for McCoy's curious expression,
Captain Kirk leaned forward in his seat to capture his attention.
Voice hushed, face grave, Kirk asked, "Tell us, Spock. What's wrong
with Pavel?"

---

Something about this felt wrong--very wrong. Pavel realized that this
was not the loving Scotsman that he had spent the last two months
with. He had to get free. He had to escape. But how? How could he
escape this chamber of madness?

Scotty's lips were on him, the wet tongue licking at his face and
eyes. Even though he shut his eyes, the stinging alcohol mixed with
the saliva in his lover's mouth overpowered his tear ducts, and when
he blinked, the moisture burned.

When the Scotsman finally sat upright, Pavel squinted up at the
figure above him, his eyes stinging, his vision a blur from the
liquor that had seeped into his eyes just moments before. He couldn't
see Monty clearly, but he didn't need to see his lover's face to know
this situation was quickly spiraling out of control. It was apparent
Monty wasn't going to be talked out of this. Pavel knew he had to take
action immediately before things went any further.

The pain in his eyes and wrists converged and his chest constricted
with mounting alarm. The Russian's self-defense training took over
for the confusion of his muddled brain. Kicking his leg upwards, he
tried to push the weight of the other man off of him. He connected--
almost. However, as his knee came up, a hand grabbed it in an iron
grip.

"I'll have none o' that from ye," the engineer snapped and shoved the
knee back down on the bunk.

Pavel arched his back in agony as a sharp pain raced through his
right thigh. A blurred image of the face he knew so well--the face he
had once trusted with his entire being--appeared above his. Hot
breath, smelling strong of Scotch, beat against him.

"Are ye going 't lie still while I discipline ye, or must I chain yer
feet as well?" Scotty growled, his angry words unrecognizable as the
lover Pavel had come to know.

A wave of cold, paralyzing fear rushed through him, a fear that only
haunted him in his nightmares. The words were chillingly familiar,
although his memory was of another voice, and from another time.

The figure hovered menacing above him as the voice  threatened,
"Tonight ye will learn the consequences of allowing  another 't come
between us."

Pavel began to feel himself shake. Was this real? Or was this just
another of the frighteningly, haunting dreams that had been torturing
him? The cuffs that cut into his flesh as he struggled against them
seemed real enough. He wanted to awaken and find this had all been a
horrible nightmare. He wanted to roll over and wrap himself around the
gentle lover that he knew from before--before this monster took his
place. The lover he once knew had become the monster. The monster was
Kahrag.

The weight lifted from his body, but before he could feel a sense of
relief, harsh fingertips raked down his sides, clawing painfully into
his flesh. With a harsh jerk, he felt the material being pulled from
him, his tender thigh twisted. A sharp pain lanced through his groin.
Pavel heard a painful scream, only to realize that it was his own.

"I told ye 't be silent!" the menacing voice snarled.

Pavel bit his lip to keep silent as the pain that radiated through
his thigh and groin slowly subsided. He felt cool air prickle against
his damp skin as the hands yanked off the last of his clothing. Now
there was nothing that stood between him and his molester.

A wet tongue traced a path from his navel to his groin. Pavel tried
to squirm away from the unwelcome contact but strong hands pinned him
motionless, preventing his escape. His mind racing, the Russian
struggled between reality and madness. He tried desperately to grasp
the tiny thread that told him that this was not real. Something inside
pulled at his mind, telling him that this was not Kahrag. The Klingons
told him that Kahrag had been killed. But if Kahrag was dead, his
molester could not be here doing these things to him. All of his
senses told him that this was real. Pavel could feel the Klingon's
touch against his skin. He could smell the stench of the Klingon's
breath, and it was the Klingon's voice that echoed to him from the
past. The dark, blurry image of the Klingon's cabin aboard the Bird of
Prey formed around him.

He knew he was lost. Lost to the nightmares; lost to the madness. Was
this a dream or was it reality? None of it mattered because he was
here, tied down, defenseless in the presence of his tormentor.

All of his fears were realized when he felt the hot mouth capture the
length of his cock. The tongue and lips ravaged his organ in hard
thrusts, pulling blood into his member with each pull. Pavel felt the
first stirrings in his body and fought desperately against responding
to his molester's onslaught.

Even knowing the danger, he could no longer remain silent. "Let me
go!" Pavel shouted as he tried to twist himself free from the mouth
assaulting him. "Don't...don't touch me! Get off of me!"

His attacker stopped the savage onslaught for a moment as the harsh
voice warned, "SILENCE or I'll have 't discipline ye!"

"N...no, I won't be silent!" Pavel yelled as he tried to roll  away.
"Let me GO!" Sharp pain shot through his wrists as the hard  metal
held him in place. He pulled against the restraints and felt  the
unyielding cuffs dig deeper into his flesh.

"Nay. Ye are wrong," the voice seethed. "Ye WILL obey me. Ye are my
possession. Ye are mine and will do my bidding."

"NYET!" Pavel cried out, struggling wildly against the restraints. "I
will NOT obey! Don't...don't touch me! I don't want this!"

"I dinna believe ye," his assailant growled.

Pavel felt a hand grip his flagging erection and give the organ a
number of vicious pulls. He couldn't help the moan of defeat that
passed through his lips as he felt his stupid body respond to the
extra stimulation.

"Yer lips say one thing, but yer body says that ye want me 't
continue. So are ye lying that ye want me to stop? Are ye a lying
little slut? Aye, maybe that is it. Are ye a lying little slut?"

"Let me go! Let me go! Let me GO!" Pavel screamed repeatedly as the
hand continued to stroke him.

"Shut up! Ye had yer chance 'n now I twill teach ye what happens 't
disobedient sluts. I dinna want 't listen to yer lies any longer."

The hand released his cock. All at once, Pavel felt as if he were
suffocating. He started to panic as he realized that a large object
was being forced into his mouth. Something was tied around his head,
keeping whatever was choking him firmly in place.

"Better. Much better."

The mouth recaptured Pavel's cock. Try as he might, the Russian could
not keep his self-serving body from blooming into a full erection as
his molester took full advantage of the bonds that held him firmly in
place. His mind flashed to images of the beast, to the Klingon he had
encountered those many months ago and who haunted his nights from that
point forward. And now, the monster had returned to take possession of
him. The thought of being forced to submit to his molester was
completely repulsive. Yet, as the capable mouth continued its
unrelenting ministrations on his organ, Pavel found he could no longer
hold back the moans that were elicited with each pull. It didn't take
long before he felt ready to explode.

~~Nyet! It cannot be true! I do not want this! I DO NOT want this!~~

The section of his logical brain that was still functioning realized
that he was being forced into responding, that his freewill had been
stripped away from him. He recalled what Mr. Spock had helped him to
understand--that this was not his fault and he was not to blame for
the reaction that his molester was eliciting from this act. However,
as the assault continued, and he recognized the familiar signs that he
was about to cum, a feeling of total despair swept over him. He may
not want to do this, but it was absolutely depressing to know that he
had no say in what happened to him from this point on. He was lost. He
would never escape this prison. His life would be thus--to service the
monster and submit to his every command.

Out of sheer misery and defeat, Pavel screamed into the gag as he was
mercilessly tipped over the edge. Wave after wave shuddered through
his body as the molester continued to milk him. Afterwards, limp and
sweating profusely, the Russian shivered as his assailant released his
cock and shifted further up his body.

"Ye see...yer lies are meaningless," the voice whispered darkly into
his ear. "Yer body tells me the truth. And it says ye want me 'n no
one else."

Pavel wanted to refute his molester's claim, but the gag left him
able only to respond in muffled moans and grunts. He glanced back up
at his assailant. His blurry vision only made the brute hovering above
him seem that much more imposing. He shrank back despite himself as an
obscured hand reached down to his face. It took a few moments after
that for him to realize that the gag had been pulled off and the
choking sensation had nearly left him.

Gasping a few deep breaths through his mouth, Pavel tried to regain
some awareness of his surroundings. His head was throbbing in rhythm
with the pounding of his heart and a wave of nausea suddenly
threatened. Closing his eyes, the Russian tried to regain his
equilibrium.

He realized a few moments later that his assailant's weight had
shifted off of him and that the body was now hovering just above his.

Too exhausted and drained to try another escape attempt, Pavel
shivered as callused hands ran over the length of his torso,
lingering over his nipples. The seeking fingers then moved up to his
face.

"Open," the voice ordered as a hand lifted his head forward.

Before Pavel could respond, a strong hand grasped his jaw and forced
his mouth open wide. Without warning, a long, hard object was shoved
unceremoniously into his mouth. He gagged as it was rammed further
down his throat. He couldn't stop the tears from streaming down the
sides of his face as he struggled to accommodate the offending organ.

"That's right," the voice hissed above him. "Take it all in. Now ye
will service me."

The cock slid nearly out of his mouth and then was rammed back in.
Pavel tried to quell his gag reflex as the hot shaft thrust back down
his throat. Back and forth, again and again, the thick object pounded
into his mouth.

"Suck me," the voice commanded.

Pavel tried to obey, but the angle of the thrusts made him gag even
more and kept him from participating as his molester commanded. With
his hands tethered above his head, it felt more like he was being
suffocated. He tried to breathe through his nose, but it was as if
that airway was constricted as well.

Struggling against the restraints, he tried to roll away. But strong
hands threaded into his hair and held him fast, keeping him in place
so the beast could drive his entire length down his throat again and
again.

His assailant began to moan and Pavel felt the signs that the beast
was nearing completion. Something he had nearly forgotten during his
interviews with the security team on that fateful mission long ago
suddenly flashed within his mind. They thought he hadn't overheard
them, but he had. It was after they had questioned him about Kahrag
and asked why Pavel had been kept apart from the other members of
their mission. It was after their briefing over his physical condition
that he overheard the doctor tell another member of the debriefing
team, 'It's a good thing the Klingon didn't force him to perform oral
sex. From our research into Klingon physiology, Klingon semen is
highly concentrated with arsenic. It would prove deadly to a human.'

At the time, Pavel had been relieved by the simple fact that he had
returned to Federation space relatively unscathed and that he was no
longer confined to the Klingon's smelly cabin. Since that day, he
hadn't thought about what he had overheard. But now, with the beast
about to cum in his mouth, the Russian's terror grew until he was in a
near panic.

It was at that particular moment that his assailant's shaft plunged
deep inside of Pavel and, with a loud groan, hot liquid poured down
his throat.

A wave of nausea rose up from the depths as the Russian's body
unconsciously tried to expel as much of the poisonous substance as it
could without swallowing. Spitting out the throbbing member, Pavel
continued to retch and gag as he felt warm fluid splatter over his
face and run down his neck. He tried to turn his head away, but his
molester's fingers were still entwined in his hair. Feeling a
remaining glob of semen threatening to slide down his throat, Pavel
panicked, sheer terror destroying whatever thread of logic and reason
that remained.

~~Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god!~~

Pavel flailed against the restraints, bucking his legs up to get the
heavy body away from him. He couldn't swallow the Klingon's cum. Oh
GOD! He'd die if he swallowed the toxic fluid!

The Russian coughed violently, trying desperately to drive out the
Klingon's semen, gagging when he felt the sticky substance catch in
his throat and start to go down his windpipe. After he finally spit
up the last of the ejaculate, he took in a deep breath and started to
scream, "Let me go! Let me go! Let me GO, you fucking animal!"

Pavel kicked violently at the body above him. He couldn't tell
whether any of his blows were connecting. All he knew was that he
needed to keep the beast as far away from him as possible. His fear
had turned into pure rage. He could no longer stop himself. He fought
against the restraints, not caring that the hard metal was digging
into his flesh or that a warm wetness was running down his arms.

His eyes were open, but all he could see were the dingy walls of the
Klingon's quarters and the prospect of being held captive, Kahrag's
plaything, for the rest of his life. He had to get away. Somehow, he
had to get free and escape. He couldn't do this again. Oh god, not
again!

Finally, when it seemed the last measure of energy had drained out of
him, he sagged back to the bed, shaking uncontrollably.

He felt hands on his forearms and another wave of panic shot through
him. Somehow finding a last burst of energy, he flailed again at his
attacker.

"Get your filthy hands off of me," he cried out, his throat so raw by
now that he could only manage a low croak. "Don't touch me! Don't
touch me, you dirty bastard! Don't touch me! Don't....!"

At last, the hands left his body. He slumped down again, breathing
heavily, his whole body shaking.

The anger was gone. He had used all of his power in trying to escape.
Yet he was still shackled to the Klingon's bed. He was lost. Oh god!
Oh god! The anger was gone, replaced by sheer panic. His body
shuddered. Knowing he had no more strength with which to fight back,
he waited in fearful anticipation for what his Klingon captor meant to
do with him next.

He began to weep. The fight for survival was over. He now willed
himself to die and bring an end to his torment.

---

"So, you're saying Pavel's fatigue is caused by recurring
nightmares," Jim stated, feeling the pit of his stomach turn to ice.

"He told you this, Spock?" McCoy leaned forward towards the  Vulcan.
"You mean he's been dealing with this all by himself for
weeks--perhaps even months?"

"Indeed," Spock replied. "I offered to help the ensign, as I did
before, but I surmised he was not interested in pursuing my
assistance."

"Damn stubborn kid," McCoy groused with a shake of his head.

Jim took the opportunity of setting his drink down on the coffee
table to compose himself. Recognizing that his emotions were running
high, he tried to calm the urges that were flowing through him to take
immediate action. His mind screamed to rush out of McCoy's quarters
and confront Pavel immediately. This couldn't go on any longer. He
needed to do something. He needed to help Pavel. He needed...

Damn, Jim knew what he needed. He needed Pavel. Jim's body still
ached to hold him--as he had on Bennett's Planet after the young man
injured himself at the club. And, with the passage of time, the urges
just kept growing stronger. But Pavel was in a loving relationship
with Scotty. He couldn't split them up. It wasn't appropriate for a
captain to approach someone under his command. He knew he was totally
wrong for Pavel. He'd only end up hurting his young navigator if he
ever tried to...

Jim took in a deep breath to ease the thoughts raging within me.
Looking up at his two friends, he cut in, "Stubborn or not, Pavel
needs our help. Things can't continue like this. I can't have him
pass out at his post." The captain felt the icy pit in his stomach
reach up into his ribs as he added more softly, "And I hate to see
him face this alone--without a friend to turn to for help."

"Apparently the officers who debriefed him made it quite clear that
the Level 5 security clearance on the mission in question is non-
negotiable. Although Starfleet is unaware that the lock has been
compromised because of the mind meld, they have given the ensign no
other option in this regard," Spock stated, his fingers steepled in
front of him.

"A cover up, if I do say so myself, Jim," McCoy grumbled angrily. "I
think they sealed the mission just to protect someone's sorry ass.
They don't want to reveal anything that might jeopardize some bigwig's
career and Pavel is paying the price for it."

Jim sighed. "I agree, Bones. This whole situation is unacceptable.
Pavel shouldn't have to suffer because someone screwed up the mission
and landed them in the hands of the Klingons." He leaned forward,
addressing Spock directly, "Spock, you seem to think he's still being
affected by the events that took place when he was captured.  If
there's anything we can do to help him, please tell us."

"Jim, you know I cannot tell you what happened...," Spock started.

"...Spock," McCoy interrupted, the concern apparent in his voice. "We
all want the same thing. We want to help him but our hands are tied."

Jim noticed his Vulcan friend gaze over at McCoy for a moment and
then look back at him, one eyebrow arched high on his forehead. "What
do you suggest I do to assist the ensign?"

Jim felt a wave of relief flow through him. It felt good to be doing
something to help his navigator. If he couldn't have Pavel in his
life, he could at least keep a protective eye on him. Sure, as captain
he shouldn't play favorites, but he couldn't help it when it came to
the Russian.

"You can help, Spock, by telling us what happened to him on that
failed mission. What did you learn a year ago from your mind melds?"

Jim's eyes met and held Spock's gaze. He didn't want to beg, but Jim
realized he would be willing to do that--and more--to help his
navigator. He tried to silently communicate how important Spock's
decision would be to the young man's well being. Nothing else
mattered--neither Jim's pride or a direct command from Starfleet.

Spock broke his gaze with Jim and looked away. The Vulcan stared down
at the steepled fingers resting on his lap as if he were about to go
into a meditative state.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim noticed McCoy lean towards Spock.
The captain caught the other man's attention, signaling him to remain
completely silent.

After a long moment, Spock seemed to come back to himself. He looked
from McCoy to Jim. "Before I continue, I need to express my concern
over revealing what information I gained through my mind melds with
the ensign. He allowed me to help him only because he understood that
whatever information I learned would be handled with the utmost of
privacy. It was his main concern that he not violate the spirit of the
Level 5 security clearance--despite the security breach that the mind
meld posed. I do not desire to break that promise."

"Keeping this whole thing veiled under a bogus security clearance
hasn't helped Pavel deal with the repercussions," the doctor said
thoughtfully. "You may have helped him in the past, Spock, but he
needs counseling to deal with the memories of what happened to him.
If he's suffering from post-traumatic stress, then those memories are
bound to surface in rather unpredictable ways. If he's experiencing
recurring nightmares, it's apparent he can't keep this to himself any
longer. It could eventually tear him apart."

Jim mulled over the issue. He was thankful for Spock's concern,
knowing that the Vulcan was doing what he thought was best for Pavel.
But Bones was right; this couldn't go on any longer. He couldn't let
Pavel face this alone--not when he could help.

"Very well, Spock. The information you reveal will be kept in the
strictest confidence. It will go no further than this cabin. We are
asking this on behalf of Pavel, because Starfleet has given him no
other option to seek help to deal with this." Jim paused with a
grimace and then continued, his voice becoming husky, "...And I'm
asking this on behalf of myself, because I'll be damned if I will sit
back and do nothing while the best navigator I've ever had under my
command goes to pieces before my eyes."

Spock seemed to meditate on those words for a long moment. As he
waited, Jim feared his Vulcan friend would refuse. Then where would
they be? How could they help Pavel when they didn't even know what he
experienced at the hands of the Klingons?

Finally, his first officer looked up and answered, "Very well,
Captain. I believe that, under the circumstances, Ensign Chekov's
well being is of the utmost importance. As long as you both agree to
keep what I am about to reveal to you private, I believe I can
proceed."

Jim let out a sigh of relief. "Good, Spock."

"I agree, Spock," McCoy stated, a profound expression of concern
evident on his face.

Spock looked directly at Jim, the Vulcan's face seeming to become
graver than usual. "There were abuses foisted upon Ensign Chekov.
Abuses of a sexual nature."

"He wasn't raped," McCoy offered. "I performed a complete physical on
him upon his return. There were no signs of forced penetration."

"You are correct, Doctor," Spock answered, "There was no actual
physical penetration. However, I believe most humans measure unwanted
sexual contact by varying degrees of severity. One does not need
penetration for an act to be warranted as sexual molestation--or even
rape."

"Molestation?" Jim gasped, hardly able to speak the word. "I had
considered that, but after reading the medical report..."

"Indeed. The physician aboard their rescue ship, and later Dr.
McCoy's report, would reveal no physical evidence. But the
molestation was there." Spock paused briefly, as if to collect his
thoughts, and then continued, "Soon after their shuttle was captured
by the Klingons, Ensign Chekov was turned over to an officer aboard
the ship. The ensign thought he was about to be interrogated. However,
the Klingon in question had other plans.

"The Klingon explained the reason for the ensign's delivery to his
cabin. Apparently, Klingon society accepts the use of concubines--
servants whose sole purpose is for the sexual pleasure of his or her
owner. Many prefer choosing males in this role because they are
thought to be more able to withstand the physical rigors of a sexual
relationship with a Klingon."

"Good lord," McCoy gasped, shaking his head.

Jim noticed Spock turn to McCoy, and the Vulcan's voice seemed to
soften as he continued. "There is more. Ensign Chekov refused
outright and demanded to be returned to the cellblock where the
others from his mission were being held. Over the course of his
captivity, the Klingon manipulated and coerced the ensign, sometimes
physically abusing him, other times playing mind games to make Chekov
relent and accept his fate. The Klingon explained that the others from
the doomed mission had been informed that Ensign Chekov was dead after
a failed escape attempt. No matter the fate of the other team members,
the ensign was told he would remain aboard as the Klingon's personal
chattel.

"Soon thereafter the Klingon bound and gagged the ensign, initiating
inappropriate physical contact with the intent of coercing a response
from Chekov and humiliating him into submission. The Klingon was quite
efficient in forcing a physical response from him. The ensign was most
upset that he could not control the responses of his own body. I
attempted to reassure him during our mind melds that he had no reason
to be ashamed. He did nothing wrong. I advised him that, under such
circumstances, it would be difficult for most, if not all, human males
to keep control of their body's responses."

Jim looked down at his hands, feeling a shiver run up his spine for
what the young man had been forced to face, all alone, while at the
mercy of a Klingon sexual predator. From firsthand experience, Jim
knew damn well that penetration didn't have to take place for the
assault to be devastating. The icy fear that he hadn't felt in his
chest for many years returned. As hard as the memories were, it was
even worse to think that Pavel had experienced something similar to
what he himself had kept buried so long ago, and for a much longer
period of time.

~~No, not Pavel! Oh god, not him!~~

He reached up and rubbed his eyes. Jim didn't notice that Spock had
stopped talking. Looking up, he saw that the Vulcan was silently
observing him.

"Go on, Spock. I'm listening." Jim grimaced. "It's just a little hard
to take in, that's all."

"We have to know what happened, Jim--all of it--if we ever want to
help Pavel get through this," McCoy offered.

"I know. It doesn't make it any easier, though, does it?" He looked
back at Spock and nodded for the Vulcan to continue.

"At one point, the ensign tried to escape. After that, the Klingon
chained him to the bunk during an entire duty shift, in various
degrees of undress, as a form of discipline. This was done with the
ensign's knowledge that the cabin was under surveillance--as are all
Klingon crew apparently--and that others would be watching the ensign
in that state the entire time."

"Fucking monster!" the captain swore under his breath.

* * * *

Scotty erupted into the slave's throat and, closing his eyes, bent
his head back in a satisfied groan. Aye. The young one definitely
possessed a hot mouth; it was certainly an enticing receptacle for
his desire. No one else would take this away from him--not Spock or
anyone else. It was all his and his alone.

The body beneath him started to buck violently and he gripped the
younger man's hair tighter to keep the hot mouth in place until he
finished.

Emerging from his post-coital haze, he was shocked to find his slave
had already spit out his pulsing erection. The last of his creamy
fluid splashed over his captive's face and down his neck. The bound
man was alternating between vomiting and coughing, as if he was
unwilling to swallow one drop of the semen.

This was not the reaction the Scotsman expected. Perhaps the slave
had acquired more exotic tastes during his absence. Perhaps the slut
preferred Vulcan seed instead of Human. Aye, the little slut had
tasted the Vulcan and now was rejecting him. White-hot rage surged
within Scotty.

The engineer was about to lash out when the man beneath him started
to shout over and over, "Let me go! Let me go! Let me GO, you fucking
animal!"

The bound man's words finally registered in Scotty's alcohol-impaired
brain. In an instant, the engineer's blind jealously evaporated and,
as he looked down at his slave--at Pavel, his beautiful Pavel--
Scotty's drunken haze turned to shock. The Russian screamed as he
struggled desperately against the restraints.

A leg kicked upwards viciously and connected with the Scotsman's
groin. The legs continued to flail against him, a couple times
striking with keen accuracy. With an agonized moan, Scotty rolled off
of the bucking figure and landed on the floor hard in a crumpled heap.
Searing, throbbing pain radiated from his groin to every molecule in
his body.

"God, lad!" he gasped. "Now why in the blazes did ye have ta go and
do something like that?" Scotty moaned, as he rolled around, trying
to neither throw up his guts nor pass out from the pain. But the
fight to stay conscious brought the feeling of hot bile rising from
his stomach up his throat. Rolling his body toward the foot of the
bed, he tried to stand but the ability failed him. On his hands and
knees, he dragged himself into the bathroom and reached the head just
in time to erupt into it. The feel of his throbbing body contracting
brought another flash of pain, and once again his stomach emptied its
contents into the bowl.

Slowly, the pain began to subside from the rest of his body and
center itself in his bruised groin. Gingerly, protectively, his hand
moved between his thighs, cupping his scrotum. The nausea within him
began to settle. "God-damn!" Scotty cursed his lover from the floor of
the bathroom. Gripping the side of the bowl, he tested out his legs
and was able to finally stand, though still hunched over the toilet
grasping it for support. The movement of the leather against him
brought another flash of pain and he had to remain still until it
passed. With slow, painful movements, he was able to straighten his
back to a full standing position, keying the control to empty the
contents of the bowl as he rose.

He turned and began to shuffle back toward the bedroom. "Damnit, lad!
I think ye hav' seriously injured me!" he tried to shout, but it came
out more as a deep croak. Stepping to the side of the bed, and getting
no response, he said gruffly, "Did ye hear me?"

It was only then that his eyes fell on the sight of Pavel stretched
out, catatonically still. For the first time, Scotty noticed the
blood streaming down the young man's bound arms, dark splashes and
pools surrounding the head. "Laddie!" he gasped and reached for
Chekov. But the stillness of the man gave way to flailing and
guttural screams. He watched for long moments, paralyzed in pure
horror, as the lad continued to kick and thrash against the
restraints, blood splattering over part of his face with his
movements. Scotty hauled himself up onto his feet and rushed back to
the bunk. He had to do something! He had to help Pavel!

Scotty grasped Pavel's right forearm and tried to release the cuff
that was holding the Russian's wrist to the headboard. But his lover
screamed in horror and pain, writhing against him as if in a mad fit.

When the cuff wouldn't release, he removed his grip on the young
man's arm, not wanting to frighten the lad any more than he had to.
Leaving the right cuff for now, Scotty leaned over the tormented
figure and gripped the Russian's left arm. He tried numerous times to
release the cuff, but the metal was now slippery with blood and it
wouldn't give. Throughout Scotty's desperate attempts to release the
restraints, Pavel continued to kick and struggle, screaming in
outright terror.

"I'm sorry, laddie. I'm so sorry. 'Tis okay. I'm trying 't release
ye. Just rest now. I need ye 't stop so I can let ye go."

There was no reaction from the lad, only a dull, vacant glaze in
Pavel's usually brilliant brown eyes as he continued to struggle.

Scotty made another attempt to release the cuff on Pavel's right
wrist, but again the young man fought desperately against him. The
lad's movements only seemed to cause the metal to dig deeper into his
mauled wrists.

"Get your filthy hands off of me," the Russian screamed in a blind
rage, seemingly oblivious to the damage he was causing as he
continued to fight against the restraints. "Don't touch me! Don't
touch me, you dirty bastard! Don't touch me! Don't....!"

Fighting back the bile that was once more rising in his throat,
Scotty finally pulled his hands away from the lad's wrists. He
watched as Pavel collapsed back on the bunk, breathing heavily, his
whole body shaking.

Fearful of touching the lad again and causing more damage, Scotty
stood motionless next to the bunk as he watched his lover weep in
despair. His mind was a whirl of confusion as he found himself unable
to formulate what to do next to help Pavel. He suddenly felt tears
rolling down his own face in shocked grief.

Near panic driving him forward, he pried his eyes away from the young
Russian. Realizing that there was only one course of action to take,
Scotty rushed to the intercom and activated the panel.

"Doctor McCoy," he choked into the intercom.

There was a long pause and then the voice of the ship's CMO  answered,
"McCoy here."

Scotty paused for a moment. How in the hell was he going to explain
this? "Doctor?"

"Yes, Mr. Scott. Can I be of assistance to you?" McCoy's voice
answered. Scotty recognized the concern in the doctor's voice.

"Doctor. I need ye 't come straight away to our cabin." Scotty
paused, feeling a wave of nausea threaten. "Tis the lad. I...I dinna
know what 't do."

"What's wrong, Scotty?"

"I...I'm not sure, Doctor. He's..."

"Should I send a medical team?" McCoy asked, the growing alarm
apparent in the doctor's voice.

"Nay!" Scotty shouted, and then paused. He took in a deep breath to
help steady himself and then continued, "I'm sorry, but this is a
private matter. The lad...well, he has hurt himself."

"What happened?"

"He...his wrists are bleeding. I...oh god. I didn't expect him to..."

"Just hold on, Scotty. I'll be right there."

"Thank ye, Doctor. Thank ye."

---

Even before McCoy had broken the communications with the engineer,
Jim was on his feet and rushing to the cabin door. However, before he
could trip the sensor, the doctor blocked his path.

"Whoa....whoa! Where the hell do you think you're going, Jim?"

"To help Pavel," Jim snapped impatiently, feeling the adrenaline
pumping in his system at this sudden emergency. "Stop wasting time,
Bones. Grab your medikit and let's get going!"

McCoy glared at him and then leaned past Jim to pick up the emergency
kit that the doctor always had at the ready by his cabin door.
Turning back to Jim, Leonard McCoy growled, "I don't have time to
argue. You heard what the man said. This is a personal matter. I
don't want a crowd to come lumbering in and scare the poor kid--not
when all he may have done is accidentally cut himself on his cocoa
mug."

"Didn't you hear the desperation in Scotty's voice, Bones? Something
is terribly wrong."

McCoy let out an exaggerated sigh and then tripped the sensor to his
cabin door. "Okay, you're with me."

As the three men rushed down the corridor, the doctor continued his
diatribe. "Just don't get in the way. I'm running this show.
Understood?"

Jim grunted his agreement--his mind imagining the worst--as he,
McCoy, and Spock sprinted down the hallway leading to the cabin that
Scotty and Chekov had shared for the past two months.

---

As Scotty waited, he stood at the foot of the bed, staring at Pavel.
The young man seemed closed off from the outside world, staring
straight ahead with unfocused eyes, his labored breathing witness to
his continued distress.

When he couldn't stand the silence any longer, the engineer
whispered, "Laddie? I am so sorry, laddie. I dinna know. Oh gods, I
dinna know. I would never hurt ye. Please believe me. I am so sorry."

Scotty heard his young lover gasp, as if frightened by the mere sound
of his voice.  He wanted so much to rush to the side of the bed and
soothe Pavel's fears, to bring the young man some measure of comfort.

But he realized that, this time, there was nothing he could do but
wait for help to arrive. With Pavel in this state, he feared what
would happen if he tried to approach the young man again.

"Tis okay, lad," the engineer whispered almost silently, as if
speaking more to himself than to the figure on the bed. "Dr. McCoy
twill be here soon and put things to right."

---

Upon reaching the door to Pavel and Scotty's cabin, Jim was surprised
to find his way blocked by a determined Doctor McCoy.

Blue eyes met hazel as the doctor ordered, "I'm going in first. Wait
here in the corridor. You, too, Spock."

"Bones, please..." Jim began to protest.

"...Jim," McCoy interrupted, deep concern evident in his voice. "If
you care anything about this kid, let me assess the situation first.
I think we owe it to Pavel to handle this in the least intrusive way
possible. I'll let you know if I need your help."

The captain nodded his head, despite the urge raging within him to
rush right in behind McCoy. To stand here in the corridor while he
knew Pavel was just on the other side of that door--injured and
needing help--went against the very core of his being. He needed to
know what was wrong with Pavel. He needed to be there for Pavel--to
do whatever he could to help him through the nightmares, to face what
his Klingon molester had done to him, and to heal whatever injuries
he was suffering from at this very moment. It took every ounce of
self-control that he possessed to stand back and do nothing as he
watched McCoy punch in his medical override for the cabin.

When the door to Scotty and Pavel's cabin slid open, Doctor McCoy
rushed in.

The first thing Jim noticed, as the cabin door opened, was that the
room was darkened, seemingly lit by a few small candles that were
visible along the floor. Every fiber within Jim urged him to enter
the cabin, to hell with McCoy's orders. But he stayed put in the
corridor for Pavel's sake--only for Pavel.

Before the door to the cabin could close fully, Jim heard the doctor
gasp loudly and then call out, "Sweet Jesus! Lights to full!"

Jim was already in motion towards the cabin's entrance as light from
the cabin spilled into the corridor and McCoy's voice choked, "Jim!"

The captain pulled the closing door open and rushed into the cabin,
Spock close on his heels. What he saw as he entered that cabin would
give him nightmares for weeks to come.

Stopping at the side of the double bunk, Jim wasn't sure if he
understood the scene that was unfolding before him. McCoy was
standing next to the bed, running his scanner over a nude, bleeding
form--a body lying on its back that he slowly realized was Pavel
Chekov.

In a flash, Jim's eyes moved up the young man's naked body as he
tried to absorb what had occurred in this cabin before their arrival.

First, he noticed the deep scratches that were evident along the
Russian's hip and partway up his side. Jim watched the rapid,
desperate respiration of the ensign's chest before moving his
attention further up to Pavel's face. He felt his anger mounting as
it dawned on him what the creamy fluid was that was dripping down the
ensign's chin and neck. Moving his gaze upwards, he noticed how the
young man stared ahead through half-lidded, unblinking eyes, as if he
were in a trance. Following the path of red, first over the Russian's
pale forehead and up his raised arms, Jim discovered the source of
the blood--the ensign's bound wrists. Suddenly, the images that Jim
could only imagine moments before--those of the young Russian chained
to the Klingon's bunk a year ago--came crashing down into a grotesque
form of reality in front of his very eyes.

~~Oh god! Oh my GOD!~~

An ache in his chest made Jim realize that he was holding his breath.
He exhaled and sucked fresh air into his oxygen-starved lungs with a
loud gasp.

McCoy's voice broke through Jim's shocked mind with the words, "Put
out those damned candles. If I have to use oxygen, I don't want to
blow us all to kingdom-come!" Jim noticed Spock rush away from his
side to extinguish the candles.

Jim surveyed the bloody mess that the restraints had made of Pavel's
wrists and shuddered. Feeling the sudden urge to soothe the injured
man, he placed a hand on the Russian's right shoulder and called
softly, "Pavel?"

The body jerked with the contact and Pavel let out a loud, agonized
scream as he began to flail and kick against seemingly imaginary
attackers.

"Don't....don't touch me! Don't touch me!" the young ensign raged,
his voice hoarse and raw.

Jim yanked his hand away as if burned. The captain placed his hands
on top of the bunk next to the Russian, leaned down, and  murmured,
"Pavel? It's okay. It's Captain Kirk. Can you hear me,  Pavel?"

Jim watched in horror as his navigator continued to thrash wildly on
the bunk. The young man seemed caught up in some sort of
hallucination, unaware of his surroundings and the fact that he was
surrounded by friends. After a long moment, Pavel's strength seemed
to ebb and he sagged back down into the bloody pillows beneath him,
his body trembling from exertion.

"Jesus, Bones," Jim choked, turning back to his CMO. "What just
happened?"

"I don't know." McCoy frowned at his scanner again and then looked
back at Jim. "He seems to be in some sort of panic attack."

"We need to get these restraints off of him," Jim said, knowing he
was stating the obvious but wanting to do something, anything, to end
his navigator's suffering.

"I know," McCoy shot back, "He's bleeding quite badly. But when you
touched him just now, his blood pressure shot up to a dangerous
level. We need to calm him down a little before we can attempt to
remove the restraints."

Looking McCoy in the eye, Jim pressed, "Can you sedate him?"

McCoy shook his head. "Not under these circumstances. I don't know
what administering a sedative will do to him."

"How is he, otherwise?"

The doctor continued to scan and then looked back at his  captain.
"Aside from the injuries to his wrists, he's in fairly good  shape
physically. He hasn't lost enough blood to put him into shock-- not
yet, anyway. Some superficial scratches on his sides and a
hyperextension injury to his inside right groin and thigh."

Jim looked down at Pavel, who appeared much as he did when they first
entered the cabin--in a sort of dazed trance, his breathing rapid and
shallow, every muscle seeming at ready to fight against his attackers
at the first sign of assault.

"Let's give him a few moments to calm down, Jim," McCoy suggested.

Jim looked back at his CMO and noticed Spock had rejoined them.
"Spock?"

"I concur with the doctor," the Vulcan replied gravely.

Jim nodded his head. He was never good at waiting, especially when it
concerned someone who he cared deeply about. His pent up emotions
getting the best of him, he started to pace as McCoy and Spock
conferred next to the bunk containing his injured navigator.

With every cycle of his pacing, Jim caught the horrendous view of
Pavel's face, caked with blood and semen. He knew he needed to do
something. He needed to erase the evidence before him. Gods, if Bones
called his medical team to the cabin, they'd see this horror for
themselves. He couldn't allow anyone else to see Pavel in this state.

Jim suddenly found himself next to the entrance to the cabin's head.
Making a swift decision, he entered the tiny bathroom. After grabbing
a couple of white hand towels off of their hooks, he tripped the
sensor on the basin faucet and turned the temperature to its hottest
setting. He soaked the towels in hot water and then twisted them to
remove the excess water.

Rushing back out to the main cabin, Jim approached the bunk.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" McCoy asked, blocking his
way.

"I'm going to get that mess off of him," he replied.

"And do you think that will calm him down?" the doctor growled.

"It might," Jim shot back, his voice determined. "Bones--let me do
this."

As if knowing Jim wouldn't back down, McCoy relented. As usual, the
doctor's utmost concern was with his patient, not with whatever Jim's
feelings were at the moment. "Just be careful with him. If he starts
to panic, I want you to stop," the doctor warned, in a no-nonsense
tone.

"Fair enough."

Jim sat down on the bunk next to his ensign. Pavel appeared to have
calmed somewhat. His breathing seemed slower, steadier, and his body
lay more relaxed on the bunk. If it weren't for the dazed stare that
gazed out unseeing through slit eyelids, Jim would have guessed the
young man was fast asleep.

He set one of the hand towels next to him on the bunk and then
unfurled the other one in his hand. Keeping the end of the towel
firmly balled up in his left hand, Jim used a small section of the
other end to carefully blot the Russian's cheek.

Pavel gasped with the contact, but remained motionless as Jim ran the
warm towel over the ensign's cheek and down to his chin. As the
captain moved the towel over Pavel's face, he talked softly in
reassuring tones, all the while making sure that the other parts of
the towel didn't touch the Russian so as not to startle him. Jim
switched to different parts of the towel as each section became
coated with blood and creamy fluid. After running the towel down
Pavel's neck, Jim tossed the first towel aside and grabbed the second
towel. He repeated the process with the clean towel, washing off the
last remnants of blood and semen from the Russian's face, neck and
chest.

"You must have reached him on some level, Jim," McCoy stated softly
as he gazed into his medical scanner. "His blood pressure is back to
normal levels. Respiration, too."

"Thank god," Jim whispered in relief.

The captain ran the towel from Pavel's face up to a bloody forearm.
The reaction was immediate. The Russian let out a panicked cry and
started to buck against the restraints.

Jim pulled the towel away, angered with himself for pushing things
too far. He should have anticipated this reaction. He should have...

"Get yer hands off him," an angry voice shouted from right behind
Jim. "Ye are scaring the lad clear out of his mind! Now let him be!"

Strong hands gripped Jim's upper arms.

"Scotty! Stop it," McCoy ordered.

"Ye are upsetting the lad," Scotty growled.

Realization slammed into Jim as the hands pulled at him viciously.
Montgomery Scott must have been in the cabin all along, watching them
in silence up until that exact moment. Jim elbowed back against the
engineer, but Scotty had a better fighting stance and anger on his
side, making him strong. The captain felt himself being flung off of
the bunk. Landing onto the floor with a muffled gasp, Jim rolled to
get away from the advancing figure. But before he could gather
himself up to meet his attacker, Scotty slammed into him with his
entire body, knocking the breath out of him temporarily.

"Keep yer hands off him," the Scotsman roared in a murderous  rage,
"He's mine. Ye are not 't touch him. Either of ye!"

"Mr. Scott. Stop this outburst at once," Spock's deep voice
commanded, sounding closer and closer as if rushing towards the two
combatants.

Regaining his breath, Jim kicked up at the Scotsman, toppling the
other man off of him. The captain staggered upright just as Scotty
was getting back to his feet. He saw the engineer brush past Spock
and approach the bunk.

White-hot anger coursed through the captain's body. With his total
focus on his young navigator, Jim had forgotten about Scotty's role
in this terrible situation. He didn't have to know all of the details
to know that this was the man who was guilty of such evil debauchery!
This was the animal that had tied up Pavel and hurt him--just like
that Klingon monster did all those months ago! He couldn't allow
Scotty close to Pavel. Never again! Never!

Murderous rage overwhelmed common sense, pushing Jim into action.
Rushing up to Scotty, he grasped the engineer by the shoulders. He
spun the man away from the bunk--away from Pavel--and slammed Scotty
against the nearest wall. Pinning the engineer there, Jim leaned in
close and barked, "Get away from him, you god-damned animal!" Jim
clutched the Scotsman's throat with his right hand and, with another
hard shove into the wall, he raged, "God damn you! How could you do
this to Pavel? How could you do this to him, you sick bastard?"

"I dinna want ye here," Scotty seethed, ignoring Jim's words
entirely. "I twill nay let ye touch the lad. Now get out."

Jim pulled the engineer back and then slammed him against the
bulkhead again. Gripping the other man's neck tightly, he  shouted,
"You're wrong. YOU are the one who will have to clear out,  mister.
You're not getting anywhere near Pavel, not if I have  anything to do
with it."

"Jim," a voice called from over his left shoulder.

"How could you do this to Pavel? How...?" Jim could feel his whole
body quake with excess adrenaline--as if he were about to shatter
apart at any moment. He stared at the engineer, his control nearly at
the breaking point. He was so furious that he could have killed the
Scotsman right then and there with his bare hands.

"Jim," the calm voice called again. "This line of questioning is not
helping Ensign Chekov."

The captain felt a hand touch his shoulder. The touch seemed like a
calming balm to Jim's raging emotions.

"Jim."

Slowly, ever so slowly, he felt himself relax. Taking in a deep
breath, Jim released the engineer. However, he knew the anger he
still felt was obvious as his eyes pierced the ones of the stubborn
man he had known for so long, and to whom he had entrusted Pavel.
Suddenly, the smell of stale Scotch hit Jim's senses and he nearly
gagged with the stench. His gaze traveled down the man's body and he
realized what the Scotsman was wearing. Black leather hugged the body
in a most erotic manner. A silver zipper ran the length of the
bondage-style outfit. The man's exposed cock hung limply from an
unfurled leather pouch, the laces dangling on either side of the
organ.

Barely able to control the disgust in his voice, Jim looked back into
Scotty's face and hissed, "Get the hell out of that costume. I don't
want to see it ever again. This type of behavior does NOT belong on
my ship or with one of my officers. You are not to go anywhere near
Ensign Chekov until a full inquiry is convened. Do you understand?"

It seemed Jim's words finally reached the engineer. The Scotsman's
eyes glazed over in shock, as if suddenly realizing the implications
of his actions that evening. Scotty could only nod his head in muted
reply.

Jim turned and found himself face-to-face with his Vulcan friend. For
the first time, he realized it was Spock's voice that had pulled him
from his murderous rage.

Just as he was about to say something to his first officer, Jim heard
a noise behind him. Turning, he witnessed Scotty sliding down the
wall to the floor, landing in a crouched position. The man curled
away from his commanding officers and leaned against the bulkhead,
weeping in heart-rending gasps.

Disgusted, unwilling to gaze upon the engineer any longer, Jim turned
back to the Vulcan. "Tend to Scotty. And see if you can sober him up
so he can tell us what the hell happened here."

"Very well, Captain."

Jim turned his attention back to his injured navigator.

McCoy was scanning the young man again. Chekov's desperate
respiration indicated his great distress. Frowning, the doctor looked
up at Jim and reported, "I don't think we can wait any longer for him
to calm down. All of the shouting has kept him pretty much on edge."

"I'm sorry, Bones," Jim stated softly, regretting his part in
upsetting the young Russian further.

McCoy just shrugged. "What's done is done, Jim." The doctor pulled
out a hypospray and dialed a setting into the tiny device. "I'm going
to have to chance giving him a mild sedative so we can remove the
restraints." The doctor pressed it gently against the Russian's
shoulder.

They waited a beat and then watched as the young man's body slowly
sagged back into the bloodstained pillows.

Jim carefully released one of the restraints, trying all the while to
keep his nausea in check as his fingers slid across the blood-smeared
metal. Once he released the last cuff, he and McCoy gently lowered
Pavel's arms to his sides.   Jim sat down on the bunk next to the
young man, resting his back  against the headboard. With McCoy's help,
he propped the Russian up  into a semi-reclining position, resting the
limp body against his  chest in the process. The doctor placed a
couple of pillows under  Pavel's knees.

Pulling the top sheet up until it covered the young man to his waist,
McCoy looked up at Jim and shrugged. "Just thought I'd give Chekov a
small measure of dignity here. Poor kid."

As Jim held the young man against himself, he began talking softly to
his frightened navigator. He stroked his fingertips through Pavel's
damp hair, and then caressed the young man's face and the back of his
neck. He kept up that pattern, paying the most attention to Pavel's
nape where he could feel a lot of tension was built up. Jim kept to
those areas that he considered safe so as not to startle the young
man any further.

Without looking up from his medical scanner, McCoy stated, "Keep that
up, Jim. He's calming. Blood pressure has dropped some. Respiration
has improved a little bit, too."

Jim didn't need much prompting. He repeated the gentle touch and kept
up his soothing banter, hoping that, in some small way, he was
reaching the injured man.

---

Pavel felt hands on his body, but he suddenly had lost the ability to
fight back against his molester. He felt lethargic, as if he no
longer had the power to move of his own volition. He didn't
understand the voices around him. They scared him. The angry voices
reminded him of where he was--Kahrag's cabin. When he opened his
eyes, he could see the blurry images of Klingon's tiny cabin. He
could smell the stench of the alien ship. He could hear the Klingon's
taunting voice. He could feel the restraints that tied him to
Kahrag's bed. He tried to escape but he failed. Now he was being
disciplined. He would never get away this time. The Klingon would
make sure of that. Nothing was left but the pain in his arms and the
throbbing in his head. He wanted to weep, but not this time. He would
not show his weakness to this monster again, not as long as there was
still a breath left in his body.

The hands carefully pulled his wrists free from the restraints.
Normally this would bring him great relief, but Pavel knew it just
meant the dirty Klingon had other plans for him. He felt his body
shudder with the thought of it.

~~Nyet. I cannot do this again. Not again!~~

He must have blacked out for a moment because the next thing he
realized was being held in a sitting position, his face pressed
against a supportive shoulder. Soothing fingertips massaged the back
of his neck. It felt good. It felt safe. He allowed himself to relax
for a moment and take comfort in the touch.

But then he remembered where he was. Kahrag's cabin. In a moment of
sudden clarity, Pavel understood what was happening. His Klingon
tormentor was just making soothing overtures, hoping he'd relax and
let his guard down before sexually assaulting him.

He had to fight back. Somehow, he had to. But his body was
frustratingly slow to cooperate. Pavel moved his hands down to cover
his groin. He had to stop the dirty Klingon from touching him. He
couldn't let that goddamned animal molest him again.

He felt something touch his wrists and the memory of the monster's
hands on him ripped through his consciousness again--causing the
panic to hit full force. It was as if the touch triggered a switch in
his body. The switch said MOVE and his sluggish body obeyed at last.

"N....NYET! L....let me go," he could hear his own voice stammer
angrily through the muzziness of his brain. He swatted the hands away
from his wrists as he twisted out of the embrace of the arms that
kept him upright. He kicked at the sheet that was wrapped around his
legs, ripping the fabric away. Suddenly, he was free. But now he had
to get away. Somehow he had to get away.

Pavel heard angry voices shout all around him as he continued to
blindly flail against his molesters. Strong hands tried to grab his
arms and legs. He kicked back and made contact with something hard
with his foot. Apparently he hit his mark as the hands at his legs
let go.

He squirmed away from the other hands, continuing to strike out with
everything he had. Escaping momentarily, he slid to the other side of
the bunk, trying to put some distance between himself and the hands
that were trying to pull him back. Pavel blindly slammed headfirst
into the bulkhead of the cabin with a loud, bone-jarring crash. Dazed
momentarily, he dropped to the bunk with a loud, agonized gasp.

Strong arms immediately wrapped around his waist from behind and
grabbed his arms. Another set of hands grabbed his feet, keeping them
motionless in an iron grip. He struggled against the hands, but he
was powerless against their combined strength. His body wasn't
cooperating again. The switch had suddenly turned off and he was once
again moving in slow motion, boneless against the unrelenting
strength of his molester.

"NYET! D...don't...don't touch me. L...let me go," Pavel rasped,
finding his voice again. After using up the last of his reserves, he
felt his whole body shudder in fatigue and absolute fear. The hands
returned to his wrists and Pavel gasped, a horrified scream lodged in
his throat, as he tried to fight off the hands. He was pulled back
against a hard chest and held in a crushing grip. Despite the
overwhelming power of his molester, he continued to fight, even when
words were all he had left, repeating the same chant over and  over,
"Let me go... let me go... let me go... let me go... let me  go... let
me go..."

---

" Let me go... let me go... let me go... let me go... let me go...
let me go..."

"Bones, Spock--we're not getting anywhere like this. We're only
frightening him more," Jim stated through clenched teeth as he
gripped the struggling man from behind in a tight bear hug. He looked
over to Spock, who was holding down the Russian's legs, and finally
to McCoy, who was kneeling on the bunk trying to treat the young
man's wrists. Jim saw the same concern and frustration that he felt
mirrored on the doctor's own haggard face.

The doctor grasped one of Chekov's wrists again, but the young man
slapped the hands away with a startled cry.

"Bones, stop."

"I have to stop the bleeding and dress those wounds on his wrists."

Looking down, he felt the shivers running through the frightened
man's body. He didn't have any idea what was wrong with his young
navigator, but apparently they were going about this all wrong. There
had to be another way.

"Don't touch him," Jim whispered, trying to level out his voice into
a calming tone.

"But I have to touch him to treat him," McCoy insisted.

"Is he in immediate danger?"

McCoy looked back down at his medical scanner as he passed it over
the injured man's body once again. Finally, looking up, the doctor
replied, "Well, I admit he hasn't lost enough blood to put him into
shock--yet. But if I don't stem the blood flow, it's going to become
an issue real soon, Jim."

"Okay, Bones. Just give us a moment here. Get off the bunk. Let's
give him some space, okay?"

He glanced up in time to see McCoy nod his head.

"Spock, let him go."

"Jim?"

"Just do it, Spock."

Looking back down at the frightened young man, he slowly released his
hold on the shaking body. When he looked down at Spock, he noticed
that the Vulcan had released Pavel's legs as well.

The Russian immediately took advantage of his freedom, awkwardly
squirming away from the captain's hands.

Jim didn't stop Pavel from rolling away from him. The young man
struggled shakily to his hands and knees and started crawling in
uncoordinated movements across the bunk, seeming intent on getting as
far away from the others as possible. Bumping into the bulkhead at
the other side of the bunk with his shoulder, he let out a low grunt
and slid down into a heap on the bed. He clawed his hands along the
bulkhead, leaving a trail of blood with his efforts, until he reached
the headboard. As if suddenly admitting defeat, the Russian slowly
sank into the pillows and curled into a protective ball, his back
facing the others. Pavel began wheezing in tight, shallow
respirations as he crossed his arms over his groin area as if to
protect himself from any unwanted advances. The captain felt the bile
rise in his throat at the sight, realizing that the nightmares he had
kept hidden for all these years were springing back to life before
him.

Jim leaned over the bunk so he could speak directly into his
navigator's ear. "Pavel," he whispered softly, "It's Captain Kirk.
Can you hear me?"

He reached down and rubbed gently along the back of the young man's
neck. The Russian flinched at the touch. "Pavel? You're safe. Do you
understand? There's no need to be afraid here."

Jim continued to gently rub the Russian's nape, not willing to risk
moving his touch elsewhere lest he frighten his navigator any
further.

"You're safe. You're with friends, Pavel. There's no one here to hurt
you. Do you understand me? It's Captain Kirk. I'm here, Pavel. I'm
here to help you."

Unsure whether he was even reaching the terrorized man, Jim continued
the litany of calming words and gentle caresses. For their part, the
others kept completely silent. Whether Jim was actually reaching
Pavel was difficult to say, but his words and touch had helped calm
the Russian before and that's what kept him going.

"Pavel? It's Captain Kirk. Can you hear my voice? You're safe, Pavel.
Do you understand?"

He heard a slight gasp from the huddled figure. "K...Kep...Keptain?"

Jim felt his heart jump in his chest. He tried not to react, keeping
his voice calm and steady. "Yes. It's Captain Kirk. It's okay. You're
safe."

"W...what? ...What are...you doing here...Keptain?"

Relief flowed through Jim at the Russian's seemingly lucid question.
He felt a warmth of affection spread throughout his chest as he
replied softly, "I came to help you, Pavel."

"I...I do not understand. H....how can you be here, sair?"

Jim continued rubbing the back of the young man's neck in gentle
circles. "Don't worry about that right now. Just relax. Let me help
you, okay?"

He heard Pavel let out a shaky gasp. The young man surprised Jim by
suddenly rolling over to his other side to face him. The Russian
blindly snaked his hands around Jim's middle and buried his face in
the older man's chest.

"P....please, sair," Pavel whispered into Jim's tunic. "P...please
don't leave me here with him. Please, don't leave me."

Jim felt his anger rise again and he looked over to the foot of the
bunk where Scotty was now standing, appearing more sober and aware of
what was going on around him. The Scotsman stared back at his
captain, dumbfounded at Pavel's words. With a gasp, Scotty seemed
about to protest, but Spock's quick hand motion silenced him.

Jim turned back to his navigator. "Who, Pavel? Who is trying to hurt
you? I need to know so I can help you."

The Russian pressed himself even harder against Jim's chest, as if he
were trying to burrow away from imminent danger. The captain wrapped
his arms around the shaking body in a protective hug.

"It's okay. It's safe to tell me, Pavel."

The injured man let out a muffled sob and tightened his grip around
Jim's torso. Finally, he stammered, "K....Kahrag. Kahrag will be back
soon and then he....!" There was a pause, and then Pavel  continued,
"P...please don't let him touch me, sair. I...I cannot...I  cannot do
this again. Please, sair."

Jim looked up at Spock.

"Jim, Kahrag is the name of the Klingon that detained Ensign Chekov a
year ago. The ensign was informed that Kahrag was killed during the
battle with the Federation forces that eventually rescued him and the
other members of the mission."

A sharp gasp sounded next to the Vulcan. "Klingons? What do those
devils have 't do with th' lad?"

Jim ignored Scotty's question for now. There would be time, later, to
deal with the Scotsman. His first--his only--concern at the moment
was Pavel.

He turned back to the young man in his arms. "I promise he won't hurt
you, Pavel. Kahrag is dead. He died and you were set free. Don't you
remember?"

The ensign began shivering again. "Nyet....NYET! Th...they lied. He's
here. I...I heard his voice. He chained me to his bunk. D...don't let
him near me, sair. Don't...."

Jim could do nothing except begin his litany of gentle words and
caresses as the Russian struggled against him. He could feel Pavel
clench his uniform top in a crushing grip, the young man holding on
as if his whole life depended on it.

With sudden clarity, Jim realized Pavel's life--his true reality--in
some ways did depend on him. The young man was holding on to the only
connection that led to safety. Jim was that connection.

He rested his cheek on top of the Russian's damp head and just held
on, offering the only thing he could at the moment--himself. "I'm not
going to let you go," he promised in a choked whisper. "I've got you.
I won't let you go. Okay?"

Jim became aware of another presence on the bunk next to him. Looking
up, he was surprised to find Spock sitting next to him.

The Vulcan's dark, serious eyes met Jim's. Knowing Spock as well as
he did after all these years, Jim recognized the expression of deep
concern on his friend's face.

"Jim. It is my opinion that Mr. Chekov is suffering from an errant
memory. Some would refer to it as a flashback. For some reason, he
appears to be reliving a memory of his detainment aboard the Klingon
ship. He seems unable to stop the flow of images on his own."

"That may very well be, Spock, but even in the twenty-third century
we have nothing to stop a flashback episode," McCoy offered. "Sure,
now that we an idea of the cause we can help him, but if I can't get
close to treat those bleeding wrists, we may not get the  opportunity.
He's losing a lot of blood."

"Can you fully sedate him?" Jim asked.

McCoy shook his head. "I don't want to...not when he's in the middle
of a flashback. Lord knows what it would do to him. I wouldn't want
to risk more than what I've given him already."

Jim looked at the urgent eyes of the physician and the unswerving
certainty on his first officer's face and knew they all had the same
goal in mind--to bring the ensign through this situation whole,
mentally and physically. The captain realized he knew of only one way
that both of these objectives might be accomplished.

"Spock?"

The Vulcan's dark eyes met Jim's. As if by silent agreement, Spock
gave Jim a slight nod and then stated, "I have assisted the ensign
before in sorting his memories from this particular event. I propose
using a mind meld to find the trigger of this flashback and turn it
off."

Jim didn't hesitate in his answer. He knew he couldn't allow Pavel to
remain trapped in that hellish memory a moment longer. He could see
the agony it was causing the young man. "Okay, Spock. Do it."

"Now wait just a cott'n pickin' minute," McCoy called as he moved
quickly so he was facing Spock directly. "He's going through enough
as it is. I don't think scrambling his brain further is the answer."

"If you can offer another solution, Doctor, I am willing to hear it,"
the Vulcan replied.

Jim watched as Spock waited a beat for McCoy to respond to the
challenge. When one didn't come, the Vulcan turned back to Pavel.

"Well...just be careful," McCoy said, his voice softening. "His
emotional state is extremely fragile right now. I don't like the idea
of you poking around in his brain, terrorizing him further."

"I realize that, Doctor," the Vulcan replied, not turning his gaze
from the young Russian. "I will conduct myself with the utmost of
care. It is not my wish to add to the ensign's burden."

Jim caught his friend's eye. "What can I do to help?"

"Hold Mr. Chekov in the same position you are now. Continue to calm
him with your words and touch. He has shown positive emotional
responses to you before. Therefore, Jim, I will use you to help draw
him out."

Nodding his head quickly, Jim replied almost impatiently, "Just do
it, Spock."

Spock nodded his head and then closed his eyes. The Vulcan steepled
his fingers in the now familiar preparation before a mind meld. Once
Spock opened his eyes again, he reached out to the Russian's face.

Jim felt Pavel flinch when Spock's fingertips made contact. As the
mind meld progressed, the captain continued his litany of calming
words as he rubbed soothing circles in the injured man's nape, back,
and shoulders. All he could do was wait--and hope that Spock could
shut down the memory that was consuming his young navigator.

---

Pavel didn't know what was real anymore. He heard the captain's
voice. He was sure of it. But the other voice was there as well--
taunting him, telling him it was all a lie.

He wanted so much to find comfort in the captain's voice, but the
other would not allow it. It felt as though he was mired down in
quicksand, unable to move towards the captain or away from the other
voice.

The captain really wasn't there, was he? His voice was growing
fainter and fainter. Only the other voice was loud and clear--Kahrag.

The damned Klingon ghost had returned. He had finally come back to
claim what was rightfully his.

Pavel's entire body ached; his head, his arms, his chest. The hands
stroking his body felt like balm to his stressed nerves. But he knew
they only meant to lull him into accepting his fate. Accept that he
was Kahrag's property. Accept that he had no recourse to keep the
Klingon from touching him, from making him...!

"Mr. Chekov."

Pavel recoiled as a new voice suddenly echoed within his mind.

The Klingon's voice resumed its onslaught--drowning out the new
voice. Kahrag's voice started reciting passages from that damn book--
the one he had taken such delight in reading to Pavel. The Russian
didn't really understand the story, except for some main themes that
the Klingon had explained to him in great detail. The maiden from the
story was expected to submit to her captor. In doing so, she would
eventually come to love him, despite all that she had lost in her
captivity. It was obvious to Pavel that Kahrag was referring to him
as the maiden. The story illustrated clearly what Kahrag expected of
him--to submit to his captor, to accept his fate willingly, to give
up his own reality and become the Klingon's lover.

And now, that day had arrived.

~~Nyet!~~

"Mr. Chekov. Ensign," the new voice broke through the Klingon's
recitation.

~~Nyet! Nyet! Don't touch me! Go away! I...I cannot do this! Please
make it stop! Please!~~

"Mr. Chekov. You are safe. Can you hear Captain Kirk's voice calling
you?"

~~It's a lie. He...he said it was a lie. Th...the Keptain cannot be
here. He cannot be here. He cannot help me.~~

"You are incorrect, Ensign," the new voice replied, blocking the
other voice from reinforcing what Pavel knew to be true. "This memory
is false. Kahrag's voice is false. He is not here. He is dead."

~~Nyet! His voice! His voice...!~~

"I am blocking out Kahrag's voice. He is dead. He has no power over
you."

~~N...nyet! He...he chained me to his bunk. He...he is here.~~

Suddenly, Pavel felt a calmness flow over him. The new voice replied
in a gentler tone, almost lovingly, "Do you recognize my voice,
Pashakam?"

The nickname registered in his memory. An image formed within his
mind--a tall man, with dark hair; a man who was safe, who at one time
had helped keep memories of Kahrag away. But just as quickly, the
image vanished. A surge of fear coursed through him, pushing the
calming presence away. He felt the Klingon's dreary cabin start to
close in on itself. He suddenly found himself suffocating as the
walls closed in all around him, trapping him inside. He tried to
scream, but found he could not utter a sound within the vacuum of his
prison.

"You are not trapped, Pashakam," the new voice registered in his
mind, as though reading his panicked thoughts. "You have the ability
to free yourself. Kahrag is not here. His walls cannot hold you. The
captain is here to help you. Seek out his voice. He will wait as long
as it takes for you to find him."

Pavel feared the sudden flush of hope that began to course through
his being. He shuddered and felt gentle fingertips soothe the aching
muscles in his back and shoulders.

~~Th...the Keptain is here?~~

"It is true, Pashakam. He is here. He is waiting for you. Focus on
the touch of his fingertips on your skin. The captain is the one
touching you--not Kahrag. Listen for his voice. He is your true
reality--not what you think you see of the Klingon ship. Kahrag is an
illusion, a mere specter. He is from the past. Kahrag cannot hurt you
here. You are safe, with Captain Kirk, aboard the Enterprise."

Pavel could hardly dare to believe it. He pressed against the walls
that trapped him inside the Klingon's cabin. Suddenly, the image
shattered into a million shards of color and shadow, and then slowly
dropped away.

"Now seek out the captain's voice. He will wait until you are ready
to rejoin your true reality. I must withdraw now. Just remember--you
are safe. The captain is here to help you."

~~You will not stay with me?~~

"No, I cannot remain. But do not fear. You possess the ability to
make this journey on your own. You are surrounded by those who care
about your well-being. You will be protected and cared for until you
choose to rejoin your true reality. Just follow the captain's voice."

The Russian felt the voice fade and gradually withdraw from his
consciousness. He regretted the parting as it rekindled memories of
the past--of someone that helped and cared for him before. The voice
finally had an identity. His teacher. Mr. Spock.

Just as his mentor's presence melted away, Pavel sensed a voice from
right above him--speaking to him in gentle, reassuring tones. He
relished the feel of the fingertips as they massaged in slow circles
along his shoulders. He savored the strength of the arm that held him-
-protected, safe. He felt his whole being relax. His teacher would
never lie, so it must be true.

Feeling the fear and despair slowly lift, Pavel listened to the
voice. It was difficult to make out what was being said, but the tone
soothed him nonetheless. Slowly, reality began to right itself. He
followed his teacher's advice and centered himself on the calming
voice. And something told him that when he found the one who belonged
to the voice, he would finally be home.

---

Jim felt the tense muscles in Pavel's shoulders slowly relax under
his touch. Sighing in relief, he glanced up at McCoy's skeptical face
and whispered, "I think Spock reached him, Bones."

The doctor passed his medical scanner over the young man. The
doubtful expression vanished as he examined the readings. "I think
you're right. His readings are returning to normal levels."

Jim watched as his first officer and friend removed his fingertips
from the young man's face. The Vulcan blinked his eyes open as he
straightened. Spock placed a hand on the bed and bent over slightly,
shaking his head as though suddenly off-balance.

"Spock?" McCoy touched the Vulcan gently on the shoulder. The first
officer reached out and grasped the doctor's forearm, as if needing
McCoy's support as an anchor.

After a long, silent moment, McCoy repeated, "Spock?"

The Vulcan turned to face the sound of his name. As if reading the
man's apprehension, Spock answered, "Do not concern yourself, Doctor.
I am fine." The Vulcan removed his hand from McCoy's arm.

"Spock, are you sure you're okay?" Jim asked, not even trying to mask
the deep concern in his voice.

Straightening to a full sitting position, the Vulcan answered, "Yes,
Jim. I had to go much deeper than I had initially anticipated."

"...And Pavel?" Jim asked, running his hand down across the young
man's shoulders.

"He will recover. I assisted him in ending the errant memory. He was
quite thoroughly convinced that he was locked in Kahrag's cabin. It
appears that the act of restraining him to the bunk's headboard
triggered the flashback. Ensign Chekov now understands that the event
was from his past--not from the present."

A loud gasp sounded from the foot of the bunk and Jim heard Scotty's
voice choke, "Ye mean 't say some Klingon devil chained him up? Is
tha' what this is all about?"

The Vulcan leveled his gaze at Jim, an eyebrow arched high on his
forehead. Jim immediately understood the dilemma and Spock's unspoken
question. What, if anything, should they tell Scotty about Pavel's
imprisonment aboard the Klingon ship? He intended the information
would go no further than the three of them--four including Pavel. No,
his first gut reaction was to keep Scotty in the dark. He didn't want
the Scotsman anywhere near the young man. He had told Scotty as much
and he didn't intend to back down from his harsh stance now.

"Jim?"

Spock's simple question broke through his thoughts. Jim knew his
emotions were still raging against the Scotsman. Looking down at
Pavel, who lay curled in his arms, Jim pondered how to react. How
could he forgive Scotty for this?

But then, he had to ask himself what would be best for Pavel? Scotty
already knew more than any of them had intended. The Scotsman
wouldn't let it go until he knew the whole damn story. Besides, it
would be better coming from one of them. The last thing Jim wanted
was for Scotty to force the truth from Pavel at the first
opportunity. He didn't want to put the Russian through that if he had
anything to say about it.

Making a decision, Jim snapped back, "Tell him. But make sure he
understands our security constraints. We can't allow this to go any
further than this cabin. Got that?"

Acknowledging Jim's words, Spock turned to the engineer. "There is
much we need to discuss, Mr. Scott. I suggest we retire to one of the
conference rooms on this level."

"I nay 'twill leave the lad behind. Ye canna keep me away from him,"
Scotty fumed, his hands clenched in angry fists as he glared first at
Spock, and then at his captain.

Jim watched as the Vulcan's stance shifted very subtly. For those who
didn't know the Vulcan well, the change in body language may have
gone unnoticed. But the captain knew his first officer very well. In
the pregnant silence that punctuated Scott's outburst, Jim noticed
Spock's shoulders square to their full width and the muscles beneath
his uniform ripple as he straightened his body even more than usual.
It was a stance that Jim had witnessed only on those very rare
occasions when the Vulcan's tight control on his emotions had nearly
reached its breaking point.

"Mr. Scott," the Vulcan stated in a much deeper voice than Jim
expected.

As if suddenly realizing that he was treading on thin ice in front of
his superior officers, Scotty whirled back to address Spock with a
belated, "Sir."

As Jim watched, it seemed Spock's eyes darkened as they bore into the
engineer. With a harsh frown set on his angular features, Spock
continued in a deep tone, "I believe the captain spelled things out
quite adequately regarding the suspension of your access to the
ensign. But perhaps, under the circumstances, you did not take the
order seriously. I remind you of it now for it is obvious by your
actions that a cooling off period is the most logical way to proceed
until the events of this evening can be investigated. Then, and only
then, will it be decided if you will be trusted to have contact with
Ensign Chekov--and, in that case, only if the ensign wishes such
contact."

Jim glanced at McCoy, who turned and gazed back at him. Wide-eyed, a
look of utter disbelief formed over the doctor's craggy face at the
seemingly emotional tone to the Vulcan's voice.

As Jim turned back to his first officer, Spock continued, "The ensign
is still in the process of returning to his true reality. He requires
a calm environment, free from stress and emotional outbursts. Time
and time again, Mr. Scott, you have displayed your inability to
control your emotions and thus your continued presence would be
detrimental to Ensign Chekov's recovery. For these reasons, I believe
it would be prudent to hold our conference elsewhere."

Jim watched as the Scotsman seemed to deflate before his eyes. After
a long pause, the engineer nodded and replied softly, "I dinna ever
intend 't hurt the lad. Ye need 't know that."

"We want to believe you, Scotty," McCoy replied evenly, obviously
trying to keep his emotions in check. "We know you were unprepared
for his reaction. Hell, I just learned tonight what that Klingon
animal did to the kid. I was unprepared for this as well. But right
now we have to do what's best for Pavel. If you really do care what
happens to him, you will go with Spock."

Jim remained silent, unwilling to acquiesce on Scotty's behalf. The
engineer's words might be sincere enough, but he still put Pavel in
restraints. It didn't matter, in Jim's opinion, that Scotty was
unaware of the implications of doing something like that to the
Russian. It didn't matter that Scotty was unaware of what happened to
Pavel a year ago on that Klingon ship. It didn't matter because this
kind of barbaric, hedonistic behavior didn't belong on his ship, not
with his crew, and certainly not with this young man.

"I suggest, Mr. Scott, that you take this opportunity to change into
a proper uniform," Spock instructed, "I will wait until you are ready
and then we shall leave for our discussion."

Jim looked back in time to see the Scotsman nod his head with a low
mutter. The engineer dialed up a new uniform from the console and
then entered the bathroom to dress.

Looking back, Jim was surprised to find Spock kneeling next to the
bunk, studying Pavel with serious eyes.

"While I am away discussing this matter with Mr. Scott, you must keep
speaking to the ensign to help draw him out." The Vulcan touched the
Russian's brow and ran his long fingertips down to his temple. After
a short moment, Spock pulled his hand away from Pavel's face and
continued, "He is close to rejoining his true reality. Once he
regains consciousness, you will need to reassure him that the danger
has passed. It may take him some time to adjust to his surroundings.
Be patient with him."

"I will, Spock...and thank you for everything you've done to help
him."

"An expression of gratitude is unnecessary, but you are welcome,
Jim."

---

Once the door to the bathroom closed behind him, Montgomery Scott let
his uniform slip from his fingers and drop to the floor. Physically
and emotionally drained, he stumbled to the vanity. He ran some water
from the basin and splashed the cool water over his face.

Unwilling to look at himself in the mirror, the Scotsman stared at a
small box that was sitting atop the vanity. Reaching over with
trembling fingers, he flipped the hinged lid open and lifted the box
to his face. Breathing in deeply, he closed his eyes as he savored
the exotic spiciness of Pavel's favorite incense...the same scent
that Scotty noticed wafting through their cabin after returning from
the engineering conference two weeks before. It certainly got them in
the mood that evening--although neither of them needed any help in
that regard. That night had been magical.

The moment Scotty felt his cock jump with the memory, he froze in
profound fear.

~~Ye are going 't lose th' lad, ye ol' fool.~~

The thought sliced through him like a razor and Scotty let out a
muffled sob. Bending over, he grabbed the edge of the vanity to keep
himself upright, dropping the small box in the process. The container
hit the countertop with a loud crash, the lid breaking off and
dumping out the contents before coming to rest at the bottom of the
basin.

~~What are ye goin' to do?~~

In an instant, Spock's words, and those of the others, flashed
through his mind. The lad had been molested by a Klingon. A year ago,
the young Russian had been tied to a bunk by a molester. God only
knew what evil, perverted things that Klingon devil had done to the
lad. The secret had remained hidden until tonight--when Pavel had
mistaken Scotty for that same fucking animal.

Scotty felt the bile rise in his throat and he thought he was about
to be sick. However, after taking a couple of deep, cleansing
breaths, he felt somewhat better. At least, for the moment, it didn't
seem he was about to lose his dinner all over the bathroom vanity.

Suddenly remembering the first officer's orders, Scotty grabbed the
zipper to his jumpsuit and dragged it down to his waist. He
shouldered out of the form-fitting leather, ignoring the shiver that
coursed through his body as the cool air hit his sweat-moistened
skin. After peeling the tight costume down over his hips, he was
neither patient nor gentle as he stripped off the offending leather
around his still tender genitals, including the black pouch, causing
a jolt of pain to bloom in his groin area with the rough treatment.

He ignored the pain, knowing that whatever injury he might cause to
his physical body could never approach the deep-down pain that he
felt in his heart and soul.

Cursing, he kicked off his boots and then rolled the leather down his
legs. He finally stepped out of the garment completely and kicked it
out of the way. He stared at the costume for a long time, feeling the
anger grow inside him. Finally, he bent over and picked up the hated
garment and, with a tense growl, dumped it into the recycling chute.

After retrieving his uniform from the floor, he pulled on his slacks
without the underwear. He wasn't about to wander out of the bathroom,
naked, just so he could grab some underwear from his bureau--not with
Captain Kirk and the others there. Besides, the tight briefs he
usually wore would probably be quite uncomfortable right now.

As he pulled the black t-shirt and red tunic over his head, Scotty's
anger started to build. Why did all three have to rush in when he
only called for McCoy's help? Why did Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock have
to get involved? Why did the three of them know about what happened
to Pavel and that Klingon devil? How could they keep this secret from
him?

He suddenly felt a rush of hate flow through him. Now that they all
knew what a horrible mistake he had committed in a fit of passion,
they'd make sure he never got close to the lad again.

God damn them!

He stalked back to the vanity and began combing his hair. He wanted
to make himself look absolutely immaculate, the perfect Starfleet
officer--if only on the outside. At least he could go through the
motions until he could figure out a way to get past the three of 'em
and make things right with his young lover.

The Scotsman stared at himself in the mirror, noticing for the first
time the red-rimmed eyes and overwhelming sadness on his face.
Suddenly, he looked so old. He was an old, drunken fool who had just
lost his young lover over too much Scotch and a stupid case of blind
jealousy. Perhaps he didn't deserve a second chance. After all, he
hadn't stopped when Pavel first became alarmed by his actions. He
ignored the warning signs. This was his fantasy, but he never asked.
He should have asked. He just never thought....

Scotty let out a sigh that built into an agonized sob. Perhaps the
lad would never allow him to get close enough again. How could they
get past this? The thought made him mourn deep inside his heart.

Remembering that Mr. Spock was waiting on the other side of the door,
Scotty went back to work on his hair, making sure every strand was
neatly in place.

Suddenly, the image of Captain Kirk holding Pavel appeared in his
mind's eye and he felt his blood boil at the thought. They wouldn't
even allow him to touch the lad, yet there was Captain Kirk holding
the young man, touching him, and speaking soothing things in his ear.

The Scotsman recognized the familiar jealousy building within him,
but he couldn't help himself. Perhaps it wasn't Mr. Spock that he had
to worry about. Perhaps it was Captain Kirk all along!

Seeing Kirk intervene again recalled angry memories of just two
months earlier, when the captain took matters into his own hands
regarding Pavel. It happened at the club during Carnivale, their
first full day as lovers. When the Russian slipped and fell
backwards, hitting his head against a statue, it was Captain Kirk who
held him, soothed him, and kept him calm until they were ready to
beam back to the ship. Kirk had shouldered Scotty aside and took
control. Aye, he could see a pattern forming, rightly so. The captain
had an uncanny habit of placing himself between Scotty and Pavel
whenever it suited him. And now, the thought of Kirk's arms
encircling the lad was too much for him.

HE should be the one holding the lad--not the captain. HE should be
the one consoling him and asking for forgiveness. And now Mr. Spock
was planning to lead him away from the lad, leaving Pavel in the
captain's care. In the captain's embrace. Nay, he didn't like it one
bit. The warnings, first given by Captain Kirk and then echoed by his
first officer, signaled that he'd have a fight on his hands to get
Pavel back after this.

God damn him!

Scotty tossed the comb angrily atop the vanity and then pulled on his
boots. He smoothed out his uniform top, all the while glaring at
himself angrily in the mirror.

~~Well, ye old salt. If it's a fight that th' captain wants, 'tis a
fight he will get.~~

---

After Spock left the cabin, albeit reluctantly, with Scotty, Dr.
Leonard McCoy ran his medical scanner over Chekov's body. Frowning,
he pulled the device back and changed the settings to narrow the
beam. Turning back to his patient, he scanned the Russian's wrists,
not an easy task since the ensign's hands were clenched tightly
around Jim's waist.

The sight before him caused a sour feeling to build in his throat.
Parts of Jim's gold tunic were soaked with blood--Chekov's blood--and
Jim hardly seemed to take notice.

As a doctor, one learned early on to look beyond the blood, torn
tissue, and shattered bones to the patient beneath. And, although the
blood was bad enough, what he saw beneath the surface angered him
even more. The nightmares. The flashback. The panic attack. This
whole sorry episode was completely avoidable.

Now that he knew about the Russian's encounter with Kahrag, he also
realized it was quite likely something like this would happen
eventually--whether months or decades after the fact. At that
particular moment, Leonard wished he could personally confront the
security team that handled Chekov's case. By god, what were they
thinking? He wanted to tell each and every one of 'em to go fuck
themselves. Never the company man, Leonard hated the idea of some
pencil-pushing bureaucrat at Starfleet making the decision to cover
up what happened, sweeping the Russian aside in the process as if he
didn't matter.

Leonard sighed in frustration.

There were times when Leonard asked himself why he ever joined the
Fleet. He never was good at dealing with the military mindset. He
hated having to watch Jim struggle at times with some stupid order
from HQ, something that made little sense yet he was expected to obey
nonetheless. He knew that many of the fat-ass brass at headquarters
had little understanding of what the hell they all had to face out
here in space. Yet they had no qualms about sending young men and
women off on missions that had little chance of success. Don't even
question whether the end justifies the means--or even whether the end
was important enough to justify such a terrible risk. They had no
qualms about the lives lost or shattered. It wasn't personal because
they didn't know the people involved like Leonard knew them. They
weren't the ones who had to treat a crewman's broken body or help
someone work through their shattered emotions. To them, a death was
just another number--regrettable, but the poor souls knew what they
were signing up for, didn't they? The top brass was far removed from
the front line. Leonard was there and he hated the view.

Sure, the Federation was far better than anything else out there and,
most of the time, he agreed with Starfleet's overall mission. But
there were also times when things made little sense to him. This was
one of those times. Hell, what they did in this case was
reprehensible--criminal, in fact.

Looking up from his scanner, he sighed loudly. "Well, there's not
much I can do for Chekov until he decides to let you go, Jim."

The captain nodded his head. "I think he'll let go once he feels
safe."

Leonard pocketed his scanner and then pulled the twisted sheet up
from the foot of the bed, smoothing it out before draping it over the
Russian to his waist. Jim reached down with his free hand and tucked
the sheet around the prone body. The captain hooked a protective arm
around Chekov's waist for a long moment and then ran his hand up the
young man's spine until he reached the back of his neck.

While Jim turned back to the injured man and continued his litany of
gentle reassurances and caresses, the Enterprise's CMO watched his
captain in silence. It was as though Jim had already forgotten he was
there, so intent was he on his wounded navigator.

Leonard suddenly felt like an intruder. He didn't understand what was
happening here but it seemed the only one who could help Chekov now
was Jim.

Well, Spock did say he was going to use Jim to draw the Russian out.
Perhaps the Vulcan placed that suggestion in the young man's mind
during the meld. Did Spock realize how Chekov might react to that
kind of suggestion? For his part, Jim was certainly answering the
call to serve as an anchor. That both reassured Leonard and concerned
him.

All those months ago, Leonard had watched the Russian struggle to
regain his equilibrium after returning from that doomed mission--the
doctor unable to broach the subject because of the Level 5 security.
Spock intervened, using a series of mind melds to help Chekov get
past the events of his captivity. The navigator seemed to find a
certain level of peace and, despite Leonard's reservations, it
appeared Spock had helped the young man.

In hindsight, Leonard was beginning to realize what a difficult task
it must have been for Spock--exposing himself to such overpowering
emotions. Yet Spock agreed to help Chekov work through his problems,
with little regard for how those strong emotions may affect the
Vulcan personally. Although Spock had an uncanny ability to drive
Leonard to distraction with his uncompromising adherence to logic,
Leonard had to admit how caring the Vulcan was in a time of need. The
depth of Spock's concern seemed to know no boundaries and Leonard
could only admire such true devotion to someone who was experiencing
so much personal pain.

The doctor blinked, realizing that he had allowed his mind to wander
away from the situation at hand. As much as Leonard was silently
thankful for Spock's intervention a year ago on Chekov's behalf, it
was now apparent that the mind melds were simply a temporary fix.
Spock had done all that he could. Unfortunately that just wasn't
enough in this case.

Leonard didn't know exactly what transpired in this cabin as Scotty
was putting the restraints on Chekov. Given what Kahrag did to him,
it was difficult for Leonard to believe the Russian would allow
himself to be tied up. You had to have total trust in your partner to
allow yourself to be placed in such a vulnerable position. Did Chekov
keep silent until it was too late; or did the young man protest and
Scotty ignored him outright? Leonard found either scenario greatly
disturbing.

And now, Jim was the one holding the Russian. Leonard had no way of
predicting how Chekov would respond to all that had happened to him
this night. What Leonard was sure of was the look Scotty gave Jim as
Spock led him out of the cabin a few moments ago. Daggers of hate and
jealousy; it was plain on the engineer's face.

He sighed. Well, what the hell was he, someone who gave advice to the
lovelorn? His main concern here was Chekov--not whether Scotty and
Jim were about to duke it out over the Russian's affections. Leonard
hoped they would work things out before things got ugly. He hated the
idea of having to intervene. He just wanted to help Chekov find a way
to sort through the memories of his captivity and, in the end, to
help the young officer find some measure of peace.

Feeling the weight of his intrusion, and making a decision on how to
proceed, the doctor cleared his throat and then reported, "Well, it
seems the bleeding has slowed significantly. He's certainly putting
enough pressure on those wounds from his death grip around you. I
don't think he's in any immediate danger, Jim."

"That's great news, Bones," the captain replied gratefully and
surprised Leonard by glancing back at him.

Now that he had Jim's attention, Leonard set his small medical kit on
the bunk next to the captain. "It doesn't look like my services are
needed in here at the moment. He's made it clear that he doesn't want
me touching his wrists." Leonard glanced over to the entrance to the
cabin and then looked back at Jim. "I think I'm going to wander down
to the conference room. I doubt Spock will be able to find the right
words to make this any easier for Scotty to hear."

"I don't think anyone could find the right words, Bones." Jim nodded
his head towards the entrance. "Go on. We're okay here."

Leonard passed his hand over his small medical kit on the bunk. "If
he gives you an opportunity to treat his wrists, help yourself. I
have a plastiskin applicator here in the kit, and some wet gauze
packets to clean up the blood on his arms. Just seal up the wounds as
best you can. I can repair the rest of it when we get him to
sickbay."

"You're planning to admit him tonight?"

Leonard rubbed tired eyes and then looked back at Jim. "Yeah, I need
to seal those wounds and treat that pulled muscle in his thigh. Plus,
I don't want to take any chances that something else will set him
off. I'd also like to see him return to a normal sleep cycle before I
release him."

"He's had this thing locked up inside of him for a long time," Jim
whispered bitterly.

McCoy nodded his head. "Yeah, I know. At least now we know the truth
and we can counsel him. I'm sure we can help him work through his
memories." The doctor grinned slightly, "He's a tough kid, Jim. He'll
get through this. But Starfleet should have been up front about this.
They would have saved Chekov a lot of anguish by allowing him to seek
help when he needed it."

"Well, now he has us, Bones," Jim stated softly as he rubbed his
fingertips down the young man's back. "He doesn't have to face this
alone."

Leonard nodded his head and then got up from the bunk. As he was
about to turn away, the doctor placed a hand on the captain's
shoulder and said, "Contact me if you need anything."

"I will," Jim stated.

With that, Leonard turned and exited the cabin. As he began walking
down the corridor to the conference room, he glanced down at his
chronometer and sighed. This was going to be one hell of a long
night. Well...so much for his idea of a quiet, romantic evening to
test the waters with his intended.

---

Once McCoy left the cabin, Jim turned his full attention back to
Pavel. Now that they were alone, and the immediate danger dealt with,
he could savor the feel of the young man's body against him. He knew
he shouldn't enjoy this time with his navigator. He knew he shouldn't
enjoy being allowed to touch the young man's bare skin and talk
softly to him. It was a guilty pleasure, but a pleasure nonetheless.

Jim closed his eyes and sighed, mentally reminding himself that he
had to keep a grip on reality. Pavel was not his. The Russian
belonged to another--although that was about to change if Jim had
anything to say about it. Rescinding Scotty and Pavel's cohabitation
arrangement and reassigning the ensign to another cabin was the first
order of business. Well, with Pavel spending the night in sickbay,
there would be time to act on that tomorrow.

He continued talking softly to the young man, making every word a
caress that matched the gentle movements of his fingers on the back
of Pavel's neck.

"Can you hear me, Pavel? It's Jim Kirk. I'm here. You're safe. Find
your way back to me. I'll be right here waiting for you."

There was no answer, but he felt Pavel's hands clench harder into the
fabric of his tunic.

"Pavel? Find your way back to me. I'll wait as long as it takes."

And Jim knew that was true--he would wait all night, the next
morning, as long as it took. He'd sit here, holding Pavel, until his
young navigator was ready to come out of his flashback and rejoin
reality. And Jim wanted to be there for him when that happened.

---

Pavel heard the voice and reached out towards its soothing comfort.
The only thing he wanted was to reach the other side, to rest and be
whole again.

"Pavel? Find your way back to me. I'll wait as long as it takes."

The voice was irresistible. He reached out, trying to pull himself
free from the muzziness of his mind. He discerned that his arms were
wrapped around a warm body, his hands seemed to be gripping a ball of
fabric. He tried to clutch harder, to use that contact to pull
himself closer to reality, but the pain kept him from grasping the
body any tighter than he already was. In desperation, Pavel was
certain that if he could just reach the other side of this nightmare
that he'd be safe at last.

He heard a moan, and realized it was coming from his own throat.

Warm breath puffed against his ear as a soft voice whispered, "Come
on, Pavel. I'm right here. Find your way back to me."

The identity of the voice finally broke through the confusion of his
mind. He felt his right cheek resting against something hard, a
strong arm supporting him in a warm embrace.

"K...Keptain?" he dared to ask, inwardly afraid of who would answer
him.

"Yes, I'm right here."

Pavel opened his eyes and peered up at the source of the voice. A
blinding light greeted his effort. Gasping in pain, he strained to
keep his eyes open as he attempted to identify the voice, as though
it was the only way he could truly wrench himself free.

Although he thought that the voice calling to him was the captain, he
could only see a vague form against the bright blur of light and
colors. "Sair?" he choked, gripping the figure as tightly as he was
able. He squinted as the unknown person bent closer, causing the
light to shift. He felt himself shudder violently, unable to choke
back a sob of terror as he felt himself about to tumble back into the
shadows again. A blanket was pulled up higher to cover him to his
shoulders. A gentle hand stroked his back.

"What is it? What's the matter," the voice asked. "Is it the lights?"

He nodded and buried his face against the strong chest to block it
out.

"Lights to one-quarter," came the command. At the same time, he felt
the body next to him shift slightly as if reaching for something.

As the blanket was tucked in around him, he heard the voice  murmur,
"Better?"

He slowly pulled his head back and allowed his eyes to open a bit. A
soft, soothing glow greeted him this time and he pried his eyelids
open a bit more. Pavel continued to clutch fiercely at the figure as
he tried to regain his bearings. Peering up, he blinked his eyelids a
number of times to try clearing his eyesight. Although the image was
still blurry, he could make out just enough of the strong features of
the man holding him to know for certain that it was his  captain.
"S...sair," he stammered weakly.

Warm fingertips moved up to the back of his neck and began a slow
massage.

"How are you feeling?"

The Russian thought over the question for a long moment. How did he
feel? He didn't know how he felt. He didn't know what he was doing
here or why he was laying in the captain's arms. Everything about
this situation confused him. He felt his body shudder again. He
clenched his hands into the captain's tunic and felt the throbbing
ache of torn skin. The pain shocked him.

"My...my hands hurt."

He felt the captain's chest let out a deep sigh. "I don't doubt it."

"Wh...why do they hurt, sair?"

"You injured yourself. It's okay. You're safe now."

Pavel looked around the cabin--or at least what he could see while
still resting against the captain's chest. Nothing seemed right to
him. His vision was all a blur. What features he could make out in
the cabin seemed wrong. He didn't understand why his hands hurt so
much, or why his head felt so heavy.

He closed his eyes, just concentrating on the even breathing of the
captain. He could hear the other man's heart beating beneath the
fabric of the tunic. The sounds soothed him. He centered his focus on
the sounds, for they meant safety, they meant he was not alone. Not
alone with...with...!

A sudden chill swept through his body. A sense of vertigo crashed
over him as the cabin started spinning. Pavel felt his body start to
shake. He pressed his head against the body next to him, suddenly
fearful that he was about to be wrenched away from the only bit of
safety afforded him.

"Pavel?"

A bolt of memory hit him full force and it nearly took his breath
away. Choking on the words, he stammered, "I...I remember." He closed
his eyes, afraid that the spinning would make him get sick all over
the captain's gold tunic. Taking in a gulp of air, he  continued,
"I...I was in Kahrag's cabin. I...I was there. I could  hear his
voice. He...he tied me up...like before." Pavel let out a  shaky
breath as his body began to shudder wildly.

"Whoa. It's okay...it's okay," the captain soothed. "You're safe.
You're aboard the Enterprise. Do you understand?"

The Russian heard the captain's words but they were meaningless to
him. He clawed at the fabric around Kirk's waist, needing to find
something to hold onto. He felt the panic rip through him and he
buried his face in the captain's chest.

It seemed like an eternity before the soothing words pushed back the
waves of terror, causing them to ebb at last. He opened his eyes,
finding himself still firmly held in the captain's embrace.

"S...sair?"

"Hey. Are you back with me again?"

Pavel took a moment to take stock. His hands hurt, which reminded him
he was still grasping the captain's tunic in a death grip. He relaxed
his hands a bit.

"I think so." He tried to pull away slightly, suddenly conscious of
the fact that his naked body was literally draped over the captain.
He started to shake again.

"I...I don't understand. What...what is wrong with me, sair?"

"It's okay. It's just excess adrenaline. You just relived a traumatic

event from your past. Bones called it a flashback. Believe me, you
are safe. It'll pass. Just relax."

Pavel huddled against the captain's chest. "I...I em
so...pa...pathetic," he admonished, feeling foolish and childish in
his weakness.

He felt the captain hug him. "No. I'd never think that of you, Pavel.
Now just close your eyes and rest. You're safe. Kahrag can't hurt
you. You'll feel better soon, I promise."

"But," Pavel started, "It seemed so...so...real, sair. Like I was
really there in his cabin."

"I know," the captain's voice soothed. "I'm sorry you had to go
through that."

"I...," Pavel stammered and then stopped. He suddenly remembered his
orders. He was to tell no one of the mission, never mention Kahrag's
name or what the Klingon did to him. It was sealed under a Level 5
clearance. He felt himself shudder again in panic. "I...I..., oh god.
No one was to know...not even you, sair."

"Shhhhhhh," the captain soothed, rubbing calming circles into the
back of his neck. "It's okay. I know. Mr. Spock had to tell us so we
could help you. Don't worry. You aren't in any trouble over this."

"But...sair," he began to protest.

"I take full responsibility. None of this is your fault, Pavel. We
can talk about it later. Just rest now, okay?"

He still felt uneasy but he let the captain's words slowly sink in.
He was so exhausted. So extremely exhausted. He wanted to rest. Yes,
that seemed like a good thing to do. And the captain didn't seem to
mind.

"O...okay, sair," he finally whispered, too tired to deal with
anything at the moment, including his state of disrepair or his
conflicting thoughts.

"Good."

Pavel relaxed into the captain's embrace. Despite the harrowing
nightmare he had just relived, a strange feeling of peace descended
upon him. The fear slowly ebbed away and he loosened his grip
slightly on the fabric of the captain's tunic. For his part, Kirk
didn't seem to notice--just continued to massage his shoulder and
back through the blanket that covered his body.

The room was silent for a long moment. But it was a comfortable
silence. Pavel felt safe. He realized, suddenly, that he had never
truly felt safe, not since before his encounter with Kahrag. He
slowly closed his eyes, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion
descend over him.

---

There were times during his career in Starfleet when Spock found
having to deal with emotional, illogical humans truly distasteful.
This was one of those times. He watched in silence as the ship's
chief engineer, in full rage, stalked back and forth across the
conference room.

"Ye mean 't tell me that Klingon devil intended to keep the lad for
himself as...as a sexual plaything?" Scotty ranted.

"It is true, Mr. Scott," the Vulcan stated matter-of-factly. "Klingon
society condones the use of concubines for sexual purposes. Since I
learned of this incident a year ago, I have done some research on the
subject and it is..."

"Totally disgusting! Dehumanizing! An abomination," Scotty  shouted,
"And 't think what that dirty animal did to the poor lad. If  the
Klingon was here I'd kill him."

"Your last comment is illogical because the perpetrator is dead. It
was fortunate for the ensign that there was no actual penetration
involved..."

"...An' that makes it all th' better, does it?" Scott hissed,
interrupting Spock mid-sentence. The engineer stopped pacing and
glared at him. "We should jus' be glad the devil dinna rape the lad,
just trifled with him a bit? Is that what ye are saying, Mr. Spock?
Is it?"

Spock didn't answer, knowing that whatever he might offer in response
would not lessen the engineer's anger at the moment. After a long
pause, Scotty shook his head and let out an exasperated gasp. The
human started pacing again, muttering under his breath with each
step.

Spock continued watching the man in silence. So far, their discussion
had not progressed as the Vulcan had expected. The engineer did not
follow the directive to sit quietly and allow Spock to explain the
circumstances of Ensign Chekov's capture and detainment by the
Klingons. Despite repeated warnings, the emotional Scotsman continued
his incessant pacing in the conference room.

~~Humans. Most illogical.~~

Spock looked away for a moment, his thoughts straying to consider how
another human might handle this particular situation. There was very
little he could say that would ease the circumstances under which
Scott found himself. The perpetrator, in this case, was dead. Those
who cared about the ensign and knew of the situation would be there
to help Chekov recover from his memories of that fateful encounter.
Spock had learned that, during most times of crisis, humans required
time to process the unthinkable before they could deal rationally
with its aftermath. Before rationality took control, humans relied on
sheer instinct. Perhaps, if he gave the engineer some time to
approach the news in a more rational manner...

Spock considered, for a moment, what Dr. McCoy would say under the
same circumstances. Whereas Captain Kirk would tell the engineer to
buck up because the ship needed him, the doctor would consider the
Scotsman's physical and emotional needs first and foremost. The
Vulcan had witnessed many instances where a touch on a shoulder or a
word of encouragement by the doctor would bring comfort to the
wounded and dying. It was one of the qualities that Spock found quite
fascinating. Although the methods were different, Spock realized that
the outcome of what Dr. McCoy did to heal the emotions of his human
patients was very similar to that of a Vulcan healer. Both gave
totally of themselves to bring healing to one in great need. For all
of the doctor's bluster and wild passions, Spock had come to regard
Dr. McCoy with the highest esteem. However, he could not foresee a
reason to openly admit to that in the doctor's presence.

Returning to the situation at hand, he turned and was about to speak
again to Mr. Scott when the door to the conference room opened with a
soft whoosh.

Spock looked back in time to see Dr. McCoy enter the room, a look of
concern on his rugged face. For a moment, Spock experienced a most
illogical flash of appreciation that accompanied McCoy's arrival.
Perhaps the doctor would have better results communicating with the
emotional engineer. His attempts had proven to be ineffective.

"Doctor?" a voice boomed from the other end of the room. Spock sensed
Scotty rushing to the entrance. "Where is he? Is there something
wrong with th' lad?"

McCoy looked from Scotty to Spock, his face brightening a bit.
Looking back at the Scotsman, the doctor said, "Let's sit down,
okay?"

"Nay," Scotty hissed, grabbing McCoy's upper arm. "Where is the lad?
Why are ye not with him, taking care of him?"

Spock rose quickly to his feet, suddenly unsure of what the excitable
Scotsman was capable of perpetrating while in his current, irrational
state of mind. And, although he would not readily admit it, within
him, there arose an almost elemental awareness of protectiveness
regarding the well being of the doctor.

McCoy seemed to sense the Vulcan's approach. Spock noticed the doctor
tried to smile at the engineer as he grasped the hand gripping his
arm and slowly pried it off. "Chekov is fine, Scotty," McCoy replied,
keeping his voice level. "Now settle down, okay? He's still in your
cabin. I'll take him to sickbay in a little while--after he finds his
way out of the flashback. It's okay. Jim is looking after him. Now
let's sit down and talk."

"NAY!" Scotty shouted, balling his hands into angry fists. "It is not
okay, Doctor! Not at all. Ye are keeping me from the lad, both of ye!
An' now ye abandoned Pavel! Left the lad alone! With HIM!!!"

"He's in good hands, Scotty. Now let it be," McCoy growled.

"Nay! Ye canna leave the lad alone with him! Dinna ye see th' look on
the captain's face? He wants th' lad, plain and simple!"

"Mr. Scott, that is enough," Spock ordered, moving towards the over-
wrought man.

"Nay...get away from me! Ye are in this together, the two of ye 'n
the captain."

Without warning, Scotty shoved McCoy roughly towards the advancing
Vulcan. The doctor stumbled to regain his footing, failing in the
attempt. The engineer took that opportunity to rush for the door.

Spock caught McCoy around the waist before the doctor could tumble to
the floor. As he was still holding onto McCoy, the Vulcan called  out,
"Computer. Voice print. Spock, commander. Conference room 3B.
Security lock ON."

He heard the faint locking of the conference room door right before
the enraged Scotsman crashed headfirst into the closed exit. Spock
watched as the engineer shook his head for a moment, as if slightly
stunned. Once recovered, Scotty started pounding angrily on the door.

Spock heard a slight chuckle next to him and, for the first time, he
became aware of the doctor's hands gripping his shoulders. "Good
catch, Spock," the doctor said in a bemused tone that the Vulcan
recognized as McCoy's teasing voice.

The grip on his shoulders from McCoy's hands seemed to penetrate the
double layers of clothing, feeling quite warm at the contact points.
It was a most illogical reaction because he was well aware that his
own body temperature was six-point-four degrees warmer than the human
held against him. For a moment, the heat from McCoy's touch left him
breathless. Finally, when he was sure he could trust his voice, Spock
replied, "Are you injured, Doctor?"

"I'm fine, Spock. I think I can go it alone now," McCoy answered.
Spock heard the chuckle again as the human's hands relaxed against
his shoulders and then, as if against their will, finally let him go.

They both turned towards the door at the same time and watched in
silence as the Scotsman impacted the unforgiving door once more with
his fist. McCoy's voice turned serious as he added, "I think we
better do something about Scotty before he turns his hands into pulp
pounding on that damn door."

"I believe you are correct, Doctor. What do you propose we do to
remedy the situation?"

The doctor let out a long sigh. "Well, I could always sedate him.
Oh...but I left my medikit with Jim."

"Most unfortunate."

"You could use that neck pinch thing that you do so well."

"Indeed, Doctor," Spock answered, his voice taking a lighter tone
despite the seriousness of the situation, "It was my impression that
you disapproved of using such alien measures--especially on fellow
humans."

"Only as a last resort, Spock."

He looked over at the doctor and noticed the small grin that was
spreading across McCoy's lips before the human's features turned
serious.

"I'm going to try talking to him," McCoy murmured, just loud enough
for Vulcan ears to hear.

"Do you require my assistance?"

Spock noticed a slight sparkle in McCoy's eyes as the doctor  replied,
"As a matter of fact, yes. Just stay close. I don't want to  be
sucker-punched again if I can help it."

"I assure you, Doctor, I will do all in my power to preclude the
repeat of such an event."

The Vulcan watched as McCoy approached the Scotsman. The engineer  had
stopped striking the door and was pressing his forehead against  the
metal. From his vantage point, Spock could tell that the man's  hands
appeared bruised.

"Scotty?"

Spock heard the engineer take in a shaky breath, but the human did
not reply.

"Come on Scotty," McCoy soothed, "Come on. Talk to me here. Despite
what you may think, we're here to help you."

The engineer muttered a response, but Spock did not comprehend the
meaning. Evidently, the doctor had been unable to understand the
mumbling, as he asked, "What did you say?"

The Scotsman turned to McCoy with red-rimmed eyes. Taking in a deep
breath, he replied, "I said, with friends like ye..."

"We're not your enemies, Scotty," McCoy stated, placing a hand on the
other man's shoulder. "We all want the same thing. We want to help
Chekov. He's kept this secret bottled up inside of him for a whole
year and he needs our help. Are you going to assist us in helping
him?"

"If ye want my help, then why are ye keeping the lad from me?"

"Because, Mr. Scott," Spock interjected, "As I explained earlier, Mr.
Chekov requires a calm environment, free from stress and emotional
outbursts. From what I have witnessed in this conference room, it is
obvious you need more time to process the information and regain
control of your emotions before you are allowed to see the ensign."

"Spock's right," McCoy added. "Chekov needs complete rest right now.
He just relived a frightening event from his past. He needs some time
to recover--regain his equilibrium."

"I dinna like the idea of the lad being left alone with the capt'n,"
Scotty hissed, angry eyes flashing at the doctor with contempt.

"Spock used Jim to draw Chekov out of the flashback--that's all,"
McCoy reassured. "Jim won't hurt him, Scotty. Just give it a rest,
okay? Going into a jealous rampage isn't what Chekov needs right
now."

Spock, feeling much more in control of his emotions, and with a
calmer voice than he had used since first witnessing the scene within
the engineer's cabin that evening, attempted to defend the doctor's
surprisingly logical position. "Mr. Scott, the doctor is correct that
Ensign Chekov needs rest. When he is experiencing such episodes, he
needs the reassurance of someone he can trust. This time it is the
captain who can offer him such reassurances."

"This time?" The Scotsman whirled around to meet the Vulcan eye-to-
eye, his anger not abated by either man's words. "Just who are ye
saying has been there for him before? You, Mr. Spock? Have ye been
there to comfort him before? Tell me, Mr. Spock, just how much of a
comfort have ye been to th' lad?"

McCoy was the one to speak up first. "Pavel's got enough to deal with
without you making wild accusations when Spock and Jim have only been
trying to help!"

"They nay are wild accusations, Doctor," Scotty hissed. He glared at
McCoy for a long moment and then turned back to Spock. Voice dripping
with hatred, the engineer continued, "Do ye think I'm daft or
something? It's quite obvious that, besides the captain, Mr. Spock
has designs on the lad as well. Don't ye, Mr. Spock? Tell me, what do
ye and the lad discuss during those long hours in th' science lab
after everyone has called it a night? Just how comforting do those
sessions in the lab get? Have ye had him, Mr. Spock...taken him to
bed? Do ye and the captain laugh at me for being so blind--that I
don't see how the two of ye look at him, like a couple o' wolves in
heat? Do ye, Mr. Spock?"

Spock stared at the engineer in disbelief. But perhaps the disbelief
was in the fact that the engineer and stumbled upon a partial truth.
Before Spock could form a reply, the doctor stepped between him and
the engineer and growled, "Scotty, this is totally preposterous! Have
you gone completely mad? Do you realize what you're accusing Spock
of?"

When Spock didn't back up McCoy's outburst immediately, Scotty
glowered darkly and nodded his head, as if confirming his words as
truth. "I am not mad, Doctor. Tis apparent Mr. Spock has nothing to
say to refute th' accusation." The engineer leaned past McCoy to face
Spock directly, and then continued with a bitter voice, "So, tell me,
when exactly did ye have the lad, Mr. Spock?"

The Vulcan stared back at the enraged human, finding it curious how
the engineer had made such a supposition to his relationship with the
young ensign. He certainly had no intention of revealing what had
transpired between the ensign and himself on that one night, many
months before. However, he could not lie. Lying was not part of his
genetic or cultural makeup. Perhaps he could deflect the question and
fail to give an answer. He had learned much by watching his own
captain in that regard.

Spock realized that his delay in replying to the Scotsman's tirade
only tended to make matters worse, not better. The doctor turned to
look back at him, blue eyes wide with confusion.

"Spock! What the hell is he talking about? Don't tell me he's telling
the truth, that you've...!"

Ignoring the doctor's outburst, Spock answered the man's accusations
as directly and succinctly as possible without giving away any
pertinent information. "Mr. Scott, you of all people understand that
Mr. Chekov is training to be my backup in the Science Department.
And, since it is also a requirement for command-track ensigns, it is
natural that I would tutor him on the workings of that department and
his role in it. I assure you that the ensign and I conduct ourselves
in a professional manner throughout our work together. My concern for
Mr. Chekov arises from my knowledge of what he faced at the hands of
the Klingon and for my concern for him professionally, nothing more."

He glanced down at McCoy, who still stared at him with muted
disbelief, and then leveled a stern look back at the  engineer.
"Although your accusations regarding any sexual liaisons  that I may
or may not have had are, frankly, out of bounds coming  from a
subordinate such as yourself, I can assure you for a fact that  Mr.
Chekov is not the object of my desire. In other words, your
insinuation that I am a threat to you and your relationship with
Ensign Chekov is incorrect. If anything, it is the ensign who would
most likely be injured by such allegations about his character and
fidelity. I suggest, Mr. Scott, that you contemplate the
ramifications of making such accusations in the future, whether
directly to your intended target or among the crew at large. Taking
into account the emotional events of this evening, I will not place
you under report for this offense. However, I will not hesitate to do
so if you continue on this path. Do you understand, Mr. Scott?"

Scotty seemed to have lost most of his bluster by the time Spock was
finished. The engineer grimaced, and then looked up at Spock and
answered in a quiet voice, "Aye, sir."

"Very well," the Vulcan answered, a stray feeling of relief coursing
through him at the resolution of yet another conflict with the
emotional Scotsman. "Consider this matter closed."

Scotty slowly nodded his head and turned away. In a small voice, he
replied, "Had I known about what that Klingon devil did to th' lad.
Well, I would'a never put Pavel in restraints. Never."

"None of us were suppose to know what happened on that mission,
Scotty. None of us. But..."

The Scotsman regarded the doctor with tired eyes. After a long pause,
he asked, "But what?"

Spock watched the doctor's body language. He could tell that McCoy
was considering asking something that engineer would find upsetting.
He understood the dilemma. There were times when confronting the
truth was painful for all concerned.

As if finally settling things within himself, the doctor replied,
"Scotty...I really hate to pry, but did you ever ask Chekov  whether
it would be okay to put him in restraints?"

Scott turned away. Bowing his head, the engineer replied  softly,
"Nay...I dinna ask the lad. I now know that I should'a. But  we have
done some role playing before..."

"...But not like this. Not where you tied him up," McCoy cut in.

"Nay, not like this. It started out as a game, ye know. But when he
started to react badly, I should'a untied him right then 'n there."
Scotty let out a shaky gasp, and then continued, "But instead of
stopping, I...I told him 't be silent, that I was disciplining him.
That's when he seemed 't lose it. I dinna know he would react that
way. I dinna know..."

Spock heard the doctor take in a deep breath and hold it for a long
moment. McCoy turned and looked up into the Vulcan's eyes. The
intense anger flickering inside the human's ice-blue eyes didn't
surprise him. But, just as quickly, the rage seemed to dissipate.
McCoy let out a loud sigh and then turned back to the hunched form of
the engineer.

"Here...you're nearly asleep on your feet. Why don't you sit down and
let me take a look at your hands. I don't have my medikit here, but
at least I can check to see if they are going to need treatment.

McCoy led the Scotsman to a chair. After Scotty sat down, McCoy
pulled another chair around and sat facing the engineer. The doctor
began inspecting the Scotsman's bruised hands.

As Spock watched in silence, he marveled at the gentleness of the
doctor's hands and McCoy's thoroughness to make sure the engineer had
not injured himself. Spock stood in awe at the physician's ability to
mask the fury that was apparently warring inside of him over what
happened to Chekov and Mr. Scott's part in this evening's events. His
esteem for the doctor grew.

---

"Pavel? You still with me?"

"Mmmmmm," the Russian mumbled, realizing with a start that he must
have dozed off.  He slowly pried his eyes open, but was able to only
open them into narrow slits. It was just too difficult to open them
any wider, even for his captain.

"How about we take care of your wrists now. Okay?"

"Wh...what?"

"Don't be alarmed. I'm going to pull away so I can take care of your
wrists. I bet they're still hurting, aren't they?"

"S...sair?"

"It'll be all right. Just remember that I'm the one who's touching
you. Okay?"

Despite the fuzziness in his mind, the Russian parroted his captain
with a weak 'okay' of his own.

Pavel felt the hands gently pull his arms away from the other man's
waist. He recoiled with a loud gasp as the fabric of the captain's
tunic peeled away from his wounds, leaving a sharp, stinging
sensation in its place. He was shifted into a more upright position
and propped against a pile of pillows. The blanket was adjusted to
cover him up to his chest; his arms were left uncovered so they'd be
accessible for treatment.

A surge of panic began to build within Pavel as he felt hands touch
one of his wrists. Startled, his eyes flew open wide, a scream lodged
in his throat.

The first thing he saw was his arm held out in front of him as the
captain ran a medical wipe over his wrist and down to his elbow. He
saw the blood oozing out of the deep wounds on his wrist and felt the
bile start to rise in his throat.

A hand touched him lightly on the shoulder. "I know it looks bad, but
you'll be okay. It just started bleeding again after I pulled away.
The plastiskin will seal it."

Pavel stared dumbly at the mess, watching in fascinated horror as the
other man began to spray the plastiskin over the wounds to seal them.
The cold spray stung, but Pavel remained silent throughout the
ordeal.

"There, I think that should hold it. Bones can smooth things out in
sickbay so it won't leave any scars."

Hazel eyes caught Pavel's gaze. The captain gave him a wan grin and
then asked, "You okay?"

He didn't know how to answer that question. He didn't feel okay. Not
at all. He had so many questions. It was all too confusing at the
moment. But when he looked up into the eyes of his captain, he could
feel his fears starting to dissipate. He knew he was safe here. The
captain would make sure of that.

Finally, Pavel found his voice again and ventured, "H...how did I
injure myself, sair? I do not remember any of this. I do not
understand. Why do I not remember any of this?"

The captain didn't answer him at first. He gently grasped Pavel's
other arm and began cleaning off the blood. This time, Pavel didn't
look down. He had seen enough blood for one night.

After completing his cleaning job, the captain asked, "What's the
last thing you remember?"

The Russian looked back to meet the captain's gaze. He suddenly felt
so uncertain. His memory seemed all a blur, as if it had happened to
someone else. "I returned to my cabin from the science lab. I met you
in the lift."

A tiny smile formed over the captain's face. "That's right." Kirk
started to spray the plastiskin over the other wrist.

Ignoring the sting on his wrist, Pavel tried to hold his arm still as
he continued, "Y...you walked with me to my cabin. After you left, I
opened the door and..." The Russian suddenly felt panicky  again.
"It...it was dark. And K...Kahrag was there. He chained me to  the
bunk."

A warm hand touched his shoulder.

"It wasn't Kahrag, Pavel. Remember, you were told he was dead."

"I...I do not understand, sair."

"You had a flashback. Something triggered you to recall a memory of
your captivity--to recall Kahrag. You relived that memory here, on
the Enterprise, in the cabin that you share with Scotty."

"He wasn't here?" Pavel asked, looking up into the captain's  eyes.
"Kahrag was never here?"

"No. You mistook Scotty for Kahrag. Scotty put you in restraints
and..."

Pavel suddenly remembered. "...And I told him I wanted him to take
them off." The Russian took in a steadying breath, but he was unable
to stop the bitterness in his voice as he added, "He didn't listen to
me. I told him I didn't want to...! I told him to stop! I told
him...!"

He pulled away from the captain and curled onto his side. Closing his
eyes, he tried to fight off the anger that was bubbling within him.

The captain didn't say anything, just pulled the blanket up to his
neck and started rubbing his back in slow, soothing circles. Pavel
felt his body start to shake. He didn't fight it when strong arms
pulled him into the protective refuge of Captain Kirk's shoulder. He
clenched the older man's tunic with his fists and hung on, warring
with himself not to flail at the captain with his sudden,
overpowering rage.

When the worst of the shudders had finally passed, he was positioned
atop the pillows on his right side. His whole body felt lethargic,
heavy. He allowed the captain to attend to him, suddenly too
exhausted to pull away. The blanket was pulled up to his neck and
carefully tucked around his body, forming a warm cocoon.

"I'm sorry, sair," the Russian choked, finding his voice at last.
Embarrassed by how weak and shaky he sounded, Pavel closed his eyes,
the captain's words swirling around him, floating as if they were
unreal.

A question suddenly bubbled up within him, forcing him to open his
eyes with a start. "Sair...where is Scotty? You said he was
here...when I had my flashback."

"Yes, he was here," the captain replied softly, placing a hand on
Pavel's back. "He's in a conference room down the hall with Mr. Spock
and Dr. McCoy."

The Russian looked up at his captain suspiciously. "Wh...why?"

"Pavel, I asked Spock to tell him...about Kahrag."

An icy-cold dagger of betrayal stabbed Pavel in the pit of his
stomach and he sat up suddenly, despite the dizziness in his head.
Without warning, he yanked the blanket down to his waist, feeling too
restrained and trapped in his former cocoon.

"Nyet! Nyet!"

"Whoa! Pavel, listen to me," the captain called out, his voice
sounding startled.

Pavel felt the older man's hands grasp his upper arms, trying to keep
him in place on the bed.

"L...let me go! Let me GO!"

"Pavel...please. Scotty already knew too much. I didn't want to put
you in the position of having to tell him yourself..."

"Y...you had no right...NO right!" Pavel shouted as he tried
unsuccessfully to pull away from the captain's hands.

"Pavel...!"

"Get...get your hands off of me! Don't...don't touch me! Don't...!"
Pavel struggled to twist away from the captain but he only managed to
land sprawled across Kirk's lap, panting and dizzy with the effort.

Feeling a wave of nausea suddenly threatening, the Russian could only
manage a hasty expletive before he rolled off of Kirk and stumbled
blindly to the bathroom. He made it to the toilet and dropped to his
knees just before wave after wave of painful dry heaves overtook him.

After the nausea passed, he sat down on the floor and rested his
fevered cheek against the cool metal of the commode. Pavel was
surprised to realize that the captain had not followed him into the
bathroom. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he could just remain
holed up in the bathroom until everyone just left him the hell alone.

He was suddenly too angry, too exhausted, and too confused to allow
anyone close to him, let alone touch him.

Pavel heard soft footsteps behind him.

Propping himself up with one hand and leaning his right shoulder
against the commode, the Russian finally lifted his head. He had made
a big enough fool of himself already this evening. He didn't want the
captain seeing him hung over the toilet as if he had been on a three-
day bender.

"You okay?"

"I em not made of glass," Pavel spat out darkly as he glared at the
floor tiles, his back to Captain Kirk. "Of course I em okay. Why
wouldn't I be okay?"

"I'm sorry, Pavel. If there was any way I could have spared you
this--," the captain's voice stated, and then grew softer, "I would
have done anything to spare you from going through this, from
allowing Kahrag to hurt you."

"I em not a child," Pavel rasped out angrily, his accent becoming
thicker with emotion. He knew he was being unfair, that the captain
was only trying to help. However, he couldn't stop himself from
adding, "You cannot protect me. And I do not need babysitter. If so,
if I em so...so...pa...pathetic thet I em unable to protect myself,
then I do not deserve post on Enterprise."

There was a long pause as soft footsteps ventured closer. Then the
captain stated levelly, "You're right."

Pavel heard movement behind him, as if Kirk was kneeling down.

"You're right," Kirk whispered after another beat, close enough that
Pavel could feel the captain's breath tickle against his left  cheek.
"I cannot protect you, as much as I wish I could. Our jobs are
dangerous and, at any moment, any one of us may be put in harm's way.
But that doesn't mean I stop caring about what happens to you. It
doesn't mean I stop trying my best to keep you safe." The older man
paused, and then added in a huskier voice, "Believe me, Pavel--you
are not pathetic. You're on the Enterprise because you're the best
damn navigator in the Fleet. Don't you forget it."

He felt the captain drape something over his shoulders. Looking down,
Pavel recognized the fabric of his favorite dark purple robe. The
other man pulled the garment into place, covering the Russian's naked
body as best he could without actually touching Pavel with his hands.

Feeling grateful at the gesture, Pavel let out a shaky sigh. He
reached down with one hand and pulled the robe tightly around
himself, realizing all at once that he was feeling quite chilled from
sitting on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor.

"I didn't want Monty to know," he finally whispered sadly, his anger
suddenly burned out from sheer exhaustion. He refused to look over to
the captain as he continued, "I...I didn't want anyone to know.
Soon...everyone will know how Kahrag...what he...how he..."

"I'm sorry, Pavel. I truly am," Kirk replied quietly. "Spock told
Doctor McCoy and me only because I asked him to--because he believed
what happened on that mission was affecting you now. We needed to
know so we could help you. If you want to be angry with someone, be
angry with me." There was a pause, and then Kirk's voice continued
firmly, "But I promise you...I swear that it will not go any
further."

"I...I just didn't want anyone to know," Pavel repeated, bowing his
head, knowing he sounded childish in front of his captain.

"I understand. I'm very sorry."

Pavel shivered miserably. With his free hand, he struggled to pull
his robe tighter about himself.

"Here, let me. Okay?"

After a long pause, the Russian nodded.

Kirk helped thread his arms into the sleeves of the robe. The captain
then pulled the robe closed in front and tied the belt around his
waist. Through it all, the older man seemed to be taking great pains
to not touch him unnecessarily.

"It isn't your fault, you know," Kirk said softly, almost in a
whisper.

Pavel lifted his head and met the other man's gaze. "Sair?"

"What Kahrag did to you. What he wanted to do to you," Kirk
continued, concern etched on the strong features of his face.

Pavel looked down and studied the tiles on the floor. "I just do not
understand why I was singled out. I do not understand what I did to
make him want to...to..."

He overheard the captain let out a sigh. There was silence for a long
moment and then Kirk replied in a choked voice, "I remember wondering
that myself, a long time ago...on my mother's farm."

Pavel looked up into the older man's face and was shocked to find
Captain Kirk's eyes were glistening, as if he were holding back
tears. The two men made eye contact for a long moment and then Kirk
looked away.

"My father was in Starfleet. I hardly knew him," the captain
continued in a quiet, detached voice, "My mother ran the farm with
the help of a foreman and a couple of hired hands. I was in the barn
when it happened." The older man paused and let out a deep  breath.
"With the noise from the milking machines, I was caught  totally off
guard when Henry came up behind me. He knew that Mother  was in town
on business and the others were out in the field. I just  never
expected him to..."

Pavel gasped, finding it difficult to picture the captain in such a
predicament. "Wh...what did you do, sair?"

Kirk looked back, anger evident in his eyes now. "I was fifteen-years
old, just a scrawny kid, and he was a massive man--all muscle. He
hauled me up the stairs to the hayloft, tried to tie me up with
twine. I got away once--but he had a pitchfork. Henry had me pinned
to the floor, partially undressed, and he was...well, all I knew was
I didn't want him touching me in that way. Lucky for me, he forgot
about old Duke..."

Pavel felt his eyes grow wider. "Duke?"

The captain nodded his head. "Yes, my old dog Duke. He must have
heard the commotion over the milking machines and came running. Henry
hurt him quite badly with the pitchfork. I thought for sure that I
would lose Duke that night, but our vet pulled him through. That old
dog gave me the diversion I needed to get away from Henry and find
help."

The thought of someone trying to do that to a fifteen-year old boy,
let alone his own captain, horrified Pavel. He shivered with the
thought, hugging his arms about him as if the room had suddenly lost
its heat.

"I em sorry, sair," he finally mumbled. It seemed like such a lame
response, but he was unable to come up with anything more suitable.

"I haven't thought about what happened that day in a long, long time.
I haven't even told Spock or Bones about it. But when Spock explained
what you had endured, about Kahrag..." There was a long pause and
then the older man let out a deep sigh. "Well...it brought all those
memories rushing back. I never learned why Henry singled me out. But
I was damn glad I survived--just as I'm equally glad you survived
your ordeal and came back to us."

Pavel gazed into the captain's face for a long moment. He felt a
warmth grow between them, as if they had found a common thread amidst
the disparity of rank, age, and upbringing. Perhaps they were like
kindred brothers who had faced similar tests and had found a way to
persevere. It almost made the Russian feel giddy, as if he had
discovered someone who could truly understand why Kahrag's voice
still haunted him to this day.

But then, reality set in and the younger man looked away, bowing his
head. The captain may have revealed this secret only to him, but it
didn't change the fact that Kirk was his superior officer and that he
needed to buck up or he'd find himself on a slow ship home to Russia.

"May I ask you a personal question, Pavel?"

The Russian looked back up into his captain's eyes and blinked,
surprised to discover the intensity in the older man's eyes. Pavel
just nodded his head, unsure he could trust his voice under the glare
of Kirk's scrutiny.

"Before your mission...before Kahrag took possession of you," Captain
Kirk began, "Well, it seemed you only dated females. It came as a
surprise to me when I learned that you had become romantically
involved with Lieutenant Sulu, shortly after you returned to us."

Pavel felt a blush rise in his cheeks and he looked away.

"You don't have to tell me, Pavel, if my question is too personal,"
Kirk continued. "But I was wondering...had you ever been sexually
involved with another male before your encounter with Kahrag?"

The thought of answering the captain's question frightened the young
Russian to his very core. A sudden chill swept through his body and
he shivered miserably, pulling the soft robe tighter around him. He
was sure he knew where the captain's questioning was heading and
Pavel definitely did not want to go there. No...he didn't want to
focus too closely on why his personal life had shifted so
dramatically in the past year. He didn't want to look too closely
because he feared of learning some dark truth--that maybe there was
something corrupt about him. He feared that if his friends knew the
truth, he'd be outcast for what he was--defiled and unworthy of their
respect and love.

"It's okay. You don't have to tell me, Pavel." There was a long pause
and then Kirk continued, "When I was fifteen, I was just coming of
age and learning about my own sexuality. I certainly enjoyed the
company of young women, even dated a few, but I found myself mostly
attracted to men."

Pavel blinked his eyes, uncertain whether he had heard the captain's
unprompted admission correctly. Captain Kirk was well known for his
prowess with females of any species. The Russian had certainly seen
enough evidence of that during his service aboard the Enterprise.
Kirk's sexual exploits were legendary throughout the Fleet.

"After Henry's assault," Kirk continued, unaware of Pavel's personal
thoughts, "Well, let's just say that it took me a long time to feel
comfortable about my sexuality. I admit that I made a lot of mistakes
during that period of my life. I fell into a number of questionable
relationships, moving from one lover to the next. Breaking hearts, or
having mine broken for me. It was a difficult time in my life. I was
very fortunate when I finally found someone to talk to about my
feelings, someone who could help me see how my behavior stemmed  from
the assault."

He felt Kirk's hand rest lightly on his shoulder--barely touching--as
if the older man was unsure whether the contact would be welcomed or
not. "I'm concerned about you, Pavel."

The Russian shook his head, as if that alone could end the
discussion. "You...you do not need to worry about me, sair. I em
okay...really," he finally answered, his voice so quiet that he
wondered if the captain actually heard him.

There was a long pause, as if the captain was considering his words
carefully, then the older man replied, "I know, Pavel. I know you
just want to put this whole thing behind you and move on. But it's
not that easy. I learned that the hard way. But now that I understand
what happened to you, now that I know about Kahrag, I'm concerned
because I think you might be going through the same things I did
after I was assaulted by Henry."

Pavel felt the captain's hand brush across his shoulder and move
upward to cup the back of his neck.

"The important thing for you, right now, is to not follow the same
path that I took all those years ago. I realize that I may not be the
best role model in this case, but if I could give you just one piece
of advice, it would be to take some time and find out what you really
want out of life--and from a relationship."

Pavel nodded his head as he listened to the captain's gentle voice.
Closing his eyes, he wanted so much to lean back into the touch,
which suddenly felt so protective and safe.

"Now that we know what happened, please don't shut us out, okay? My
door will always be open to you--anytime you need to talk things out.
You don't have to face this all by yourself. You got that?"

The Russian felt Kirk's fingertips rub into the back of his neck in
soothing circles. He took in a couple of deep, calming breaths. This
was nice. It suddenly felt as though he could just fall asleep right
here, right now--sitting on the bathroom floor with his captain. The
thought, for some reason, amused and pleased him in equal doses.

"Pavel?"

He opened his eyes with a start and looked up into the bemused face
of his captain.

"How about we get you back to bed," the older man suggested. Kirk
grinned before adding, "McCoy's going to ring my neck if he comes
back and finds you asleep on the bathroom floor. Here...can I give
you a hand up?"

Pavel nodded his head. He allowed the captain to help him to his
feet. After the other man released him, Pavel took a step with his
right leg.

Without warning, a shooting pain ripped through the back of his right
thigh, radiating from just below his buttock and down to nearly his
knee. Letting out a howl of pain, he stumbled. Strong arms hooked
around his waist, keeping him from collapsing headfirst to the floor.
Pavel reached down with his right hand to grip the back of his thigh,
groaning in agony.

The captain hooked the Russian's left arm over his shoulder and
clamped his free hand onto Pavel's hip. In one fluid motion, Kirk
ulled him up against his side, lifting him enough to take the weight
off of his right leg. The captain half-dragged, half-carried him back
to the bunk. Once there, he was eased down onto the mattress.

Bending over on his left side, with his head now resting at the foot
f the bunk, Pavel rubbed his hands over his thigh. However, with the
earlier injuries to his wrists, he quickly realized that he no longer
had any strength in his hands. They were useless in easing the
tortuous cramp.

He curled into a tight ball, gripping the painful knot forming in the
back of his thigh, groaning in anguish as the cramp intensified. He
felt a hand rest on his right knee and noticed the captain trying  to
catch his eye.

"Let me help. Okay?"

Gritting his teeth, Pavel could only close his eyes and nod in reply.

Strong hands took the place of Pavel's useless ones, massaging the
back of his thigh that was causing him the most agony. He clutched
the blanket beneath him as the other man's fingers worked their way
from the top-most part of his thigh and downwards. All other matters
were forgotten, for the time being replaced by absolute misery.

--

Leonard stepped out of the conference room and, as the doors slid
shut behind him, let out a huge sigh. Looking down at the chronograph
on his wrist, he groaned to himself in disgust.

This night had been a complete disaster in every way possible. He had
finally convinced the damn Vulcan to drop by his cabin for a drink
whenever he got through in the science lab. Well, that little idea
had certainly gone to hell, hadn't it? Between Jim's unexpected visit
and Scotty's foray into bondage, everything about this evening had
gone wrong.

Gods, he was dead tired! He knew the emotional toll of the evening
was finally catching up with him. The initial adrenaline rush had
passed, leaving him wiped out and nearly asleep on his feet. Leonard
concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other to carry
himself back to Scotty and Chekov's cabin. Knowing he needed to find
his second wind, he started focusing on what still needed to be done
before he could finally call it a night.

Of course, he still needed to get Chekov to sickbay. He would feel
better having the Russian where he could keep a watchful eye on him
for a while. He wondered how the ensign was faring. Had the kid
returned to reality or would Leonard find him semi-conscious, still
clinging to the captain in terror? Would Chekov allow him close
enough to treat his wrists? Noticing an intercom near the lift, he
remembered that he still needed to call for a hovercart from sickbay.

Pausing, Leonard stared dumbly at the panel as he pondered what to
do. He stood there as though transfixed until, with a start, he
realized that he had zoned out for a moment. Reaching up, he scrubbed
at his tired eyes. "No," he said aloud, shaking his head as though
throwing off the cobwebs within his fatigued mind. First, he better
check on how the kid was doing before introducing another element
into the equation.

After opening his eyes, he continued on his way down the corridor
until he found the entrance to the cabin he wanted. With a deep sigh,
he punched in his medical override code.

---

Jim continued to dig his fingers into the knotted muscles in Pavel's
thigh, trying to relieve the cramp that had the young man shaking in
agony. He tried to keep his mind on the task at hand and give his
navigator some relief from the pain. However, he couldn't take his
eyes away from the view of Pavel's half-erect cock, which was peeking
out from between the parted robe. Jim knew it was simply a physical
response--that it wasn't caused by his touch, even though he would
like to be the cause of a reaction like that in the Russian someday.
No, he reminded himself harshly, this was neither the time nor place
for thoughts like that. Luckily, Pavel didn't seem aware of his
state, nor the fact that the arousing view was causing a similar
response in his captain.

Finally deciding that the distraction was getting the best of him,
Jim slowed his massage as he bent down and whispered, "Let's try
another approach, shall we?"

He heard the young man moan something incomprehensible. It could have
been Russian for all Jim knew.

Almost reluctantly, the captain pulled Pavel's robe back into place,
hiding the man's genitals from clear view. Even so, the half-erect
cock caused the dark purple fabric to tent in a most provocative way.

He grabbed a pillow--making sure it was one that wasn't splattered
with blood--and placed it against the Russian's chest. He then
grasped Pavel's hands and crossed them across the pillow.

"I'm going to roll you onto your stomach. Okay?"

When there was no answer, Jim added, "You still with me, Pavel?"

"D...da," the younger man stammered as he clutched the pillow tightly
to his chest.

"Good. I'm going to roll you over now."

There was no answer, but Jim's heart went out to his navigator as
Pavel groaned when he turned him.

Once he had Pavel situated in what seemed like a comfortable
position, Jim spotted a small vial of massage oil on the nightstand.
It was the illuminated by the lamp that was now the major source of
light in the room. He grabbed the small, amber bottle and considered
his next move. Certainly this wasn't the primary use for this
particular potion--the embossed erotic picture made it quite clear
what it was specifically used for--but it just might help in this
situation as well.

Feeling less than saintly, he opened the container and poured the
seductively scented oil into his cupped hand. Rubbing the oil between
his hands, he knelt down on the bed with one knee firmly placed
between his navigator's parted legs. He pulled the robe higher to
expose the upper thigh that was causing Pavel so much agony. He heard
the younger man gasp as Jim's hands began rubbing the oil hard into
the cramped thigh muscles. Pavel writhed under his hands, bending his
non-injured leg as if he were going to try to escape.

"It's okay, Pavel," Jim soothed, reaching up with his left hand to
rub the back of Chekov's neck in an attempt to get the young man to
relax. The Russian let out a low moan, but he stopped moving and
slowly began to respond to the massage. Once his navigator seemed
more relaxed, Jim pressed both of his palms onto the leg, bearing
down even harder as he worked his thumbs into the flesh beneath him.

As he moved up and down along the thigh, the hem of the robe dipped
into the oil and clung to Pavel's skin. Using his thumb, Jim flipped
the hem out of the way, exposing the Russian's buttocks in the
process.

Jim tried not to look as he continued his assault on the knotted
muscles, but he couldn't help take in the lovely firm mounds of the
Russian's ass and the scrotum tucked in tightly between the strong,
muscular thighs. The captain's gaze moved upwards along the cleft.
Locating the entrance to the young man's body, Jim felt a familiar
stirring within his groin as his hands stroked the flesh of the upper
thigh, rubbing against the crease between thigh and buttock. He
couldn't stop the erotic images that flowed through his mind at the
sight and the touch of the firm flesh beneath him. Jim realized, too
late, that perhaps it had been a mistake to move the Russian onto his
stomach.

Closing his eyes, he felt his erection bloom full force.

---

As the door slid open and McCoy entered the cabin, he immediately
noticed that the lights had been turned low. For a moment, as the
door closed behind him, the sight before him couldn't, or wouldn't,
register. A figure swathed in the shadows, one that was unmistakably
Jim, was kneeling on the bunk, seemingly hovering over the smaller
prone shape lying horizontal on the bed. Jim's hands seemed to be at
Chekov's ass and the captain's whole body was rhythmically sliding
forward and then pulling back.

From the darkness, he heard a soft moan and then Jim's voice in a
near whisper, coaxing, "Shhhhh...it's okay, Pavel, I know it's not
easy but try to relax. Don't clench up. It'll be easier if you
relax."

For a minute, the doctor couldn't move. His whole body turned to
stone at the scene being played out in front of him. Then Leonard's
instincts took over as he raced to the bedside and began grabbing at
the larger figure kneeling over the Russian. For just a moment, in
his sleep-starved mind, it looked like Jim was actually thrusting
himself into the body beneath. It wasn't until the startled face came
up to meet his eyes that he realized that Jim was still fully clothed
and Chekov...Chekov's ass was exposed for God'n everybody to see!

"Lights to full," Leonard ordered. As Jim literally jumped from the
bed, the cabin was bathed in full, blinding light.

"What in the hell is going on here?" Leonard demanded.

"Christ, Bones!" the captain gasped, his face frozen in a startled
expression. "You scared the shit out of me!"

The doctor's gaze was directed at Jim's face, but his attention was
drawn lower. Obviously his instincts hadn't been completely wrong.
Jim was sporting an obvious erection.

"Jim!" McCoy gasped in disbelief at the sight before him. Only then
did Jim make a quick one-eighty and turn his back to the doctor.

"Bones, what the hell...," Jim started, but then stopped, evidently
at a loss for an acceptable explanation.

Leonard took in a deep breath, priming himself to launch immediately
into a tirade against his captain and the actions he had witnessed.
However, a soft, plaintive whimper from the other figure in the cabin
turned Leonard's attention back to the bed. Trying to catch hold of
his roiling emotions, the doctor decided to ignore Jim for the moment
to focus instead on his patient. "Chekov?"

"He has a muscle cramp," Jim answered, "The back of his right thigh.
I was trying to massage it out."

Leonard turned back to his captain. Jim gazed at him innocently, but
the doctor couldn't help but notice the damning red flush on the
other man's cheeks. As much as he wanted to read Jim the riot act
right then and there, he realized that this was neither the time nor
place to do so. It would only serve to confuse Chekov. The poor kid
had enough to deal with at the moment than to worry about his own
captain harboring designs on him.

Instead of letting Jim have it, Leonard just shook his head with a
muted curse. Glaring angrily at Jim, he made it clear that he
intended to take his pound of flesh from the captain at the next
opportunity. And Leonard knew James Kirk well enough to know that the
captain's contrite expression meant that the doctor's intent was
sufficiently communicated.

Turning, he let out a sigh to release some of the tension from his
body. As enraged as he was with Jim at the moment, the last thing
Leonard wanted was to transfer that anger to the injured Russian.

"Chekov?" Leonard called softly. "It's Dr. McCoy."

"D...doctor?"

"Yes," Leonard answered. He pulled the Russian's garment down to
cover his buttocks.

Chekov seemed oblivious to the doctor's actions on behalf of his
modesty as he continued to clutch at the blanket and groan.

After retrieving the medical scanner from his medikit, Leonard passed
it over the offending thigh as he stated, "How did this happen?"

"He needed to use the bathroom," Jim answered for him.

Leonard glared up at the captain. "Do you mind? I'm speaking to my
patient here."

He could see Jim wanted to say more, but finally just looked away.

"Chekov? What happened?"

"I...I felt sick," the young man stammered hoarsely, his voice
communicating his obvious pain. "I...I needed to use the head.
Afterwards...I sat down on the floor and...and when I got up, my leg
cramped and..."

"Okay, son," Leonard stated, placing a reassuring hand on the young
man's shoulder. "I get the picture. My readings say you have a strain
of your thigh and groin muscles. You must have aggravated it..."

"...Are you sure it's just a strain, Bones?" Jim interrupted,
seemingly unable to contain himself any longer, "He took one step
after I helped him to his feet and the cramp took hold. He seemed
unable to walk on it after that."

Leonard looked up at Jim and gave him a quick nod. Looking back down,
he directed his answer toward his patient. "I think it's just a
strain. We'll check things out fully once we get you to sickbay. But
for now, I can help take care of the pain." The doctor leaned down to
catch the ensign's eye. "Chekov? If I give you a muscle relaxant, it
may put you out for the night. Is that okay?"

He waited until the Russian nodded his consent. Leonard then pulled
out the spray hypo from his medikit, dialed it, and then pressed the
hypo into the offending thigh muscle. After placing the instrument
back inside the case, he rested his hand on the Russian's shoulder
and waited. After a few moments, he could feel the tension start to
ease from Chekov's body.

"How does that feel? A little better?"

The Russian nodded his head and closed his eyes with a soft sigh.

"Good. Just relax now." Leonard passed the scanner over the young
man's body, getting a full readout. He turned slightly to glance up
at Jim, who remained standing like a sentry beside the bunk. "I see
you took care of his wrists."

"Yes."

Leonard stared at his captain for a long, silent moment. Jim stared
back, guilt written all over his face. When he checked on his patient
again, the doctor found Chekov was dozing. He smoothed a section of
the Russian's tousled hair as he murmured softly, "You've had a busy
night. Rest now."

Leonard stood and faced Jim directly. "I'm going to call sickbay for
a hovercart. Why don't you clean up in here while I get Chekov ready
for transport."

"Clean up?" the captain asked, his expression blank as he gazed down
at Chekov.

Leonard couldn't help keep the exhaustion and exasperation from
coloring his voice as he replied, "Yes, clean up. I don't want my
medtechs to see the mess in here. It wouldn't be fair to saddle
Chekov with a lot of gossip or innuendo over his sudden injury, if
you catch my drift. Now take off your tunic."

Jim looked at him as if he suspected the doctor had gone mad. "My
tunic, Bones?"

Leonard nodded. "I'm sure you haven't noticed before this, but you're
a mess, Jim."

The captain peeled off his outer tunic and held it out for
inspection. Leonard watched the other man's hazel eyes grow wide with
alarm as Jim surveyed the blood smears across the back of the golden
garment.

After Leonard called to sickbay for a medical transport, he looked
back in time to see Jim pitch his gold command tunic into the
recycling unit and order a new one from the panel.

"Toss the pillows into the recycler, too. We don't have time to sort
through which ones have blood on them," the doctor ordered as he
returned to the bunk and gently turned the slumbering navigator onto
his side. He pulled away the pillow that Chekov still clutched
against his chest and tossed it to the captain, who was still pulling
his new tunic into place.

The two men worked in concert, with Leonard lifting the drowsy
Russian high enough for Jim to pull the top sheet and coverlet into
place on the bunk to conceal the blood-spattered bottom sheet
beneath. Jim then rushed to grab a fresh blanket from the closet.
After they wrapped the blanket around Chekov, Leonard situated the
young man onto his back atop the bunk.

Leonard grabbed the hand towels that Jim had used earlier to wipe the
Russian's face and pitched them into the recycler. He looked up in
time to watch the captain scoop up the containers of lube, various
sex toys, and a half-empty bottle of Scotch and dump everything into
a drawer in the nightstand.

"The walls," Leonard whispered urgently, sensing that his medtechs
would be there any moment and they weren't quite done yet.

The captain rushed into the bathroom. Returning to the bunk with a
damp washcloth, Jim wiped off the bloodstains from the wall and the
headboard as Leonard checked on his patient again.

Jim had just tossed the bloodstained washcloth into the recycler when
the door opened and two medtechs entered the cabin with a hovercart.
As Leonard helped his medical staff lift and position the slumbering
figure onto the hovercart, the doctor noticed Jim bending down to
grab something from the floor by the nightstand and tuck it behind
his back. Leonard checked to make certain the Russian was lying
securely in the cart and then shooed the medtechs off with a  terse,
"Go on. Put him in Treatment Room 3 for now. I'll be right  behind
you."

After the medtechs left with Chekov and the cabin door closed behind
them, Leonard looked up at Jim. The captain's face had twisted into a
dark, murderous scowl.

"What?" the doctor asked irritably. He was too damn tired for twenty-
questions at the moment.

The captain pulled his arm away from his back and allowed the object
in his hand to shake loose. Holding on by one strap, Jim's face
flushed to a deep crimson as he shook the object--which Leonard
realized was a gag--in front of the doctor's face and hissed, "I
picked this up from the floor. I found it just under the edge of the
bed."

The captain gripped the mouthpiece in his palm and, as he twisted the
gag's straps viciously around his hand, he added in a choked  voice,
"It's still wet with saliva!" Once the straps were wrapped  tightly
around his hand, Jim curled his hand into a tight fist and  glared at
Leonard. "The bastard refused to listen when Pavel asked  him to stop,
so he gagged him. The sick bastard gagged him!"

"Now wait a god damn minute," Leonard warned, grabbing Jim's upper
arm as the captain started to bolt for the door. The thought of
Scotty gagging the young man infuriated him as much as it did Jim,
but he knew that someone had to be the voice of reason here. Leonard
rushed in front of the other man, blocking his exit. "Stop right this
minute, Jim. Going after Scotty half-cocked isn't going to help
matters. Go back to your quarters. Get some rest. We can deal with
this whole mess in the morning. Just let it be."

Jim didn't seem to hear him as he tried to brush past the doctor.
Leonard tried to stand his ground. He knew he didn't have a chance to
restrain the captain if he resisted. Physically, he was no match for
James Kirk. He just hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"I said, let it be," Leonard repeated, getting in front of Jim again
when the captain made another attempt to go around him. "Now, I'm not
making excuses for Scotty, but you know how he has the tendency of
getting carried away. He may not have realized the full extent of his
actions, especially because he had no knowledge of Kahrag."

"That still doesn't give him the right to hurt Pavel the way he did;
for tying him up and gagging him; for not listening when Pavel told
him to stop," the captain hissed, his eyes glaring at Leonard
threateningly. "Now let me through!"

"Jim...don't. Please, don't," Leonard pleaded, placing his hands on
his friend's chest. Unable to keep the concern and exhaustion out of
his voice, he added, "I have all the patients I want for one evening.
Don't do this, Jim."

"Don't try to stop me, Bones," the captain warned as he pulled away.

In a near panic, Leonard called out, "Don't do this to Pavel. Please,
Jim! You'll only make things worse."

The captain stopped before he reached the threshold that would open
the cabin door. He stood silently for a long moment. Then, curling
inward slightly, Jim took in a deep breath. In a voice that shook
with emotion, he whispered, "I could kill that son of a bitch, you
know. I could kill him for what he did to Pavel. God damn him!"

Leonard moved up beside the captain's right side. "Don't say that!
Gods, Jim, don't even think it!" He placed a hand on Jim's upper arm
and soothed, "You're not going to kill anyone. Do you hear me? Now
calm down and stop this crazy talk right this instant!" It wasn't as
if Leonard didn't understand. Thinking about what Scotty had been
capable of that evening, it was all he could do to keep from
barreling down the corridor himself. But he had a patient being
transported to sickbay that had to come first this evening.

When Jim didn't reply, he pushed past the captain so he could look at
him face-to-face.

"Bones..." the other man whispered mournfully, closing his eyes
tightly as though he was suddenly too exhausted to keep them open any
longer.

With a small sigh, Leonard placed his hands on Jim's shoulders and
squeezed. "This has been a hell of a long night for us all. Here, sit
down before you fall down."

"No. I can't," the captain protested. "If I sit down now, I'm going
to fall asleep."

"My point exactly."

"Bones, don't...," the other man warned.

"Fine. Have it your way," Leonard muttered. He stared at Jim for a
long moment. The hand that had the leather strap bound tightly around
it was becoming dangerously red, but now was not the time to attempt
to pry it from Jim's grip. It occurred to the doctor that perhaps Jim
was directing the entirety of his anger toward the object since
Scotty was, for the moment, beyond his reach.

Seemingly unaware of Leonard's scrutiny, the other man reached up
with his free hand and rubbed his face, his body bending in an almost
vulnerable stance. Suddenly, Leonard saw--not his captain--but his
friend, Jim. He really didn't understand the dynamics of all that was
going on here, including Jim's fierce protectiveness of his young
navigator. All Leonard knew was, at that particular moment, Jim
needed a friend.

Noticing Jim sway slightly, Leonard grasped his friend by the upper
arms to steady him. "Come on," he prodded gently, "You're about ready
to fall asleep just standing here. Why don't you go back to your
cabin and get some rest?"

Opening his eyes, Jim shook his head and protested, "I'm coming with
you to sickbay."

"No, Jim. You need your rest. So does Chekov. Lord knows the kid's
been through enough turmoil tonight. Just let him be, okay?"

The captain turned, his hazel eyes firm in their conviction. The
momentary lapse of vulnerability was gone, replaced by an unstoppable
determination. "I won't be able to rest until I know he's okay. I'm
coming with you and that's final."

Leonard glared at his stubborn friend but knew he had already lost
the argument. Jim would do whatever the hell he wanted. But then,
maybe it was better to have the captain in sickbay where Leonard
could keep an eye on him. Better that than leave him to wander the
corridors looking to pick a fight with Scotty. Shaking his head, he
replied, "Fine. Just don't get in our way."

With that, the two men exited the vacant cabin.

There was something that Leonard needed to attend to, and knew that
having Jim present wasn't going to be in anyone's best interest. Just
as the door slid closed behind them, Leonard touched Jim's hand,
stopping his advance toward the lift.

"Jim, there is something I forgot to do. Stay here. Do not leave,
understand?"

Jim's only response was a questioning look.

Glancing down, Leonard became concerned with the condition of Jim's
right hand. The fingers were definitely turning purple. Obviously,
Jim had the obscene object wrapped so tightly that it was in danger
of cutting off the circulation. Now, with Jim calmer, Leonard saw his
chance to do something about it.

"Jim," Leonard breathed, placing a firm hand on the captain's upper
arm.

"What?" the captain replied impatiently, hazel eyes turning toward
the doctor.

"You can't go parading through the ship with THAT attached to your
hand."

For a moment, Jim seemed confused. But once Leonard pointed down at
his hand, the captain lifted his fist and his eyes widened with
surprise.

"No...no, you're right, Bones. I can't..."

"Here. Gimme," Leonard murmured as he grasped Jim's hand. He
carefully unwound the straps of the gag and then pulled the
mouthpiece out of the captain's grip. Almost immediately, the fingers
began to return to their normal, robust color.

"Don't move. I'll be right back," he ordered harshly as he
sidestepped away from Jim.

After using his medical emergency code to once more enter the cabin,
and making sure he hadn't been followed in, Leonard walked to the
comm panel and pressed the buttons that would put him in contact with
the conference room where Spock was holding Scotty.

When Spock answered, Leonard replied in a clipped voice, "This is Dr.
McCoy. Ensign Chekov is on his way to sickbay. The cabin is cleared.
McCoy out."

Leonard closed the comm-link as soon as the Vulcan acknowledged the
news. Taking one last disgusted look at the article of bondage
dangling from his hand, he threw it viciously into the recycle unit
and pressed the button that would assure all items were permanently
disposed of.

Exiting the cabin, he looked to the spot where he had left Captain
Kirk. Predictably, Jim was nowhere to be found. He let out a low
expletive as he started a light sprint down the corridor towards
sickbay. Why couldn't anyone listen to reason this night, of all
nights? He started feeling a killer headache coming on.

--

Spock switched off the comm-link in the conference room and then
turned to Montgomery Scott.

"As you have heard for yourself, Mr. Scott, the ensign is being moved
to sickbay. You must return to your quarters."

The engineer looked up at Spock from his seat at the conference
table. The man's eyes were swollen and red, his face haggard with
exhaustion.

"I canna return 't my cabin," Scotty hissed, anger suddenly flashing
in his blood-shot eyes. "I will nay return 't my cabin until I see
the lad 'n make sure he's all right."

Spock discerned the muscles in his back and shoulders tensing. He
realized that he was not totally immune to the emotions that this
evening's events had elicited from those he considered his closest
friends. He understood the engineer's protectiveness, as irrational
as the human's behavior had been that night, for Spock acknowledged
that the same emotion was flowing through him. However, Spock's goal
was to protect the ensign from further harm--either physically or
emotionally. And at that moment, it appeared the source of that harm
was Mr. Scott.

Deciding on how best to reply to the engineer's outburst, Spock
stated levelly, "Mr. Scott. The captain made his orders perfectly
clear. You are not to have further contact with the ensign until this
matter is fully reviewed. Consider yourself confined to quarters
until further notice."

"Ye dinna have the right 't do that," Scotty answered crisply. "Ye
nay are the capt'n. I twill take this up with him myself."

Spock felt his jaw clenching as he replied, "Sir, as second in
command, I not only have the authority to make that order, but I am
executing it. Your behavior this evening is beneath that of a
Starfleet officer. Although formal charges have not yet been filed
against you, it does not mean this matter is over. Do I make myself
clear, Mr. Scott?"

"Perfectly. Clear. Sir," the engineer hissed darkly. Scotty then
turned on his heel and stormed out of the conference room.

Exiting behind the Scotsman, Spock made certain that the engineer was
heading to his cabin. He was uncertain whether to follow. In most
cases, he could assume that his order would be obeyed and an escort
was not required. However, nothing about this evening had proceeded
in a fashion that would be deemed as normal.

Making a decision, the Vulcan followed Scott from a distance. If the
engineer knew that Spock was following, he didn't give an indication
of that knowledge. As he neared the cabin that Scott shared with
Ensign Chekov, Spock watched in the shadows as the other man thumbed
his code into the door panel and let himself in. Spock stood for a
few moments, gazing at the closed door, determining whether it would
be prudent to post a guard. Deciding to trust that the human would
follow orders, the Vulcan turned and headed back to his own cabin.

For a fleeting moment, he considered heading to sickbay himself to
ascertain the status of ensign's well being. However, it occurred to
him that McCoy or Jim would contact him in the event Mr. Chekov's
condition warranted another mind meld. The young man was in good
hands. Spock's presence would not speed the ensign's recovery.

As he made his way down the corridor, a myriad of emotions flowed
through him. These were strong undercurrents and were testing to the
fullest his mental barriers. In trying to decipher the unwelcome
sentiments, and therefore alleviate them, he began to mentally list,
dissect, and analyze each one individually.

Guilt. Ensign Chekov had confided to him the events of his time with
the Klingon, and he had broken that confidence in revealing the event
to the captain and doctor. However, considering the events of the
evening, these men being aware of the cause of the ensign's reaction
had served to address the situation as expediently as possible. He
filed away that emotion.

Anger. It was a powerful emotion, indeed, and one which was most
difficult to control. However, he had controlled his reactions toward
Mr. Scott, otherwise the man would have been unable to proceed to his
cabin unaided. Given the intensity of the evening, and the fact that
the ensign was an important member of the command crew, he concluded
that although his disciplines had been tested, he had been able to
overcome his most primal desires. Satisfied, he filed away that
emotion.

Sadness, sorrow and anguish. Certainly he had been touched by all of
these as he stood over the bloodied form of the young officer.
Logically, he reasoned, the ensign was a valuable member of the crew,
and the ship would be compromised with his absence. This, Spock
convinced himself, was valid reason for concern, and for experiencing
such reactions. Once more, he mentally filed away those emotions.

Admiration, respect and esteem. These all seemed to be centered
toward one person. The actions of the doctor during this evening had
repeatedly fascinated him. It was not that he had never before borne
witness to the doctor's concern, often being the recipient of such
attention in times of medical distress himself. But it was the
intensity of the caring, that he had never previously appreciated,
that took him by surprise. As irritating as that particular human
could prove to be, he discovered that he harbored deep within him an
emotion more powerful than all the rest, and it seemed to be directed
toward that irascible, petulant human. It was most illogical. This,
he was unable to file away.

Recognizing the implications of this realization, Spock shook his
head as if to fight off the dangerous thoughts. He turned and headed
down the corridor towards his cabin, knowing he needed to meditate as
soon as possible to purge himself.

---

Leonard McCoy found his captain in Treatment Room 3, exactly where he
expected to find him upon entering sickbay. Thankfully, Jim had the
good sense to stand aside, clutching Chekov's dark purple robe, as
Leonard's gamma shift medical staff went through their usual routine
to check in their patient. By the time Leonard entered the treatment
room, they had already cleaned up the kid and pulled him into a
sickbay jumpsuit. As Leonard expected, the Russian hadn't awakened
throughout their ministrations.

The doctor was grateful that he had the best medical team in the
fleet. All of them knew their jobs and performed them with agility,
accuracy, and speed that amazed even him. If they questioned the
events that transpired to bring Ensign Chekov to sickbay that night--
not to mention the captain's obvious hovering--they kept their
curiosity to themselves.

Leonard thanked his staff for their help and then dispatched them to
take care of their other duties. After they departed and the door was
closed behind them, the doctor went to work on Chekov's injured
wrists.

He used the more powerful scanner in the treatment room to check the
wounds under the plastiskin for nerve damage that would require
surgery. Unfortunately, he found some tearing in the areas where the
gashes were deepest--especially on the right wrist. Without further
evaluation, it would be difficult to know whether the injuries would
cause permanent disability. However, considering how strong Chekov's
grip had been around Jim's waist while experiencing the flashback,
Leonard thought there was a good chance the Russian would be fine.
And any further tests would be better off run when the kid was awake
and able to respond, but there was no rush. There wasn't any further
damage being done at the moment, all bleeding had been controlled,
and Leonard figured neither of them needed any further stress that
night.

As a temporary measure, Leonard dissolved the plastiskin that Jim had
applied earlier and then cleaned the wounds, disinfected them, and
sprayed a more durable seal over both wrists. Once Leonard had a
chance to run tests in the morning, he'd know if the repair would be
permanent, or if further surgery would be needed.

The doctor then turned his attention to the injury to the ensign's
right thigh and groin area. Using more sensitive sensors in sickbay,
Leonard found a number of minute tears in the muscles in that area.
There were definite indications of strain and, for a moment, he
pondered over what the young man could have done to inflict such
damage. Suddenly, an image rushed through his mind--an image of
Chekov restrained to the bed, flailing and kicking at anything that
came close. Maybe the kid kicked Scotty off of him to get the
engineer to stop.

Gods!

Letting out a low moan of disgust, Leonard tried to erase the image
from his mind by returning his attention back to the sensors.

"Bones?"

He looked up at the man who stood at the opposite side of the biobed,
startled by the question. Leonard had almost forgotten that Jim was
still in the treatment room, the captain unwilling to leave until he
had a full report on Chekov's condition.

"Nothing," he replied, feeling a bit sheepish as he met Jim's  eyes.
"I'm just having a little trouble getting the images out of my  head."

The moment Leonard said it he regretted his words. He watched a
stricken expression pass across the captain's face, as if he were
recalling the same images Leonard was trying to blot out of his mind.

"I don't think I'll ever forget it, Bones," the other man said in a
whisper. Jim placed a hand on Chekov's forearm. "How is he?"

"I think there may be some more damage than I realized on his wrists,
his right one especially. I won't know until after I've run more
tests if we need to do surgery. And I found some tearing in his thigh
area besides the muscle strains," he explained, pointing towards the
Russian's right thigh. "An hour or so of regen treatment will fix it
up."

"Just do whatever it takes to make him better," the captain stated,
deep concern evident in his voice.

Leonard retrieved the regen unit and anchored the mounting bracket to
one of the connectors on the side of Chekov's biobed. After
positioning it over the Russian's groin area, he turned on the
targeting sensor and narrowed the beam to focus on the set of muscles
that needed repair. A soft humming sound filled the treatment room
once Leonard turned on the unit's regeneration beam to full power.

Looking up, Leonard wasn't surprised to find Jim centering his entire
attention on the sleeping Russian's face. The captain's hand still
rested on Chekov's left forearm and his other hand was now cupped
under his navigator's neck.

Leonard let out a long, exasperated sigh. What was it about the damn
Russian that made him irresistible to certain members of this ship?
Over the past year, there was that tumultuous affair with Sulu, and
then Scotty. Now Jim was under his spell. And something about Spock's
denial to Scotty of the Vulcan's past relationship with the young
navigator didn't quite ring true, either. But then again, had he
really denied it? The Vulcan had never actually come right out and
told Scotty that he had never slept with Chekov, had he?

Allowing his irritation to build, Leonard cleared his throat as he
watched for Jim's reaction. When the captain didn't look up right
away, he cleared his throat louder, leaning over the biobed to glare
directly at Kirk.

When Jim looked up, Leonard could see the surprise on the other man's
face--realizing he had been caught again. The captain blushed
slightly and pulled his hand away from under Chekov's neck. Leonard
noticed that he didn't, however, lift his hand from the Russian's
arm.

"Jim...what the hell do you think you're doing? And what was that all
about back there in the cabin? I want to know what your intentions
are?"

"Bones, I don't need a lecture right now, okay?"

"No?" Leonard pressed, his voice conveying his displeasure. "Would
you rather I just kick you in the ass to knock some sense into you?
Is that what it's going to take? Just which head are you thinking
with tonight?"

"Bones...that's enough," Jim snapped back.

"You know your track record isn't great. Do you honestly think you
can offer him something better?"

Jim looked down at Chekov. "Better than this?? Are you kidding,
Bones? I would never hurt him. Gods...not like this. Never like
this."

"Maybe you'd have the good sense not to hurt him physically, but
you'd eventually hurt him in other ways. Just like you've hurt all
the others that were left in your wake through the years. Or have you
forgotten...?"

"I said, that's enough, Bones!"

Leonard glared at Jim. "You're his captain, for god's sake. He's an
ensign and, I might add, still a little in awe of you--the great
Captain James T. Kirk. I won't stand by while you take advantage of a
vulnerable kid. You know what kind of hell he has been through." Jim
looked up suddenly, a flash of anger in his hazel eyes.

"I may know more about what he's gone through than anyone else on
this ship."

Leonard paused, confused by Jim's last statement. Finally, he  asked,
"Do you mind explaining what you mean by that?"

"No," Jim shot back, "But believe me, I am familiar with what he's
gone through."

Leonard looked down at Chekov. What the hell was going on here? And
what did Jim mean by being familiar with this? It didn't make sense,
not unless there was something from Jim's past that Leonard was
unaware of.

Feeling frazzled and aware their argument was going nowhere, he
decided to take a different tact. Leonard looked up at his friend
and, with a tired grin, said, "Look, Jim, it's been a hell of a long
night. Maybe we should take up this discussion tomorrow. I suggest we
both get some sleep."

Jim's eyes looked down at the Russian. "I'm not leaving him."

Leonard didn't hide the irritation in his voice as he replied, "With
the muscle relaxant that I gave him, he's going to sleep through the
night."

Jim looked up, hazel eyes set in a determined glare. "Then I'll be
right here beside him."

Leonard just shook his head in disgust. When James T. Kirk set his
mind to something, he was as unmovable as a mountain. Deciding he had
had enough, he frowned at his captain and muttered, "I hope to hell
you know what you're doing."

After making a last sweep of Chekov's bio readings, Leonard glared at
Jim one final time before stalking out of the room.

---

Spock caught his mind wandering as he studiously converged on the
glowing embers of his firepot. With the cabin lights set to zero-
percent, the gentle radiance within the firepot contributed the only
source of illumination to the room. And yet, with no other visual
stimulation to distract him, the Vulcan was finding it difficult to
remain focused.

Kneeling on the mat, Spock drew in a deep, cleansing breath, let it
out slowly, and then attempted once again to clear his thoughts. He
required this quiet time to slip into a meditative state, but the
simple task of focusing his thoughts seemed to allude him.

After trying and failing once again, the Vulcan lowered his hands
from in front of his face. Stretching his body, he attempted to
release the tension that had built up in his body. Cupping his hands
in his lap, he closed his eyes and inhaled another deep breath, let
it out again, very slowly, and tried to center his attention on his
body. This was a different approach. Perhaps it would work where his
other attempts had failed.

He noted the tension was still evident despite his attempt to release
it with the stretching exercises. It surprised him that it emanated
from his back and shoulders and coursed throughout his entire body.
Because he had not experienced any extraordinary physical exertion of
late to attribute this to, he could only speculate that it was
somehow an emotional reaction caused by what he had witnessed that
evening.

Opening his eyes again, he stared at the glowing red embers within
the firepot. He focused, not within his mind, but on his physical
senses. He discerned the black robe that draped over his body,
allowing him to blend into the darkness of the sparse cabin. He noted
the tautness in his leg muscles as they supported his weight on the
mat. Easing upwards, he released the tension in his hips and lower
spine, and further up, his back and shoulders. Then he concentrated
on his arms, his wrists, his hands, and finally his fingers. The last
was his neck, which seemed to hold a great deal of stress at the
moment. Once his body had been eased into tranquility, he centered
himself on the glowing embers--to move from the physical to the mind
in order to begin his meditation.

After a few moments, he noted a warm sensation centered on his
shoulder, as if a hand had been placed there. Shifting his gaze away
from the embers and to the side, he reassured himself that he was
indeed alone in the cabin. No one else was present, yet he sensed a
presence that refused to move despite his attempts to block it.

He recalled his actions over the past twenty-four hours. Perhaps he
could find a possible explanation of the phenomena that he was
currently experiencing. Perhaps it would explain his difficulty in
reaching a meditative state that evening.

Retracing past events, Spock came to one startling conclusion. The
warmth emanated from the spot on his shoulder where Leonard McCoy had
touched him that evening in the doctor's quarters.

Indeed, the mere act of McCoy leaning on him while lowering himself
down on the couch had stirred some uncomfortable sensations within
Spock.

On further inspection, however, perhaps the term uncomfortable was
incorrect. In fact, Spock would categorize the sensation as being
somewhat pleasurable.

Recalling the other events that evening, Spock realized that his
emotions had raged much closer to the breaking point than even he had
imagined. Of course, the state in which they found Ensign Chekov was
most distressing. Having assisted the navigator with his trauma a
year ago, Spock held a certain level of personal concern for the
young man.

However, upon closer reflection, Spock's emotional state was not
solely brought on by the ensign's ordeal that evening. No. As Spock
recalled, it was McCoy's icy-blue gaze on him, the doctor's shocked
tone of voice as Scotty accused Spock of having a sexual relationship
with Ensign Chekov. To be caught in such an accusation in front of
McCoy, of all people, caused the muscles in Spock's back and neck to
tense once again.

Taking in a deep breath and letting it out again slowly, Spock worked
to ease the tension once again from his body.

So...that was the answer. McCoy. Although Spock had certainly been
sexually attracted to the fiery human for some time, it did not occur
to him that the doctor would stir such strong emotions within him.
The physical response that he was experiencing was totally illogical.
However, it was there all the same.

Perhaps he wasn't as immune as he originally thought to the emotions
that humans entwined with sex and attraction. Certainly his encounter
with Ensign Chekov a year ago was different. They engaged in sex, as
much as Captain Kirk had forbid it to happen. However, at the time,
Spock allowed the ensign to take the path that he apparently needed
to heal from his situation. Spock was merely there to help a fellow
being find peace, someone he felt close to and concerned about. And
there was no mistaking the understanding they took with them
afterwards that it would never happen again. Spock had been relieved
when Chekov found comfort in Lieutenant Sulu's arms after that. As a
Vulcan, there was only so much he could do to heal the ensign's
emotional wounds.

However, what he was beginning to discover about his sentiments
toward McCoy went far beyond his response to the young Russian. The
warmth still emanated from his shoulder, as if the doctor's hand had
left an impression, such as one would find in wet clay, and it formed
and solidified within his flesh at that very spot until it became a
part of him.

Curious to this new sensation, Spock once again took in a deep,
cleansing breath and then let it out slowly. He focused on the embers
in his firepot and centered his mind on McCoy. If he were to find any
peace that evening, he would have to resolve his relationship with
the emotional doctor first.

---

After leaving instructions for his medical assistants to monitor the
regen unit that was healing Ensign Chekov's injuries--and warning
them that the captain might remain for a while longer--Leonard left
sickbay for the privacy of his own cabin.

At this point, he didn't even bother to look down at his chronometer.
He knew there were only a few hours left before it was time to get up
for another duty shift. He had pulled hundreds of back-to-back shifts
before, so it wouldn't be anything new for him. But he'd never
experienced a night quite like this one.

Leonard was glad when a turbolift came right away to his call--and an
empty one at that. Once inside the privacy of the lift and moving
towards his deck, he reached up and massaged his temples with his
fingertips. Damn. The headache, which he'd kept at bay by sheer
willpower as he focused on taking care of his patient, was now
building into a throbbing monster of a migraine.

He considered returning to sickbay for a hypo to relieve the pain,
but decided he was too damned tired to consider turning back at this
point.

As Leonard waited for the lift to reach his destination, he found his
mind was swirling with the events of that evening. He knew they'd all
have'ta sit down and sort it out at some point, but not tonight. Dear
lord, certainly not tonight.

He didn't want to think too deeply about the ramifications of what
happened that night to Scotty and Chekov. And just what the hell was
the deal with Jim? Was Jim aroused by the actions that had evidently
taken place in the cabin, or was it the young man himself? No,
Leonard thought he knew Jim well enough to say that witnessing
someone being hurt as part of a sex act wasn't what interested Jim
Kirk! So, logically, it had to be Chekov who had excited him. If that
was the case, was it safe to leave their esteemed captain alone in
sickbay with the kid? Leonard felt foolish for even having such
thoughts. Sure, Jim might have feelings for Chekov, perhaps even
strong feelings, but if nothing else, Jim Kirk was a man of honor.

And, speaking of logical, there was Spock. He could no longer recall
the exact words that Spock used in the conference room to deflect
Scotty's accusations about his relationship with Pavel Chekov.
However, something about what was said and--more importantly--left
unsaid by the Vulcan still unsettled Leonard.

Before his thoughts could move any further on that subject, the lift
arrived at his destination. Leonard exited and started down the
corridor towards his cabin.

As he walked, his mind returned again to the tall Vulcan. Why in the
hell would Scotty accuse Spock of sleeping with Chekov? That was
absurd, wasn't it? Sure, Spock had been the only one who the Russian
had confided in, and it *was* true that they seemed to spend a lot of
time together...alone...in the science lab, late into the night. And
just why had Spock become so angry? Angry, hell! There were times
tonight when Leonard thought Spock just might use every ounce of that
damned Vulcan strength against Scotty. He'd never seen the Vulcan get
that upset with anyone, and God knows he'd had just cause on many
occasions, under many different situations just as stressful as this
one. Come to think of it, he never had really denied the accusation,
had he?

Leonard began to notice the heat rising beneath his collar. He felt
sure that he'd been picking up signals of his own from Spock. Hell,
ever since that night on Bennett's Planet--during Carnivale--when the

Vulcan brushed against him, he'd picked up on hints that the Vulcan
might be interested in something happenin' between them. But now, he
wasn't sure. Was Spock interested in him or not? That was the sixty-
five thousand credit question that Leonard had intended to pose to
Spock tonight before Jim stopped by for a nightcap and holy hell
broke loose in Scotty and Chekov's cabin. But if Scotty was
right...just who the hell was fucking whom here? It was high time to
stop pussyfooting around.

He came to a juncture in the corridor where he should've turned left
to head to his quarters. However, as if his feet had a will of their
own, he found himself turning right--towards Spock's cabin.

Leonard paused, but only for a moment. Shaking his head, as if not
believing his feet were doing this to him, he found himself setting a
path straight for Spock's door. Not that he hadn't imagined himself
doing this a thousand times before, but he certainly never imagined
he would have the questions he had tonight. Usually the scenario he
contrived consisted of walking down this corridor, palming the
control beside the door--because in his dreams he had been given free
access to the illusive cabin-- taking a certain Vulcan in his arms,
and making mad, passionate love to him.

~~Shit!~~ he thought to himself morosely. ~~I just told Jim that I
hope the hell he knows what he's doing when I don't know what I'm
doing myself. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.~~

He told himself to turn around and head back. He wasn't going to do
this tonight. He wasn't going to barge in on Spock and confront him
about Chekov--not to mention a few other matters that he wanted to
get off his chest once and for all.

He turned his head and looked back to where he had come. No, this was
totally ridiculous! He wasn't going to do it! He was going to march
back to his own cabin and try to get some rest in these few precious
hours before he had to be back on duty.

His body, however, refused to cooperate. He needed answers and he
realized he was not going to get any rest unless he confronted Spock
NOW. Goddamn him! If that damned Vulcan had been sending out signals,
all the while getting it on in the science lab with Chekov, then
Leonard decided he was going to give him a piece of his mind!

With each step, his temper rose until it had spiked to a fevered
pitch. He was going to get his answer tonight, no matter what! He'd
seen too much, cleaned up way too many damn messes, and for what? Day
in and day out, he took care of people. Leonard patched them up and
tried to heal their emotional wounds with never a concern about his
own needs and his own wounds. Well, tonight, he'd have his answers.
Yes or no. Simple. Logical. Do you or don't you?

Once he arrived at his intended destination, Leonard angrily stabbed
at the call button for the Vulcan's cabin. After a moment, the door
slid open to a darkened room. Stepping inside, Leonard allowed his
eyes to adjust as the door closed behind him.

"Doctor," the Vulcan stated in a matter-of-fact tone. No emotion. No
surprise. No, 'what the hell are you doing here' lilt to his voice.

"Spock!" Leonard spat.

The two remained silent for a long moment. Leonard could see that
Spock was kneeling on the mat in a meditative pose. The soft lighting
from the firepot bathed Spock's face in a warm glow, offsetting the
cool, slightly greenish tinge of the Vulcan's normal complexion. Dark
eyes gazed up at the doctor. God, this would be easier if he weren't
so damned beautiful! For a moment, Leonard faltered, wanting only to
fall into the arms connected to that glowing face. But that wasn't
why he was here. No. He was here to get his answers...one way or
another.

Spock was the one who broke the silence first. "I assume Ensign
Chekov has been tended to and is now resting in sickbay for the
night."

"Yeah," Leonard answered stiffly. He wasn't sure he liked that Spock
asked immediately about Chekov. A faint tinge of jealousy settled
into his gut. "Yeah," Leonard added, "He's gonna be fine."

"I am gratified to hear it. What happened to him this evening is most
unfortunate."

Leonard felt the jealousy flare within him and, without caring about
the ramifications of his words, asked bluntly, "I just wannna know
one thing. Did you sleep with Chekov?"

"I believe I answered that already, Doctor. If you have come here to
replay earlier conversations, then perhaps this could wait until a
later time. I believe we have been through quite enough for the
evening," the Vulcan noticeably bristled.

"You didn't answer a damned thing. You danced around the issue, just
as you are doing now!" Leonard shot back, his voice growing louder
and deeper. "Okay, dammit! I'm not leaving here without a straight
answer. Yes or no--have you slept with Pavel Chekov?"

Spock folded his elegant hands in his lap. As he looked up at the
doctor, both eyebrows arched high on his forehead. The Vulcan cocked
his head slightly to the side, a gesture Leonard had come to know
well. It was a gesture that meant Spock was trying to hide something.

Finally, Spock replied, "Literally speaking, yes--I have slept with
Ensign Chekov."

Leonard frowned, not knowing whether the damn Vulcan was giving him
the full story or not. From past experience, he knew he had to push
it further.

"God dammit, Spock! Even when I ask you a question, I never know if
I'm getting a straight answer! I want to know...did you have a sexual
relationship with Pavel Chekov?"

"Yes."

Leonard paused, shocked into silence by the Vulcan's admission. He
couldn't keep from raising his voice in anger as he added, "So,
Scotty's accusations were correct. And after what happened tonight,
Scotty's probably out of the kid's life for good. That certainly
makes it convenient, clearing the way for someone else to step in and
comfort him. I have to ask, are you still sleeping with him?"

"No."

"Really? Well, don't let that get in the way. Maybe he'll be looking
for someone who has been there for him in the past," McCoy sneered.

He looked down at Spock, expecting some sort of reaction, but the
Vulcan stared back in silence. That only made Leonard angrier. The
doctor started pacing the darkened room, feeling a mantle of deep
betrayal pushing down on him from all sides, making his breathing
quicken.

"Well, I tell you what, my Vulcan friend," Leonard continued, his
voice rasping by now. "If you want the kid, then you'll have to stand
in line behind the captain. From what I witnessed tonight, you have
some major competition on your hands. And I'm not going to make it
easy on you, I can tell you that much! I'm not going to allow either
of you to take advantage of a vulnerable kid...!"

He didn't notice Spock had risen to his feet until he turned and
nearly bumped into the tall figure. The Vulcan grasped his upper
arms, as if to steady him, but Leonard was far too angry at the
moment and pulled away.

"You are mistaken, Doctor," Spock replied in his typically
emotionless voice. "The physical relationship I shared with Mr.
Chekov lasted a single night. It occurred a year ago, when the ensign
was coming to terms with the events surrounding his encounter with
the Klingon named Kahrag. He initiated the contact and I allowed it
to happen. At the time, it seemed the logical thing to do, giving him
a means to heal."

"Let me get this straight...you fucked Chekov in an attempt to help
him heal?" Just saying the words hurt more than Leonard had been
prepared for. When he continued, his voice had become softer,
sounding as if all of his dreams had been dashed in a matter of
seconds. "You may think you did it for the right reasons, Spock,
but...gods, how could you?" Leonard stared at Spock, still so damned
mad that he didn't know what to do. The heat where those Vulcan hands
had grabbed his arms seemed to be searing through the sleeves of his
uniform and burrowing into his flesh. Coming to the cold realization
that a relationship between them was out of the question, the
residual effect from Spock's touch aggrieved Leonard even more.

"I can assure you, Doctor, that your conclusions are quite incorrect.
No penetration took place." Spock stated as Leonard turned his back
to the Vulcan. "That single encounter is in the past. Both the ensign
and I have moved on from that tryst. Although my concern for him is
both professional as well as personal, and my disgust over the events
of this evening quite real, Ensign Chekov is not the one who stirs my
emotions." Spock paused, and then continued, "Now, Doctor, I believe
we have had quite enough turmoil for one evening. I believe it is
time for you to retire to your cabin."

Leonard whirled around towards the Vulcan. "Turmoil? As a Vulcan, how
can you even fathom the meaning of that word? Turmoil means
conflicting emotions. What the hell would you know about turmoil and
emotions on that level?"

Spock stared down at him, the shadows obscuring his face. "Perhaps
more than you know, Doctor."

"Really," Leonard huffed as he crossed his arms across his chest and
glowered in disgust. "Have you ever really had one honest emotion in
your god-damned life?"

The Vulcan drew closer. "You may be surprised, Doctor."

Spock was so close that Leonard could feel the Vulcan's hot breath
against his face. He looked up at the taller man, his rage and lust
combining to take any semblance of rational thought away. He had a
sudden urge to hurt Spock--hurt him in equal measure to the heartache
Leonard felt whenever he thought of the Vulcan having sex with
Chekov.

Feeling the rage, the hurt, and the need all arise in him, McCoy knew
he had to distance himself from the Vulcan. He started to back up and
found he had paced himself into a corner; he was caught between the
bulkhead, the desk, and one very immobile Vulcan. Given his choices,
he placed his hands sharply against the robed chest and shoved with
all his might. He felt the strength and power hidden beneath the robe
as the material slid across solid muscle. Spock backed up against the
opposite wall panel that separated the cabin's living area from the
sleeping alcove. Spock moved, but not because Leonard had suddenly
gained the strength to put him there. The Vulcan had taken two steps
backwards and was now eyeing the doctor closely.

"God, Spock...you make me so god-damned crazy sometimes!"

The Vulcan started to move past him, but, instead, Leonard stepped in
front of Spock, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pressed the other
man up against the wall. He knew the Vulcan could crush him with his
superior strength, but Spock did not. Instead, he didn't resist as
the doctor moved closer, pinning him.

Leonard rose up on the balls of his feet and captured Spock's mouth
with his. To his surprise, the Vulcan's mouth opened, allowing him
inside. He deepened the kiss, pressing as much of his body against
the firm flesh as he could in the process.

Finally needing air, Leonard broke off the bruising kiss and then
backed off. He looked up at Spock, twisting his face into a scowl as
he hissed, "I suppose you don't have any god-damned feelings about
that, either!"

When Spock didn't answer, Leonard moved in a second time. He was
going to get his answer. He wasn't going to leave here without
knowing one way or another.

This time, the kiss was less brutal, more passion-filled. He reached
up and stroked his fingers through Spock's jet-black hair. His other
hand wandered over the Vulcan's chest, finding a nipple and fingering
it until it became hard as a pebble under this touch. He could hear
Spock's ragged breath, feel the Vulcan's strong grip on his
shoulders. Why was Spock holding back?

Leonard felt himself getting hard as his cock pressed up against the
Vulcan's groin. He stopped his first impulse to part the Vulcan's
robe and press closer. Gods, he wanted to pull off his own uniform
right then and there and rub against that body, skin-on-skin. But
Spock hadn't given him an answer. And unless he got an answer, he
could go no further. He had probably gone too far already, but he was
past the point of no return. There was nothing subtle about it. If
Spock didn't understand what he wanted, what he hoped for, then he'd
have to go for the jugular.

Breaking off the kiss, Leonard rubbed his cheek across Spock's and
sneered, in as cruel a tone as he had ever used with this man, "So
tell me, Spock. Do you have the nerve to have a real relationship? Do
you have the nerve to make love to someone--to let go of that
goddamned control for once and let someone make love to you? Do you
have what it takes for anything other than a one night stand that you
can later convince yourself was therapeutic, nothing more?"

He heard Spock growl and then Leonard felt himself being flung
backwards. Before he could catch himself, he was pushed against the
desk, almost seated on it from the force. Pushing himself up, he came
to his feet and glared up at the Vulcan. Spock's eyes were dark,
menacing. He had never seen that look on the other man's face, except
during the time when Spock was nearly beyond reason from pon farr and
they had to rush him to Vulcan.

Leonard swallowed, unsure what he had unleashed and wondering whether
he had made a big mistake in coming here.

They stared at each other for a long, silent moment.

Spock suddenly moved towards him, cat-like, as if on the prowl.
Leonard gasped as the Vulcan's arms grabbed him around the waist and
spun him around. Had it not been for the fact that Spock's hands held
him firmly about the waist, he probably would have lost his balance.

In an instant, Leonard found their positions reversed. Now he was the
one pinned to the wall. He glared up at Spock, whose black eyes
revealed no emotion. Spock grasped Leonard's wrists and clamped them
to the wall at his sides. Then the Vulcan pressed his full form
against Leonard. The doctor felt the other man's erection under the
fabric of the heavy robe, felt the hot breath tickling his cheek, and
he couldn't help letting out a moan of need.

The hands released Leonard's wrists. Spock bent down and captured
Leonard's mouth in a crushing, soul-searching kiss. He felt Spock's
long fingers run down his sides. When they reached the bottom hem of
his tunic, the fingers reached up and undid the black undershirt from
where it was tucked inside his pants. He let out another moan, louder
this time, as Spock's fingers slid across his bare stomach, pulling
the tunic and black undershirt higher until the hands were on his
chest, pausing at his nipples.

They breathed in gulps of air between deep kissing, Spock seemingly
able to anticipate when the human needed to come up for oxygen.

Leonard ran his hands across Spock's strong shoulders and down his
back. He had always wanted to feel this man's strength and power
against him. It made him feel a little dizzy. Well...between the feel
of Spock's hands on him and the effects of the deep kissing, Leonard
felt he was about ready to die and go to heaven.

Spock broke the series of kisses just long enough to pull the blue
tunic over Leonard's head. When he looked up, Leonard was amazed at
the transformation in Spock's expression. Instead of his usual,
emotionless features, the Vulcan's face betrayed the fiery passion
that lay just beneath the surface.

"Spock...oh gods, Spock!" Leonard moaned as he felt the other man's
erection rub hard into his groin.

The doctor wedged his hands between them and undid the belt to
Spock's robe. He parted the fabric and ran his hands inside to touch
as much of the Vulcan's skin as he could reach.

Spock hissed in reply, cupping Leonard's ass as he ground his massive
cock into the doctor's erection.

Leonard tried to undo the fasteners to his pants but Spock's hand
brushed him aside. Then he felt the other man's fingers tear the
waistband at the seam.

"Oh hell. Let me...," Leonard groaned.

But Spock was having none of that. The Vulcan pulled the doctor's
pants and briefs down in one fluid motion, and then moved his hand
over to stroke Leonard's erection.

"Spock...," Leonard cried out, but his plea was cut off as the other
man's mouth captured him once again.

The Vulcan removed his hand and began moving in earnest against him,
erection against erection. Leonard parted his legs farther apart,
moving his hips in rhythm to Spock's movements against him. He cupped
the Vulcan's firm ass in his hands, prompting his lover's thrusts
into a faster pitch. He wished he could pry the damn robe off of the
Vulcan, but he'd have to accept that Spock wasn't going to stop just
for that.

They undulated against each other, building the heat until Leonard
was certain he was about to explode. He felt Spock's hand brush
against his cheek and then settle into a meld position at his temple.
He moaned as something touched his mind. As if the build up in his
body wasn't enough, now his entire being--mind, body, and soul--was
on fire.

//Leonard//

He heard the voice in his mind, spoken with such love and passion
that it was like a benediction. An ending to his wanting and needing.
A beginning, too, of what their lives would be from that point on.
Together...two beings on a journey as one. Apparently it was an
ending and a beginning for Spock, too, if what he was feeling through
the meld was any indication.

No words were needed. They wouldn't be needed from now on. Through
the building passion within him, Leonard's soul sang out the name.

//Spock!//

//Spock!//

//Spock!//

Leonard came in a rush. Strong arms supported him as his knees
buckled with the power of his release. Resting his head against a
broad shoulder, he felt Spock's seed splash against him as he, too,
climaxed right after.

They stood there for, what seemed to Leonard, forever. Actually,
that's what Leonard wanted--to stay here, in Spock's strong arms,
forever.

Finally, Spock started to pull away, causing Leonard to moan with the
loss of contact with the Vulcan's skin.

"Leonard," his lover's voice murmured low.

"Spock...," Leonard replied, lost in the post-coital haze. "You *do*
make me crazy, ya know," he scolded, but this time his words didn't
have nearly the same impact of his earlier tirade. He reached out and
grabbed a handful of the soft robe and stopped the Vulcan from moving
away any further. "When the hell were you going to tell me, for god's
sake?"

"Tell you what, Leonard?"

"You know what, you green-blooded Vulcan," Leonard rasped, glaring
into Spock's black eyes as he tried to hold onto his anger but
failed. "You know...! This! What we could be together! Gods,
Spock...why didn't you tell me?"

An expression that could have passed as mild amusement crossed
Spock's face. It made Leonard's heart skip a beat as those glowing
eyes looked down at him. "I apologize for not making my desires known
earlier, Leonard. However, the opportunity never arose before and I
was unable to surmise whether my attention would be reciprocated."

"Well...you could have just come out and asked instead of making me
come here and pull it outta ya, y' know."

Spock surprised him by reaching up to his face and stroking along his
temple and down his cheek with gentle fingers. Dark eyes met  his.
"Then let me be perfectly clear on this point. I wish you to be  in my
bed. Tonight, and for as long as you wish it. Is that clear  enough?"

"Yeah..." Leonard grinned. "Quite clear, Spock," he cooed.

Pushing himself away from the wall, Leonard used his feet to quickly
rid himself of the puddled mass of clothing and boots around his
ankles. Holding out a hand, he was amazed to feel Spock's warm,
strong one slide into his. He led them around the partition and to
the side of Spock's bed. Turning to the Vulcan, he reached up and
pushed the robe over the strong shoulders and slid it down the steely
biceps, letting it fall to the floor.

They stood silently for a long moment, as though transfixed, just
looking at each other in the darkness. Gods, Spock was beautiful.
Sure, Leonard had seen the Vulcan in various stages of undress,
having been called upon on more than one occasion to patch up the
Vulcan as best he could. But this...this vision, with the glow of the
firepot flickering against smooth skin over hard muscle, nearly had
him undone.

Leonard swallowed hard, and then started backing up until his legs
were against the side of the bunk. Reaching to his right, he grabbed
the top edge of the coverlet and flipped the covers off impatiently.
He looked up at Spock, who was now standing right next to him, his
dark eyes studying his every movement. The doctor turned away,
feeling a wry grin form across his lips as he knelt down on the side
of the bed and crawled to the far side. Stretching out, Leonard
reached his arms out and murmured, "See? All ya had to do was ask."

---

Montgomery Scott stood in the center of his cabin--as unmoving as a
statue. He wasn't sure how long he just stood there staring at the
bed he shared with the lad, replaying the events of that night in his
mind, and wondering when things started to go so horribly wrong. All
he knew at that moment was the feeling of being exhausted beyond
belief and too sick at heart to know what to do next.

Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath. Letting it out slowly in
a failed attempt to calm himself, he couldn't keep the grief from
building up inside him as his exhale turned into a stuttering gasp.

He opened his eyes and tried to look anywhere in the cabin but their
bunk. The events of that evening seemed like a hazy blur in Scotty's
mind. However, the truth o' the matter was--the lad was in sickbay
and Scotty's actions helped put him there. Nay, he dinna want to be
cooped up in this cabin. He should be in sickbay with Pavel. He
needed to know that th' lad was all right. Damn them for keeping him
away from the lad!

Noticing the door to the bathroom was ajar, he forced his feet to
move in that direction. Once inside, he found himself standing at the
vanity, staring at himself in the mirror. The face that looked back
at him was barely recognizable.

With puffy eyelids and red-rimmed eyes, Scotty was a sight--even to
himself. He activated the faucet and set the temperature to the
coldest setting possible. Bending down, the engineer allowed the
frigid water to run over his hands for a few moments. He studied his
hands. They were callused from hard work on his beloved engines, but
the strong hands were gentle enough to caress the smooth skin of his
lover. A lover he had probably lost for good after tonight.

With an anguished cry, Scotty splashed the water up against his face,
soaking himself from hairline to waist in the process.

Grabbing a towel, he jammed the fabric in a ball into his face and,
sinking down to his knees, he allowed the tears and anger and guilt
to flow through him.

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why didn't they warn him?

Why did McCoy bring the others?

Why didn't the lad tell him?

A cold stab of betrayal bore into the engineer's gut. Scotty always
thought that his relationship with Pavel was built on trust. Now he
learned that the lad had kept this terrible secret from him for the
duration of their relationship. What other secrets had Pavel hiding
from him? If only the lad had trusted him more, maybe things wouldn't
have gotten so out of hand. Scotty would have known not to...! Gods,
how could he have known? The lad seemed okay with what he was doing
tonight. Why didn't Pavel tell him?

The Scotsman curled over until his head was nearly touching the
floor. He moaned into his towel over and over, "Why? Why? Why?"

Amidst his agony, a thought crossed his mind. If what the doctor said
was true, no one knew about what happened between the lad and that
Klingon beastie until tonight. Except Mr. Spock knew. Aye, Mr. Spock
knew, damn him!

Mr. Spock!

Scotty should'a known something was fishy when he found the lad in
the Science Lab, all alone with Spock in the wee hours of the morning
a couple weeks ago. They hadn't even noticed him enter the room,
focusing all of their attention on whatever the hell they were
working on. He couldn't help noticing how close their heads were,
nearly touching, as they pondered some great cosmic mystery.

When Spock finally recognized someone else had entered the room, the
damn Vulcan almost seemed disappointed...as if Scotty's presence
spoiled whatever plans he had for later with the lad. Pavel was
caught off guard, of course. Scotty was expected back two days later
from the engineering conference. He had asked that his early return
be kept as a surprise. But the surprise was on Scotty, wasn't it?
Aye. The lad certainly didn't give him the expected greeting, but
looked back at Spock as if seeking approval from the Vulcan first.

At the time, Scotty thought the lad's behavior was caused by the
presence of his commanding officer. He knew Pavel held the Vulcan
officer in the highest esteem. Since then, Scotty felt there was
something more to it than mere respect. Perhaps there was more to the
lad's relationship with the first officer than met the eye. Had Spock
performed mind melds with the lad to comfort him on his memories of
the Klingon? If so, Spock knew the lad's deepest feelings. What more
did the Vulcan know about Pavel? How could he compete with someone
who knew the lad's most inner thoughts? How could Scotty help him
when the lad apparently didn't trust him enough to tell him his
darkest secrets? He didn't relish the thought that the lad had kept
the truth from him, yet poured out his soul to Mr. Spock.

Spock. Damn him!

After pulling himself into an upright kneeling position, he angrily
tossed the towel to the floor and then levered himself up to his
feet.

He stared at himself in the mirror, watching as his grief transformed
before his eyes into rage. Spock should have told him. The Vulcan
shouldn'ta kept this to himself, not if he had an inkling the lad
would crack. No. Spock should'a told him, dammit!

His rage increasing to a furious peak, Scotty curled his right hand
into a fist and punched the image of himself contained in the mirror.

Pain surged throughout his arm as he pulled back and surveyed the
damage.

"Och...ain't ye the smart one, aye?" he groaned as he cradled his
throbbing hand protectively against his water-soaked tunic.

Looking up, he noticed the pain-filled expression on his reflection
along with the slightly marred surface where his fist contacted the
mirror. Although the mirror was made of an unbreakable substance,
Scotty nonetheless left a small but noticeable dent in the once
smooth surface that caused part of his reflection to appear
distorted. Of course, damaging the mirror was the least of his
problems. He couldn't say the same thing about his hand, which
remained clenched tightly against him.

The engineer stalked out of the bathroom and into the main cabin.
Where the hell was his Scotch? He needed something to dull the pain.

He searched the cabin for his bottle but to no avail. Realizing it
was his last bottle of the high-grade stuff, and unable to stomach
the crap that was available aboard ship, he sank down on the bunk
with a heavy sigh.

Looking around the room, he noticed for the first time how the place
appeared hastily picked up--as though someone wanted to hide the
evidence that anything had occurred in this cabin that was out of the
ordinary. Even the pillows that the lad insisted on scattering atop
the bed were gone.

For a moment, he wondered how Pavel was doing. They never told him if
the lad came back to himself after his--what did they call it--
flashback episode. Gods, what must the lad be thinking about him, and
their relationship, about now...?

Shoving that thought aside, he focused on the pain in his hand. The
throbbing had lessened a bit, but when he tried to wiggle his
fingers, a sharp pain greeted his movement.

"Och...ye done somethin' for sure, ye have," he grumbled to himself.
Scotty knew that he probably should head to sickbay and have someone
look at his hand, but he was far too exhausted and upset at the
moment to consider doing anything but sit there and take it. If only
he had his bottle of Scotch...!

Looking down and to his right, he noticed that the drawer to the
nightstand wasn't closed entirely. Reaching across with his good
hand, he pulled the drawer open slightly to look inside. Amidst the
various sex toys and other paraphernalia inside was a smooth bottle
of liquid.

"Aye...that's where they hid ye, m' beauty," he exclaimed hoarsely as
he grabbed the bottle and pulled it out. Much to his disappointment,
there wasn't much left, just enough for a couple good pulls was all.
He raised the bottle and was about to tip it to his lips. Suddenly,
an image of the lad's trusting face flashed before him. Setting the
bottle down into his lap, a feeling of despair started to flow over
him. Despite everything that the lad had been through with that
Klingon beastie, he still was willing to go along with Scotty's plans
that night. He was going along with him until...until...

Scotty let out a low gasp. He didn't know when it went so horribly
wrong. Why dinna the lad tell him to stop, fer god's sake? But then,
through the haziness of his memories, he remembered that Pavel *had*
told him to stop. It's just that Scotty thought it was all part of
the act. At the time, he was certain the lad was just playing along.
Had he only known...

Nay! It still came down 't the fact that he had been left completely
in the dark. Had anyone even bothered to tell him, he and th' lad
would be cuddled up together for the night by now. Instead, the lad
was in sickbay and he...he was banished from seeing Pavel. If only
they had told him. If only McCoy had come alone...!

McCoy had brought Spock. McCoy had brought Kirk. The three of them
were in cahoots. While Spock was appeasing him in the conference
room, McCoy had left the lad alone in the captain's care. Scotty was
certain he understood the look on Kirk's face as he watched the
captain hold the lad in his arms. Aye. There was concern, of course.
Th' lad was hurt and disoriented. But beyond that, the capt'n
revealed his true feelings. Scotty saw it, sure enough. The capt'n
wanted the lad. It was evident on his face. Kirk wanted him and now
he was going 't make sure Scotty was out of the picture for good. He
should'a seen it comin'! Kirk had stepped in when Pavel was injured
during Carnivale two months ago. He had elbowed Scotty aside and held
th' lad then. It was Kirk who comforted th' lad. And now...now, after
t'night, the capt'n would make sure to keep them apart because it was
clear Kirk wanted the lad all to himself. Aye. First Spock--and now
Kirk. It made sense. Perfect fucking sense!

He gazed down at the bottle of Scotch. Suddenly, the thought of
taking another sip of the harsh liquid repulsed him.

"Damn them all 't hell, th' god-damned motherfuckers!" he shouted. In
a white-hot rage, he flung the nearly empty Scotch bottle across the
room. As it hit the bulkhead, the container shattered, spraying
Scotch and shards of glass across the cabin in all directions.
Streams of the aromatic whiskey trickled down the bulkhead wall and
settled in small pools on the floor below.

"Ah, th' hell with ye all," he groaned, the anger and emotions
flowing out of him, leaving him completely drained. He lay down on
the bunk, not caring that he was still fully dressed and his boots
were scuffing the coverlet. Curling up on his left side towards the
wall, he cradled his injured hand to his stomach with his good hand.
He just wanted to tune everything out. It was too much. He was too
hurt, confused, and angry to think straight anymore. His body was
shutting down. His mind was shutting down. He just wanted to shut
everything down and not think about it...at least for a little while.

"Ye should'a tol' me," he choked, his voice catching with emotion.
Scotty curled his body into a tight ball. "Oh, laddie...!" he sobbed
and started to cry as he had never done before.

---

"See? All you had to do was ask."

Spock gazed down at the man lying on his bunk and felt a powerful
wave of desire surge through him. His first impulse was to stretch
himself out fully atop the smaller form and rush their joining.
However, he understood the physics required for such an act and,
forcing his resolve to keep some semblance of control over his
growing need, he reached first to open a recessed cabinet next to his
bunk.

He felt the doctor's eyes studying him as he reached inside the
cabinet for the bottle of Vulcan oil that he used on occasion for
purposes of meditation. A stray thought crossed his mind that the
aromatic oil, which was made from Vulcan herbs, would make a perfect
addition to Leonard's own arousing scent.

After locating the oil, he pulled it out and closed the cabinet door.

Turning back to his companion, he stood for a long moment, raking his
eyes over the prone form before him. Never in his life had he found
such a being that affected him so. The human's propensity to form
arguments of the most illogical nature caused him moments of
unforeseen frustration, even for a Vulcan. The doctor's passion was
without limits and he tested Spock's patience time and time again.
And now, Leonard gazed up at him expectantly, the human's eyes
seemingly a mixture of mischief and anticipation for what they were
about to share. For a moment, pure logic escaped him, and Spock
perceived the animal need building within his being. He realized that

it would not take long before the more primal part of him would take
over. He needed to prepare himself, and also Leonard. The doctor was
lying there offering himself, a most precious gift, and Spock would
not take a chance on injuring him.

After popping off the small stopper that sealed the bottle, Spock
became aware of the air around him suddenly filling with the heady,
stimulating scent of the Vulcan herbs. He poured some oil into the
palm of his hand and then placed the container on the nightstand.
Standing beside the bed, Spock's eyes locked onto Leonard's as he
began to slowly work the oil into his hands. He was gratified as he
noticed Leonard's eyes roam downwards, watching intently as his
fingers rubbed the thick oil onto the inside of both hands. Spock
then lowered his hands down to his arching cock.

His eyes never leaving Leonard's face, Spock started spreading the
oil over his erect member, cupping his scrotum with his free hand. As
he stroked himself, he watched in interest as the doctor's mouth
opened agape and the human licked his lips unconsciously. He noticed
that McCoy had reached down and was stroking himself as well.

"Leonard."

The human's eyes darted back up to Spock's face. He noticed that the
doctor's mischievous attitude was gone. Now, the eyes that looked up
at him were aglow with pure desire. He knew from that moment on that
it would be Leonard who would own him--body and soul. Spock wanted
nothing more than to fill this beautiful being with himself and, in
return, take Leonard into his own being, bringing them both to
completion again and again, for time eternal.

Spock knelt down on the bed, his cock bobbing firm and erect as he
reached for McCoy. His hand brushed down his lover's cheek, leaving a
fragrant, shiny patch behind.

Cool hands reached up for him, stroking his chest and caressing his
nubs until Spock noted they had hardened under the human's touch. He
shivered, realizing he was beginning to lose control over himself. He
still needed to prepare Leonard before he could let go completely and
allow the feral desires to overtake him. As Leonard's touch hastened
the last of his restraint to slip away, Spock pulled his hands away
from his lover's body and attempted to even out his respiration.

"Spock," Leonard's voice purred. "Touch me, Spock."

He felt his nostrils flare as Leonard's hand moved down to the flat
plains of his stomach.

"I do not wish to injure you, Leonard," he finally stated, his voice
betraying his ebbing composure. "I have not sufficiently prepared
ourselves. However, I must admit that I am quickly losing control. If
I continue to touch you now, I may not be able to wait."

Leonard lifted his hands from Spock's body. Spock closed his eyes,
regretting the loss of the touch on his body, but using the moment to
still the raw passion that was attempting to overpower him.

When he was once again in better control of himself, Spock opened his
eyes and gazed down at Leonard.

He noticed that the doctor's mischievous attitude had returned;
however, there was a hint of another emotion in Leonard's voice as he
replied, "Better?"

"Yes, Leonard. I regret the interruption."

"It's okay, Spock. I'm not sure how long I can hold out myself. Gods,
you're so beautiful! Watching you stroke yourself like that, well...I
have ta say that nearly brought me off right then and there."

The doctor's hands reached out to him as he whispered, "I have an
idea. Hand me that oil, will ya?"

The Vulcan turned to retrieve the aromatic oil, placing the bottle
into Leonard's hand.

"Now just watch. Breathe steady, evenly. You can't touch me until I
tell you to, got that? No touching. Just watch me."

Leonard poured the oil over his own chest, abdomen, and finally over
his groin.

"Oh...yeah. This is nice, very nice," the human cooed softly. After
handing the bottle back to Spock, the doctor began to spread the oil
across his body in slow strokes. Starting with his chest, he rubbed
circles around his nipples, causing them to harden into little
pebbles.

Spock started to reach for one of the nubs but Leonard seemed to
anticipate his reaction and reached up to gently brush his hand
aside.

"Not yet. Not 'til I say so," Leonard purred. Spock met the human's
gaze, his breathing increasing as the animal part attempted to win
against reason and circumvent his companion's order. But then the
doctor's mouth turned up into a wry grin.

Despite the fact that Leonard seemed much too smug in being able to
order him around, Spock understood and accepted the human's role in
helping him keep control until they were ready. Finally regaining his
composure, Spock relaxed into his kneeling position before the
human's prone body.

"Remember...no touching," Leonard murmured, "I'll tell ya when you
can help."

Spock almost glared into the doctor's amused eyes. He reminded
himself that the roles would be reversed soon enough and the doctor
would be begging him for completion. Realizing that he hadn't
responded to Leonard's question, Spock nodded his head in assent.

The doctor's hands moved downwards over his chest, spreading the oil
across each rib to the smooth slope of his abdomen.

"I can feel your hands on me like this, Spock. Your hands are strong,
so strong they could crush me. But you are so gentle, and it's
setting me on fire. Your touch is so hot. I've dreamed of you
touching me this way, Spock, knowing it'll burn wherever you touch
me."

The Vulcan swallowed deeply, watching in fascination as the human's
fingers moved lower, running through the pubic hair that led like an
arrow down to a very erect cock.

"...Just like this. Oh yes," Leonard murmured, clutching the root of
his erection and then moving up and down, stroking it. "Our seed is
still on me from before. I can feel your stickiness on my skin. I'm
burning for you..."

It was all Spock could do to keep himself from pouncing on the
responsive body before him. But Leonard had bid him to remain
motionless--to watch, not touch. So that was what he did. However,
Spock could feel his own erection straining in response to the
sights, the sounds, and the scent emanating from his lover. His body
was nearing the culmination of his ability to remain in control.

As if realizing this, Leonard bent his legs up, spreading his knees
wide in the process. Reaching up, the doctor favored Spock with a
warm grin as he urged, "Come here, love. I want to feel your mouth on
me."

Spock moved in immediately, grateful to finally receive Leonard's
invitation to join him. He ran his long fingers down the human's
shaft. The jolt he felt in his own member confirmed the magnitude of
his need to touch his lover. Leaning down, Spock's lips touched the
tip of Leonard's erection. The Vulcan ran his tongue over the head,
tasting the moisture that had leaked out of the slit. Tasting his
lover's pre-cum nearly shattered the last portion of his control.
However, he used what discipline still remained to focus on the task
at hand--to taste Leonard completely and drink in his essence.

As he moved his lips down along the side of the shaft, he was
gratified by the needful moans that emanated out of the doctor. His
hands rubbed the remaining oil into the firm sacs, rolling and
weighing each ball as his mouth worked its way up and down the side
of Leonard's shaft. Fingertips brushed through his hair and he could
feel Leonard's hips thrust up as his mouth moved back to the tip.
Spock raised his head, looking directly into his lover's face.

Blue eyes gazed back at him, and the doctor gasped before  beseeching,
"Don't stop, Spock! Please don't stop!"

Spock ran his fingers across the man's course pubic hair and then
clutched the base of his lover's cock. "It was not my intent to stop,
Leonard." With that, he lowered himself to the task, devouring the
human's member fully.

"Oh...oh! Spock!" Leonard groaned as the Vulcan sucked him hard.

Spock felt Leonard's hands grip his shoulders. The man's hips began
thrusting up and down, fucking the Vulcan's mouth in wild abandon. He
relished the feel of the hard member as it slid back and forth, not
to mention the spicy taste of the flesh that he willingly devoured
with each thrust. Soon, he could feel the tension in his lover's body
mounting to the point of completion.

"Spock, I'm gonna...! I'm gonna...!"

The doctor made one final thrust up into Spock's mouth and then
moaned his release.

Hot seed spurted into Spock's mouth, the taste nearly overwhelming
him as he eagerly drank in all that Leonard released. He felt the
human's body lose all tension and relax back onto the bunk. Releasing
the now limp member and looking up, he witnessed something he thought
he never would experience--the expression of total bliss on his
lover's face. It was a most curious phenomenon, noticing that some of
the lines that were part of Leonard's rugged face had smoothed out.
The human appeared younger, at peace.

The peace didn't last for long, however. Leonard let out a low grunt
and then levered himself up onto his elbows. Looking into his lover's
eyes, the doctor panted, "Jeezus, Spock! Why the hell didn't you tell
me that your mouth was good for somethin' besides arguing! We could'a
saved a lot of energy over the years!"

Letting down his guard for the first time in front of McCoy, Spock
smiled as he moved up on the bed and settled on his left side next to
the other man. He ran a fingertip along his companion's full lips as
he responded in an amused tone, "Doctor, if you had ever considered
arguing less, and stating your position more clearly, then the energy
saved could have been put to better use."

Leonard reached up and grasped Spock's wrist. Blue eyes locked onto
the Vulcan's as the doctor stated firmly, "Then let me state my
position clearly this time. I want ta feel you inside me. Now,
Spock."

"I must prepare you first," he replied gently.

"Then do it. Touch me, Spock," Leonard murmured, "Make me ready for
you."

Spock set forth to do as his lover commanded. He reached for the
bottle of oil and poured a generous portion into the palm of his
hand. After re-coating his fingers, he knelt down between Leonard's
outspread legs. The doctor seemed to be a few steps ahead of him as
he hooked his legs around Spock's waist, spreading himself to give
the Vulcan full access.

Spock dipped his index finger down into the cleft, spreading the
fragrant oil along the parted flesh until he encountered the puckered
opening. He heard Leonard gasp as his finger circled the entrance and
then ventured inside to the first knuckle.

"That's right...," the doctor moaned softly, his voice thick with
arousal as his hips thrust up to take Spock's finger in deeper. "I
want you so much."

The Vulcan pulsed one, two, and finally three fingers deep inside of
the human's body. Brushing against Leonard's prostate, Spock felt his
lover arch up, emitting a loud groan with the touch.

"God...oh God, Spock. I need you!"

Spock's control was nearly at an end. He felt the animalistic
impulses starting to take over the logical part of his brain. He
pulled out his fingers and moved into position. He knew he couldn't
wait a moment longer. Leonard's insistent hands gripped him on either
side. Spock centered the head of his cock and pushed in. He tried his
best to hold onto his last thread of control. Pushing past the firm
ring of muscle, he entered the willing body beneath him with slow,
gentle thrusts. He heard Leonard moan softly, "Spock...oh God, yes!"

"Len...," Spock gasped out as he thrust the rest of the way inside.
He panted, luxuriating in the feel of being so firmly encased within
his lover's body. The last of his control flowed out of him and the
feral desire overruled any semblance of restraint as he slowly but
steadily began to pound in and out of the hot channel.

They writhed against each other, passions flaring, their moans
growing louder, more frantic as they continued. Spock heard his mate
cry out his name time and time again as he continued to undulate in
powerful thrusts.

Fingernails raked across his shoulders and back. The body beneath him
rocked back and forth in rhythm to his movements, the other man's
voice whispering "yes, oh yes" over and over again.

Soon, Spock's movements began to grow erratic. It was time. He moved
his fingertips to his lover's temple and placed them in meld
position. He slipped into the mind, just as easily as he had slipped
into Leonard's body. He was met with a wave of strong emotion...of
awe and wonder, of raging passion...and yes, of love. Pure love. A
voice within Leonard pleaded for them to never stop, to be forever
joined as thus. Spock's animal self delighted in the strong passion
he sensed in the human. They had truly surrendered--one to the other.

And soon they would seal their vow, if Leonard chose to join with him
in the most intimate way possible. Spock delved deeper, ever deeper,
finding the place within his mate's soul where the human's very
essence existed. He felt his own thrusts, as Leonard felt them within
his own body. They were both nearing the threshold. The human was
close to completion, as was Spock.

He readied himself. And, when the time came, Spock felt his seed fill
Leonard's body just as the Vulcan's mind planted another type of seed
within the human's mind.

Spock's animal self retreated, leaving his logical self to dwell on
all that had transpired between himself and the doctor in this cabin.

Spock felt hot seed splash across his abdomen as Leonard climaxed
beneath him. The kernel of their bond took root, as if the seeds from
both bodies germinated the tiny sprout, bringing forth a common life
and thread between them. It was still yet a seedling. It was time for

Leonard to make his decision.

~~We are one if you so choose. In body, intellect, and soul. Apart
but never parted.~~

~~Spock! Oh God, Spock!~~

~~Do you accept me as your bondmate, Leonard?~~

~~Yes. Oh yes. I want this. I want you.~~

~~Do you understand what a bond means, how it will join us in the
most intimate way possible?~~

~~Show me. I wish to understand, Spock.~~

Their minds commingled. It was the first time that their minds had
met at this deeper state. In comparison, Spock had carried out a
medium-level meld before they confronted the Earps at the OK Corral.
If he and Leonard bonded, this was the first time, but would not be
the last, that they would share each other at this level, joining as
one--in body, intellect, and soul.

Spock revealed all to Leonard, allowing the human to make his choice.
If he desired, the doctor could choose to remain as they are,
unbonded but sexual partners. It was not Spock's desire to push the
bond on Leonard. Spock offered, but the choice was Leonard's.

It surprised Spock somewhat at the ease the two of them traversed
this level of consciousness together--as if they had always been
thus. Although they were vastly different personalities, intellects,
and emotions, it seemed they were perfect halves to the whole,
complementing each other in ways Spock had not expected.

~~Do you accept me as your bondmate, Leonard?~~

~~Spock! My love. My soul. Yes! Please, yes!~~

~~Very well. So be it. I accept you as my bondmate, Leonard McCoy.
You are my soul. You are a part of my own flesh. Apart but never
parted.~~

Spock prompted Leonard into the ancient words, expressing the promise
that would make them one.

Regretfully, there was little time to revel in their newfound
relationship. Spock realized, through their newly formed bond, that
Leonard was in dire need of physical rest. It had been a stressful
evening for him. Leonard argued rightfully that it had been for both
of them. With great love growing within him, Spock eased out of his
lover's mind, making sure to clear the pathways as he retreated.

Opening his eyes, he discovered they were still joined, with Spock
nearly crushing the smaller body as he lay sprawled atop the doctor.
He gently pulled out and then eased Leonard's body to a prone
position.

"Mmmmmmm?"

"You need to rest, Leonard," Spock murmured, a tone of affection
rising in his voice as he caressed his lover's face.

"Where are ya goin'?" the doctor mumbled, reaching out to Spock as
the Vulcan pried himself out from their tangled limbs and got out of
bed.

"I am not going far. Just to the bathroom to retrieve a damp towel."

"Good idea," the doctor said with a yawn.

Once inside the head, Spock cleaned himself off, removing most of the
fluid from his torso and groin. He then dampened a washcloth with
warm water and returned with it to the bunk.

He stood for a moment, studying the doctor. As he listened to
Leonard's slow, even breathing, Spock realized that his lover had
immediately rolled over onto his side and slipped off to sleep.

Spock knelt on the bunk and stroked the damp cloth over the abdomen
of his slumbering lover, only to be met with Leonard shifting
slightly and making a sound that was quite close to one made by a
satisfied feline. Even in sleep, his bondmate was proving to be most
illogical. As he cleaned off most of the remaining fluid, Spock found
himself smiling slightly. The spiciness of the Vulcan oil and their
combined semen certainly made for a stimulating scent. Had the hour
not been so late, and his lover less fatigued, Spock would have
wished to continue their lovemaking even longer that evening.

After disposing of the towel, he went over to his meditation mat and
knelt. Instead of needing to meditate, however, Spock found himself
totally relaxed. Perhaps what Captain Kirk had once said contained an
element of truth--that sex was a good way to relax. He bent down and
extinguished the firepot, erasing all illumination within the cabin.
Using the ambient lighting that outlined the path to the doorway in
case of emergency, he found his way back to the bunk and McCoy.

Slipping under the covers, Spock spooned up against his bondmate,
chest to back. He encircled the human in his arms, marveling at the
coolness of the body, enjoying the steady breathing as his lover
slept deeply in his embrace.

After a few moments, Spock felt himself begin to nudge into sleep
stage. A feeling of amusement passed through him, remembering the
doctor's admonishment that *both* of them were in need of rest. There
were times, Spock had to admit, that Leonard was correct. This was
one of them, although he would not admit that to Leonard--at least
not until they awoke the next morning. And so, he allowed himself to
sleep, accepting of the knowledge that he and his bondmate would
spend their nights as thus, joined as one flesh, one soul.

---

Cold.

He was suddenly aware of being cold. A shiver coursed through
Scotty's body and he slowly peeled his eyelids open.

As the engineer became more aware of his surroundings, he found
himself lying on his side, staring at a bulkhead. With a loud grunt,
he rolled over onto his back. He blinked his eyes blearily, suddenly
realizing that the lights in the room were set to full.

"Lights...twenty-five percent," he muttered groggily.

The lighting immediately lowered to a more acceptable level.

Looking around the cabin, he croaked out, "Laddie?"

There was no reply.

He put his hands down on the top of the bunk and started to push
himself up into a sitting position. A throbbing pain in his right
hand greeted his movements and he let out a loud gasp. Propping
himself up with his left hand, Scotty managed to swing his legs over
the edge of the bunk to sit up fully. His right hand was aching, the
flesh feeling hot and stretched tight over the swollen fingers and
knuckles. Looking down, he wondered for a moment how he had injured
the hand.

Aye...the mirror.

The events of that evening came flooding back to him and he let out a
loud groan. No wonder the lad hadn't replied. Pavel was in sickbay.
Scotty had put him there.

A sick feeling crept over him and he fought to control the sudden
nausea that threatened. Gulping for air, he managed to calm his
insides for the moment; however, it didn't turn off the images that
were flashing through his mind.

He stood up shakily, holding his injured hand protectively against
his torso. Finding himself still fully dressed, he decided the first
order of business was to shed his uniform. Taking a step towards the
bathroom, he heard a crunching sound as his boots stepped on
something. Looking down, Scotty noticed the shards of glass spread
across the floor. His gaze fell upon the small pool of dark liquid
that had collected on the floor next to the wall directly across from
him. It was apparent that the liquid had run down from a splattered
pattern that started about waist level.

Scotty surveyed the mess on the floor. He had made a total shambles
of this evening and they had all witnessed it. A feeling of
embarrassment and shame swept over him. The captain, McCoy, and Spock-
-they had all witnessed what he had done. And the lad...! Gods, Pavel
had paid for Scotty's actions and ended up in sickbay. How could the
lad ever forgive him? How could Scotty ever forgive himself?

He made his way to the bathroom, carefully stepping around the shards
of glass. Returning with a towel, Scotty knelt down on the floor and
started picking up the glass from the floor with his uninjured hand
and dumping the pieces into a waste container. For the time being, he
simply focused on cleaning the floor. He was a practical man--a man
of action and few words. As long as he could keep his mind on the
task at hand, he could try to keep the emotions at bay.

After he picked up every glass shard that he could find, he ran the
towel over the floor to sweep away any small splinters that he may
have missed. He rose and dropped the towel into the recycling unit.
Now that the mess on the floor had been dealt with, Scotty pondered
his next step. Despite his short nap, Scotty was still too tired to
think clearly beyond the task before him. Sleep. He really should
sleep. He'd be able to think more clearly in the morning. And
then...then he would try to put his life back together. With or
without the lad, he had to carry on.

Returning to the bunk, he reached down to the covers to turn down the
bed. His right hand was still throbbing, so he used his left hand to
flip the coverlet to one side. Then he grasped the top sheet.

As he pulled the top sheet away, Scotty looked down and gasped. The
white bottom sheet was splattered with dried blood.

Stunned, unable to draw a breath until his lungs cried out for
oxygen, he felt his insides turn to water as he stared down at the
dark red splotches.

Ouch...there was so much blood! Images from that evening flashed
through his mind. The restraints. The lad's bloody arms. He felt the
panic rise within him.

"Nay...nay!" he cried out in pure grief, pulling himself upright. "I
dinna killed ye, lad, did I? Oh, please...please dinna let it be!"

Turning away from the bunk and the damning evidence left by his
indiscretion, he tried to reason things out. Nay, the doctor had left
the lad in the captain's care. Had the lad's injuries been life
threatening, McCoy would'a never left him. He would'a rushed Pavel to
sickbay first thing.

The engineer let out a low sob as he realized that he would have
heard something had the lad died. Scotty wouldn't be cooped up in his
own cabin if that were the case. Nay, he'd be in the brig--rightfully
so.

Suddenly, he couldn't remain in his cabin a moment longer. He needed
to get out of there. He needed to see Pavel, even for an instant. He
needed to make sure that the lad would be okay, despite what the
engineer had put him through. He needed to make sure the lad was
breathing, that blood was coursing through his body, and that his
injuries would heal. Scotty needed to touch Pavel and tell him how
terribly sorry he was for destroying his trust.

Knowing full well that he was disobeying direct orders, Scotty rushed
towards the door.

---

Just like clockwork, the nurse arrived right on time to check on the
injured Russian. As was the case during her first two rounds, Nurse
Angeline B'Huta didn't appear surprised by Jim Kirk's continued
presence in sickbay. Like before, she simply focused on the readings
above Pavel's biobed and checked on the regen unit that was helping
to heal the ensign's torn thigh and groin muscles.

Jim studied her dark features, looking for any clues that would
indicate a change in Pavel's condition. He was good at reading facial
expressions, but the nurse was giving him no clue whatsoever to go
on.

Switching his gaze from the nurse to the biobed monitor, Jim tried to
track what indicators she was studying at the moment. The captain had
been in sickbay more times than he cared to remember, both as a
patient and as a concerned commander. He had an innate need to have
all of the facts close at hand--especially when it involved his crew--
so he had learned over time to decipher most of the readings on a
biobed. In this case, however, he needed to have someone confirm what
he knew already, that Pavel's bio-levels were good and that the young
man would indeed be all right.

Of course, what worried Jim the most didn't even have an indicator on
a sickbay biobed. No scanner invented could predict the emotional
toll this evening had wrought upon his young navigator.

The nurse appeared to sense the gaze on her. To her credit, she
remained unfazed by her captain's scrutiny, taking her time as she
used a scanner to check Pavel's right thigh and groin area. When she
was ready, B'Huta looked up directly at Jim and said in a reassuring
tone, "The regen unit has completed treating Ensign Chekov's leg
injuries, Captain. We won't be needing this any more." The steady hum
stopped as she shut off the device. The small room was left in
silence except for the steady register of Chekov's heartbeats as the
sound was amplified over the biobed's monitor.

"How is he?" Jim ventured, his voice muted.

"He should heal quickly, sir," she replied, a soft smile warming her
face. "The muscular tearing has responded well to treatment. But,
like Dr. McCoy likes to say, the rest needs to be left up to Mother
Nature herself." She then focused on detaching the device from the
biobed. After folding the unit into a small box-like shape, she
looked up at him and continued, "I'll be back on next round to check
on him again, sir."

"Thank you," Jim said with a grateful nod. He watched as the woman
departed with the regen unit.

The small room seemed too silent after the nurse left, leaving Jim
alone once again to mull things over and over in his mind.

He got up from his perch next to the bed, suddenly needing to move as
his thoughts turned darker. He realized that B'Huta was only doing
her job, and he appreciated her care on behalf of Pavel. However, a
small part of him grew annoyed by the interruptions. He wondered,
again, whether Bones had left word to keep the two of them under
surveillance.

~~He would never...! Bones wouldn't think I'd...! Would he?~~ Jim
thought as he started pacing the small room.

Jim recalled the compromising position that McCoy had found him in as
he was trying to massage the cramp out of Pavel's thigh. Would Bones
think he'd be capable of taking advantage of his young navigator if
left alone with him?

No. Jim quickly dismissed the thought.

He wasn't off the hook with Bones about that little incident, but he
was certain McCoy knew him well enough to realize he'd never
knowingly do anything to hurt a member of his crew. And Pavel, Jim
had to admit, had become a special member of his crew--someone he
cared deeply about.

He turned and stood next to the biobed, studying the younger man's
dark features. He reached over, wanting so much to ruffle the dark
hair. With his hand nearly touching the ensign's face, Jim froze.

No, this was madness. He couldn't touch him, not like this.

"Lights, twenty-five percent," he whispered.

With the lighting subdued in the room, he sat down next to the
slumbering ensign's bed, listening to the young man's slow and even
breathing. A part of him knew he should leave. To be honest, he
wasn't quite sure what possessed him to remain and guard over his
navigator.

The last words that Bones had uttered that night echoed within Jim's
mind. Did he really know what he was doing? The answer to that, of
course, was no, although he'd be hard pressed to ever admit it to the
doctor.

Letting out a low sigh, he ran his fingertips through his golden
hair. It was still difficult to keep the images from forming in his
mind. Jim shivered, imagining the figure before him nude, splattered
in blood, dark eyes gazing blindly past him in absolute terror.

Taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, the captain
focused on the peaceful face before him now. They'd get through this.
Now that he knew about the sexual molestation that Pavel had endured
a year earlier, Jim knew he was the right person to help the younger
man through whatever may come. It was true what he told Pavel
earlier. As captain, Jim couldn't always protect him. But, as a man,
Jim desperately wanted to keep him safe and help him overcome what
had happened.

His mind wandered back to his earlier discussion with the Russian. He
certainly hadn't planned to reveal how Henry had tried to sexually
assault him in the barn all those years ago. Hell, he hadn't thought
about it for years, not until that night. But, in hindsight, Jim was
convinced it was the right thing for him to do. In recounting the
story, he felt a trust beginning to form between himself and Pavel--a
bond that was forged from a common experience. He had been through
the dark times himself, albeit half a lifetime ago. Jim understood.
And he'd be there to listen whenever Pavel wanted to talk.

Jim's temper rose as he suddenly recalled the harsh words Bones said
in this very room, questioning his intentions, insinuating that he'd
hurt Pavel. Jim had to admit that he had a lousy track record when it
came to relationships. But he had never hurt any of his lovers,
certainly not like this. And Jim vowed he'd be there to keep Pavel
from being hurt again. Never again. Not if he had anything to do
about it.

Finally unable to stop himself, Jim reached over, brushing some stray
locks of hair off of Pavel's brow. He knew he should pull his hand
away, but he let his fingers brush lightly over the young man's
smooth, pale cheek. Noting that the Russian hadn't stirred under his
touch, he ran his hand down Pavel's upper arm, feeling the well-
formed biceps at rest underneath the sickbay garment. His hand
ventured down the arm to the elbow and forearm until he was holding
the ensign's limp hand. Jim grasped the hand, enjoying its warmth and
solid weight as he lifted it to his face. Resting the young man's
palm against his cheek, the captain let out a soft sigh.

As he looked down into Pavel's boyish features, Jim whispered
resolutely, "I swear to you, as long as I draw breath, that nothing
like this will ever happen again."

A wave of affection settled within him as Jim nuzzled his face into
the warm hand of his navigator. Pressing his lips into the palm, he
kissed Pavel's hand, tasting the slight saltiness of the skin.

In the background, Jim failed to hear the soft footsteps as they
retreated from just outside the room and the door slid silently
closed behind him.

---

Realization gradually dawned in Leonard McCoy's groggy mind that he
was not alone. The first indications of this were the soft wisps of
air that tickled against his nape. Then he noticed the heat of the
blast furnace that was pressed up against the bare skin of his back,
not to mention the strong arms that held him fast.

~~Spock!~~

The body pressed up against him snuggled closer, as if sensing he had
just awakened. Then he felt a slight nudge on his mind and a name
bubbled up whisper-silent within his consciousness.

//Leonard//

The doctor tried to coax his eyelids open. Failing that, he let out a
long sigh and leaned back into the warmth.

"Wha...what time is it?" Leonard ventured aloud, realizing it was
probably morning and they needed to be back on duty soon.

//Our next duty cycle begins in twenty-eight point seven minutes,//
he heard silently through the bond.

The doctor's body jerked awake. "Twenty-eight...?" Leonard gasped.

//And, now, point three minutes.//

Leonard struggled to pull himself free from Spock's embrace. He had
to shower and grab something for breakfast. He wasn't even in his own
damn quarters, for god's sake! What if someone saw him leaving
Spock's cabin?

"Leonard, please be still. There is sufficient time."

The doctor felt Spock's arms loosen and a warm hand stroked down his
arm. The other snaked its way down his abdomen.

Feeling himself starting to become aroused by the mere touch of the
Vulcan's hands on his body, Leonard regretfully pulled away. "I...I
need to take a shower, Spock," he answered in a flustered tone.

Leonard turned over so that he was facing his Vulcan lover. Looking
into Spock's face, he found he couldn't interpret the Vulcan's
expression as their eyes met for the first time that morning. He
swallowed, hard. Gods...all he wanted to do was melt into those dark,
glowing eyes and never let go. But he knew Jim would never let him
hear the end of it if he allowed this to interfere with his duties
aboard ship--especially after the lecture he had given his captain in
sickbay just a few hours earlier.

"You are uncertain--about us," Spock voiced, a muted expression of
concern forming over his angular features.

Leonard took in a deep breath. He never realized before how much he
truly loved this man. Why had it taken them so damn long to get
together? Leonard smiled gently as he reached up and stroked his
lover's cheek. "No, Spock--if I've ever been certain about anythin',
I'm absolutely certain about us. You don't know how much I've wanted
this, to wake up next to you every morning."

"Then I do not understand the conflicting emotions that I am
discerning through the bond."

Leonard felt a pang of fear. This was all so new to him--to both of
them. "I'm sorry. It's gonna take me a while to get used'ta you being
in my head." He looked deeply into Spock's eyes, allowing his
affection and lust to fill his thoughts, knowing the emotions would
flow to his lover. "I wanna say this clearly so there is no
misunderstanding between us..." He paused, seeing the intensity of
the Vulcan's focus on him. He shivered, feeling the power of the
connection between them through the newly forged bond. "It's
just...we need to work things out here but there's not enough time
before we go on duty," Leonard stated, running his fingertips over
Spock's bare chest. "Are we gonna tell Jim? Are we gonna keep our
relationship discrete? And...?"

"And?" Spock murmured.

"...And, when can we be together again like this?" Leonard finally
voiced, "Whatever the consequences, Spock, I can't let you go. Not
after wanting you for so long."

A look that he could almost describe as smug crossed over the
Vulcan's serious features. Spock bent forward, brushing his lips
against Leonard's.

"Then I suggest, doctor, that you do not let go," Spock whispered
against his cheek, the other man's hot breath tickling Leonard's
skin. "I, on the other hand, have no intention of letting go of you."

Leonard nuzzled into Spock, his lips tracing over the Vulcan's mouth.
He felt the larger man rise up, shifting him over until Spock had
pinned him firmly on his back. Leaning down, Spock captured his lips,
quickly deepening the kiss and rubbing their bodies against one
another until they were both panting with need.

//Spock!//

They spoke silently through the bond in tender, needful entreaties.
Leonard marveled at how wonderfully efficient it was to communicate
this way, given the fact he and Spock couldn't keep their mouths
apart for more than quick gasps of breath.

The two men writhed against one another, building the friction
between them higher and higher. Leonard felt so alive--totally aware
of the sensations that were flowing between them. It felt like all of
his nerve endings were sending and receiving impulses with absolute
clarity. He had never felt this connected to his body before. At the
same time, he was cognizant of the responses that he was eliciting
within Spock, as though they were feeding off each other as their
passions grew. It was a heady experience, one Leonard knew he could
quickly become addicted to.

They were close. Leonard could feel it. Spock's body undulated
astride him, skin-on-skin, the fire of their erections sliding
against each other nearly burning him to cinders. When he felt nearly
consumed by the growing conflagration, he was blessedly tipped over
the edge. Leonard shuddered his release with a low groan, feeling
Spock's grip on him tighten as the Vulcan climaxed shortly
thereafter.

Spock's limp weight settled atop him. Leonard luxuriated in the feel
of that strong body covering his like a hot blanket. He stroked his
hands down the Vulcan's sweat-coated back, feeling the ripple of
powerful muscles under soft skin as the last shudders echoed through
Spock's frame.

They remained that way for a long moment, in complete silence, the
only sound within the cabin being their breathing as heightened
respirations returned to normal levels.

They seemed to realize at the same moment that it was time to get up.
Other needs outweighed their desire to stay connected in such an
intimate manner. Needs such as duty; the need to attend to the lives
they led outside of this cabin.

Spock raised himself up on his elbows. Dark eyes looked down at him
and Leonard could read the muted expression of regret on the Vulcan's
stoic face. His lover leaned down and kissed him gently one last,
lingering time, and then rolled off of Leonard.

The doctor sat up, glanced at the chronometer, and silently swore to
himself. There wasn't much time.

While Spock placed a request on the console for fresh uniforms,
Leonard padded into the bathroom. After relieving himself, he started
the shower. Deciding a sonic shower wouldn't do, he punched in the
sequence for water. He had already soaped up his front and was
rinsing himself off when Spock joined him in the small shower
enclosure.

They worked quickly, removing semen and sweat from their bodies.
Spock surprised Leonard by soaping up his back. He loved the feel of
the Vulcan's fingertips on his shoulders and down his back as his
lover spread the soap downwards. The hands caressed and then cupped
the doctor's ass, and Leonard couldn't help but moan.

"We don't have time for that," the doctor hissed, trying to sound
gruff, but failing. He loved how Spock's touch could set him on fire
so quickly.

"Understood," Spock replied softly, although Leonard thought he
picked up a slight tone of amusement in his lover's deep voice. One
of Spock's hands left his body while the other gave Leonard's buttock
a slight squeeze.

"Well...not that I'm complain' any, mind you. Dammit, we should'a
gotten outta bed earlier."

"I will keep that in mind for next time, Leonard."

Just when he thought the Vulcan was finished soaping his backside,
Spock's hand returned to Leonard's ass. Long fingertips slipped into
his crease. Gasping, the doctor spread his legs apart, giving Spock
better clearance as the other man spread the thick liquid soap down
his cleft. Leonard gasped again as Spock's fingertips rubbed over the
puckered entrance to his body.

"Spock," Leonard warned as he felt the fingertip venture inside to
the first knuckle.

"Just making certain you are clean both inside and out, my beloved,"
Spock murmured as he pulsed the soapy finger in and out, deeper and
deeper.

"Gods...I want...oh my God," Leonard stammered as Spock eased in a
second finger.

Soon, Leonard was beyond words, thrusting his hips in rhythm to his
lover's intruding fingers as he was carefully stretched. The fingers
were removed, and then he found himself being turned around to face
the shower wall. Gentle fingers guided a large, throbbing penis to
his opening. Leonard parted his legs further apart to welcome the
intruding member.

Oh god, they didn't have time for this, but oh...he couldn't say no.
He knew he'd never be able to say no to Spock from this moment
forward.

//Leonard// Spock's voice filled the doctor's being. It nearly took
his breath away, feeling the great love flowing from his lover.

//Want you. Want this.// Leonard replied silently through the bond.

Through the muzziness of his mind, Leonard noticed the handholds
recessed into the shower stall. Realizing he would soon need some
leverage amidst the coming onslaught, he reached up and took firm
hold.

Spock centered his cock and pressed the head in. After allowing
Leonard's channel to adjust to the intrusion, the Vulcan began to
enter the doctor's body in short, gentle thrusts.

Knowing they were quickly running out of time, they began flailing
against each other in frantic abandon. Leonard gave as good as he
got, thrusting back with all his might in rhythm to Spock's lunges.

Through the fogginess of his mind, Leonard felt Spock begin to pump
his cock. It only took a few quick thrusts after that to bring them
both to shuddering completion.

They quickly completed their shower and dried off. As they were
pulling on their uniforms in the main cabin, Leonard couldn't help
but check out Spock's tall, handsome form. It was still difficult for
him to believe that this had really happened. It wasn't a dream; they
were finally together!

As Leonard bent down to pull on his boots, his stomach rumbled
loudly. Spock looked back at him, one eyebrow uplifted.

Smiling back at his lover, he said, "Guess I'll have ta listen to
that all morning cuz I don't have time for a proper breakfast."

"Indeed. That is most unfortunate."

Leonard wasn't certain, but he thought Spock was teasing him  again.
"Yeah...no thanks to you," he groused, trying to hide his  amusement
behind a scowl.

Spock finished pulling on his boots and stood up straight. He gazed
down at Leonard with serious eyes. "It was my impression that you
wished for me to continue my ministrations in the shower. Was I
incorrect in my presumptions?"

Leonard couldn't keep a straight face any longer. Reaching out, he
touched Spock's arm. "Well...let's just say that next time you better
not start something unless we have plenty of time to enjoy it."

"You did not enjoy it, Leonard?"

Leonard brushed his fingertips through his dark hair. "Now, I didn't
say that, love. I enjoyed every moment!" He shivered slightly with
remembered passion, and then noticed Spock's eyes grow wide.
Apparently the message was received loud and clear.

"Doctor, you must learn to restrain any impulses signaling your
amorous intentions right before we go back on duty."

Leonard looked down and noticed that Spock was sporting a sizable
bulge in his pants.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Quite all right, Leonard. But in the future, we must leave our
passions to the confines of our quarters."

"Easy for you to say. We haven't even discussed how we're going to do
this, Spock. What about Jim? Are we going to tell him?"

Spock blinked. For a moment, Leonard thought he had left the Vulcan
speechless. Then his lover answered, "I would suggest we discuss that
topic this evening. Would you care to dine with me this evening in
private?"

"Yeah, I'd like that," Leonard replied.

"Very well."

Spock stood close to the door, listening for a moment.

"What are you doing?"

Spock didn't answer, just focused on whatever he was listening to
just past the door.

Leonard glanced at the chronometer. They had just a minute or so to
report in. Damn, what was the crazy Vulcan up to?

As if prompted by Leonard's unspoken question, Spock replied, "I am
trying to ascertain whether any crewmen are in the immediate area. It
would be wise for you to exit without being seen, at least until we
determine how discrete we wish to keep our relationship."

Leonard laughed. "Skulking around, Spock? Being paired with a human
may be more than you can manage. I hope to hell you know what you've
got yourself into!"

"Doctor, I know exactly what I have, as you call it, 'got myself
into.' The question is, how quickly I shall be able to do so again."

Before Leonard could respond, Spock pulled him against his body and
into a quick kiss. When he released him, Spock tripped the door open.

//The way is clear. Go now. I will meet you later, my love.//

Leonard smiled, already thinking ahead to that evening as he exited
the cabin and made his way to sickbay.

---

A soft beeping sound greeted Pavel Chekov as he slowly eased into
wakefulness.

In the hazy fog of his mind, he pondered what the sound could be. Was
it the com unit? Were they being signaled? Was there an emergency
regarding the ship? Why wasn't Monty answering the hail?

He tried to fight off the overpowering exhaustion that seemed to
weigh him down like a heavy blanket. The beeping continued unabated.
He struggled to wake enough to respond, but failed.

Giving in to the murkiness that seemed intent on claiming him, he
simply laid there, curled on his left side, eyes closed, allowing
consciousness to slowly creep up on him. He pondered why he felt so
exhausted and achy, not to mention why the bunk felt so hard compared
to the coziness of the one he usually shared with his lover.

He tried to move his left arm, which he could feel outstretched
before him, but found it was weighted down. Figuring Monty was lying
on his arm, as often happened as they curled together in slumber,
Pavel attempted to pull it back. In this, too, he failed.

Before his mind could process that particular input, he noticed the
smell of disinfectant and, again, the incessant beeping above his
head--a sound that did not grow louder as he became more alert, and
was certainly not the sound of a com signal. Whatever the cause, the
combination of sensations was starting to give him a pounding
headache.

Blinking his eyelids open, the Russian gazed ahead blearily and tried
to focus on his immediate surroundings. He could make out a presence
next to him and, although the lighting was dimmed, he realized with a
start that his companion was definitely NOT Monty.

A feeling of panic swept over him. Where was he? How did he get here?

Where was Monty? Who was here with him?

A sandy-blond head rested on the bunk beside him, snuggled in close,
but not actually touching his shoulder. The figure seemed to be
sitting on a chair next to him, bent over and resting his head on the
biobed. A strong hand gripped Pavel's left forearm protectively, as
though the other man feared he'd be snatched away.

As Pavel shifted his body in an attempt to sit up, his companion
stirred, and then jerked upright. Hazel eyes met brown ones as he
found himself gazing into his captain's startled face.

"S...sair?" he gasped in surprise as he bolted upright on the biobed.

He closed his eyes for a moment to allow an unexpected rush of nausea
to pass. The sudden movement created something that felt like an
explosion in his head. Wherever he was, whatever was happening,
moving that quickly again was out of the question, not if he was
going to remain conscious.

"Whoa, easy...easy, now," the captain's voice soothed. A gentle hand
touched his shoulder, steadying him as he swayed slightly.

As the dizziness started to abate, Pavel opened his eyes and found
himself gazing into his captain's concerned face.

"Maybe you should lie down and get some rest," the older man
suggested, his hand still resting on Pavel's shoulder.

Pavel's eyes traveled from the captain's face to the room in which he
found himself. Scanning their surroundings, he whispered  haltingly,
"I...I'm in sickbay, sair?"

"Yes. You were injured last night," Kirk replied simply.

The Russian felt suddenly panicky at that revelation, as if waking in
a strange place--and not knowing how he got there-- wasn't bad
enough.

Seeming to pick up on his growing alarm, Captain Kirk continued in a
reassuring tone, "It's okay, Pavel. Bones will be in soon. Here, why
don't you lie down again and get some rest?"

He didn't protest when his commanding officer helped ease him back
down onto the biobed. He was too exhausted to care at this point
whether his weakness would prompt his captain to think the lesser of
him. Pavel almost smiled, thinking that had to be a first.

"Can I get you something? Water perhaps?" the captain asked, seeming
in no hurry to leave.

"Da...I mean, yes, sair," he replied, nodding his head  slightly,
"Some water would be wery nice."

The captain flashed a warm smile his way. "Sure," he said, and then
gave Pavel a stern look as he added, "You just stay put and rest.
I'll be right back."

After Kirk left his side, Pavel reached up and rubbed his aching
temples with his fingertips. Closing his eyes again, he let his
breath out slowly.

The silence gave him a moment to clear his muddled thoughts. What had
he done to deserve waking up in sickbay this time? Sulu had often
teased that he was a magnet for trouble. After all of the scraps he
found himself in after joining the crew of the USS Enterprise, Pavel
figured he should be used to winding up in sickbay now and then. Yet
waking up as he did just a few moments ago, so panicky and
disoriented, left him feeling anxious and depressed. He was still
very groggy and the headache made it difficult for him to concentrate
on anything for more than a few moments at a time.

Think! What did he do? How did he injure himself?

Images started to filter through his mind. Individually, they didn't
make much sense. But as he pondered snatches of the sketchy memories,
a pattern started to emerge.

"Pavel?"

Startled by the unexpected voice, the Russian snapped his eyes open
with a small gasp.

"You okay?" the captain asked, his hazel eyes gazing down at him with
concern.

"Oh, sair...," Pavel choked, looking away. He tried to calm himself,
but the images and memories were flowing through him unabated now.
Even though the details were still a bit fuzzy, he remembered enough
of what happened the previous evening to make him want to crawl into
a hole and never come out.

"Tell me," Kirk insisted gently, but firmly.

Suddenly feeling vulnerable and exposed, he grasped a section of the
top sheet and pulled it up to his throat. The movement sparked a
sharp burning sensation in his wrists and he let out a muted groan.

He felt a hand settle on his shoulder.

"What's the matter? Are you in pain?"

Pavel nodded his head as he clutched his hands against his chest.

"I'll see if Bones is in, or get a nurse...," the captain said,
starting to move away.

"Nyet," Pavel called out, reaching towards Kirk and brushing his hand
against the other man's arm. He didn't want to try grasping the
captain's sleeve, lest he trigger another jolt of pain, but he would
if necessary to keep Kirk from leaving. "My wrists hurt, sair, but it
is not bad. Please, I do not want to take anything."

Kirk stopped and turned back. "You sure? They could give you
something to take the edge off." The captain's skeptical tone was
obvious.

Pavel sighed. "It is the least of my concerns, sair."

The answer seemed to intrigue the other man. Captain Kirk pulled his
chair close to the biobed and sat down. Hazel eyes met and held his
own. "What about your concerns? I'm here to talk, if you need me. Do
you remember me telling you that last night?"

"I...I think I remember, most of it, that is. But I em still confused
about some things. Like, I think I remember you were in our cabin
last night, sair."

The captain leaned in closer. "Yes, I was."

"And Dr. McCoy...and Mr. Spock. They were there, also."

"Yes. Scotty placed a call to Bones, saying there was a medical
emergency in your quarters."

The older man paused and then looked away. Kirk clenched his jaw and
an expression that Pavel could only describe as rage passed across
his captain's features. When Kirk turned back, it was apparent the
other man was fighting to hold back the emotion in his voice as he
added, "You really scared me, Pavel. Seeing you like that, it scared
me."

The cold realization hit Pavel square in the gut. The snatches of
images that he remembered were true. And, gods, the captain had been
there! He had seen Pavel naked and in restraints. And, worse, Pavel
had lost it in front of him. He went totally berserk in some horrid
nightmare revolving around Kahrag. And now the captain knew. He knew
about Kahrag. He knew his deepest, darkest secret! The thought
frightened and embarrassed him to the core of his being. His body
shuddered just thinking about it.

Kirk must have noticed his shocked expression as the older man
reached out and touched him on the shoulder before  stating,
"Hey...don't concern yourself with any of this now, Pavel.  Your main
concern is to get better. Okay?"

He nodded his head, but the captain's words didn't ease his mind any.

Kirk's hand remained on his shoulder as the hazel eyes studied him
for a long moment. As if the captain could read his uncertainty, the
older man asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

The younger man diverted his gaze away from the questioning  eyes.
"I...I don't know if I can talk about it, sair." He felt his  voice
choke up as he continued, "I hev made such a fool of myself."

"No, Pavel. You're wrong." Kirk stated adamantly. The intensity of
the words made the Russian look up. "You haven't made fool of
yourself. You didn't ask for this to happen to you. And I'll tell you
one thing, I won't give Scotty the opportunity to do that to you ever
again."

"Sair...?"

Kirk's eyes flashed in barely controlled anger. "I can't forgive him
for hurting you like this, Pavel. My god, he tied you up! You
apparently didn't want to be in restraints. I saw you fighting to
free yourself. I saw the injuries to your wrists!"

Pavel felt Kirk's hand squeeze his shoulder as the older man squinted
his eyes shut and turned away.

"It was consensual, sair," Pavel tried to explain, "At least it was
at first."

Kirk snapped his head back quickly, and asked, incredulously, "How
can you defend Scotty after what he did to you?"

"I...I remember you told me last night that I had a flashback, that I
thought Scotty was...was...Kahrag."

"Yes. That's true. Spock helped end the flashback. We couldn't find
any other way to reach you." Kirk looked at him intently. "Last
night, you said Scotty didn't listen. You said he didn't stop when
you asked him to."

"It was before he put me in restraints, sair. Before that, he was
just ordering me around, but it was for play."

"Some idea of play!" Kirk exclaimed. He shook his head sadly, and
then added, "Gods, Pavel...the man hurt you. Bones may have to do
surgery on your wrists to fix some nerve damage. And I think you need
to receive counseling about Kahrag and what he did to you. We need to
learn what caused your flashback..."

Pavel felt himself shudder as images of his flashback came flowing
back to him. Cold fear coursed through him.

"Sair...?"

"Yes?"

"I...," Pavel started, then paused to get a better control over his
shaking voice. "I just want things to be the way they were before."

"I don't know if we can do that, Pavel. We need to get to the bottom
of this."

"I know, but I just want to go back to my post and..." His voice
trailed off, suddenly remembering the question that had been nagging
him. He glanced up at the captain, "W...will I be reassigned, sair?
After what happened last night, will I be allowed back on the
bridge?"

He watched as Kirk blinked his eyes, as though the question caught
the older man unprepared. Finally, the captain asked, "Why would I do
that, Pavel? I told you last night that you are the best navigator in
the Fleet. You belong on the bridge."

Pavel looked away. "After this...after the flashback," Pavel
stammered, ice-cold fear building in the pit of his stomach. He
paused, suddenly uncertain he wanted to know the answer at that
particular moment. "What if I have another one?

Kirk squeezed his shoulder again. Hazel eyes caught and held his
attention. "I don't know, Pavel. I truly don't know if you'll ever
have another flashback. But I swear to you, I will do everything in
my power to make sure you're back at your post as soon as possible.
We can discuss it with Spock and Dr. McCoy later today."

"And...and what about the Level 5 Security Clearance, sair? I...I've
disobeyed direct orders. I wasn't supposed to tell anyone about
Kahrag. No one..."

He felt his body begin to shudder. Dredging up Kahrag, and his forced
captivity by the amorous Klingon, caused a feeling of panic to rise
up within him. He blinked his eyelids in exhaustion. Suddenly, it
felt as though all of his energy reserved had been drained to zero.
He closed his eyes as a massive shudder overtook him.

When he finally ventured to open his eyes and look up, he noticed the
captain had turned his attention away from him and was gazing at the
monitor above his head. It was then that he noticed the beeping sound
had accelerated.

"Whoa...take it easy," Kirk soothed. "You're not in trouble over the
Level 5 security. You got that?"

Before Pavel could respond, a door opened and a gruff voice suddenly 
called out, "What's goin' on here? Why is Chekov's heart chargin' 
like a damn race horse?"

"I was trying to help calm him down when you came in, Bones," the 
captain's voice replied.

"Well stop harassing him, for god's sake. The poor kid doesn't need 
an interrogation first thing in the mornin', ya know."

"I wasn't...!"

The captain's hand lifted from Pavel's shoulder as he turned towards 
the doctor.

"Hell, you look like you've slept in your uniform, Jim," the doctor 
continued, "Go on...get outta here. You need a shower and some 
breakfast." Pavel noticed the doctor's eyes twinkle mischievously as 
the older man added, "And besides which, you better git a move on cuz 
you're already late reporting to duty, CAPTAIN."

"Oh shit! What time is it?" Kirk asked, searching the room with his 
eyes.

"About three minutes past when you were due on the bridge, Jim. Oh, 
I'm sure Spock arrived right on time to set a good example for the 
rest of us. Now git!"

The captain looked down at Pavel. Kirk gave him a gentle pat on his 
forearm and then murmured, "We'll talk about this later, Pavel. 
You're off active duty until further notice. Right now, your duty to 
the ship and me is to rest."

"Aye, sair. Thank you, sair."

Kirk grinned down at him, and then turned towards the exit.

Pavel watched the captain leave, his feelings all a jumble. He was 
grateful for Captain Kirk's apparent concern for him. If the captain 
had faith that he'd be able to control the flashbacks, then Pavel 
owed it to the man to try his very best to learn how. He blushed to 
himself, recalling how he woke up to find the captain's head resting 
next to him on the biobed. The idea had surprised him, but also gave 
him a warm feeling. Like being protected, watched over. He recalled 
feeling that way the previous night, amidst the pain and confusion of 
the events in the cabin he shared with Scotty. He remembered feeling 
truly safe, finding himself held in the strong arms of his captain. 
And, for some reason, that feeling of safety seemed to stay with him, 
even after the captain's departure. Sure, there was going to be a lot 
to deal with, a lot for all of them to deal with. But, for the first 
time in a long, long time, there seemed to be an ember of strength 
expanding inside that told him they would get through this. HE would 
get through this.

He heard someone clear his throat. Looking up, he found Dr. McCoy 
watching him intently. After a moment, the other man pulled out his 
medical scanner and said, "Let's take a look at your wrists, shall 
we?"

--- EPILOGUE

"Personal log. Montgomery Scott. USS Enterprise.

"Stardate...

"Stardate...

"Ah 't hell with it. Ye know th' friggen date. You know it, 
Montgomery, don't ye? 'Tis a date ye nay twill forget. 'Tis the day 
ye lost him!

"Aye, ye went and made a mess of it all, Montgomery. Ye got drunk; ye 
lost control. An' then ye dinna listen 't the lad when he needed you.

"Ye lost him. As plain as the nose on yer face, Montgomery!

"An' then ye saw th' capt'm with the lad, and heard his comfortin' 
words, an'saw him kiss the lad's hand when he dinna know ye were 
watchin'!

Aye, ye know th' lad is lost to ye forever. Admit it, Monty, th' 
capt'm twill never let ye close to Pavel, not after this.

"Oh damn!

"Laddie. My dear, sweet laddie. I'm so sorry! So very, very sorry! 
I'll always love ye. Always, lad. Always."

---

The End