Not Passion's Slave

by Jane Carnall

Give me that man
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart
As I do thee.
Hamlet, III, ii.

The human slave crouched on the floor before his Vulcan master, naked and trembling in the hot night air. Sweat made his skin shine in the light of the torches. "To my bed, slave," the Vulcan warrior commanded brutally. Kaiidth, how he desired this creature! And yet how beautifully the human's fair skin gleamed, how desirable were his hazel eyes that the Vulcan longed to see shine with passion that matched his master's own. Passion, and a strange, forbidden warmth that was not desire. Vulcan warriors did not love, yet could it be love that he felt for the fragile, but defiant, human slave? The Vulcan pressed his lips to the cool human mouth, forcing it open and drinking the wine of passion from his slave's lips before he pulled the human's legs up over his shoulders and thrust deep._

The human cried out as he felt the towering pillar of green flame plunge within his body...

Montgomery Scott suddenly realised that someone was reading over his shoulder. He spun round ready to deliver a barking reprimand -- and went bright red. Leonard McCoy grinned at him, a little quirkedly, and dropped a pile of records on the desk. "I did knock," he added, "but you were pretty engrossed. Spock asked me to bring those -- he didn't think it was sensible to let anyone outside the alliance to get their hands on them."

The seven senior officers of the Enterprise had been, for nearly a year, linked in an alliance of mutual defence that was by Starfleet laws conspiracy to mutiny, but which had proved immensely practical. None of the seven of them now had any reason to assassinate any of the others; their only current worries were how to transfer subordinates whose knife hands were itching for promotion away from the alliance and how to conceal from Starfleet Command the reason for the Enterprise's increased efficiency. The records McCoy was delivering were of a crop of junior officers who might have assassination (the favoured route to promotion) in mind. Spock had picked them; Scott was to comment and add any names that occurred to him.

McCoy was still looking at him with that quirky grin, and Scott was embarrassed enough to mutter, in a brogue that could have been cut with a knife, "I dinnae believe the half of it -- " quickly switching the reader off.

The other man shrugged. "When I read that one, Forbidden Love Slave, isn't it? about a year and a half ago, I told myself I didn't believe ninety percent of it. When Spock and I bonded, I discovered I'd been mistaken to believe any it."

For some reason, although Vulcan sexuality was the least openly displayed event in the known galaxy, one of the largest sectors of cross-species porn was entirely concerned with just that. Or rather, more than half the time, of Vulcan sexuality crossing with human -- or for Klingons, Klingon, or for Tellarites, Tellarite, or for Orions, Orion -- sexuality. Usually in the form of the Vulcan taking the other in mental and sexual slavery.

Scott knew, as anyone aboard the Enterprise might know (Spock had made no attempt to keep the matter secret) that McCoy was Spock's bondmate; a relationship that almost certainly included sex (at all events, much of the time Spock slept in McCoy's cabin or McCoy in Spock's) and possibly, so speculation suggested, some form of mental link.

Fear and respect of Spock, respect and liking for McCoy, had meant that no one, no matter how pornographically fuelled their imagination, had ever set going any more detailed rumour of what the two of them actually did than that. Along with probably most of the rest of the crew, Scott had... wondered. He had read his share of human/Vulcan porn, after all.

"Can you stay for a while?" Scott asked, standing up and moving over to a chair away from the desk and the reader. "If you leave straight away, it's going to be obvious that you came to deliver something."

"Yes, I'm just offwatch."

"Then Mr Spock won't be off for a few hours. Sit down, man, have a Scotch."

"I'm not Spock's slave," McCoy said flatly, seating himself and accepting the glass.

"I think we've gathered that," Scott said dryly. "At least, us in the alliance."

"Yeah," McCoy grinned again, ruefully. "Thanks to that rubbish, probably most of the crew thinks -- " he drank, drowning the words.

"You said most of the stuff was false."

McCoy put down his glass on the floor and looked at Scott. "I'm not his property. He does have a mental link with me, but he doesn't control me through it -- unless I'm also controlling him through it -- never mind. But it has to be mutual. He can't make me do or feel or think anything against my will. And that's the truth."

"Is that the only part that's true?" Scott asked, astonished, but believing him. "All that about 'pon farr' -- it's all invention?"

"No," McCoy said, almost reluctantly. "Pon farr is real. It came up a couple of times in xenomedicine, though just as a name for a condition in which Vulcans may not be refused medical leave on Vulcan. But -- so Spock says -- it is nothing like described in those stories."

"It hasn't happened yet?"

Again, McCoy seemed to answer almost reluctantly. "No. But Spock can't lie. Not to me in the bond. And he says it is nothing like the -- " McCoy grinned, deliberately trying to lighten the atmosphere "'the human/Vulcan pornography you Terran medical staff are so fond of reading'."

=@=@=

The turbo-lift stopped on the way back from Scott's cabin, and a young ensign stepped in. McCoy dug around his memory, found the boy's name. "Evening, Marlowe."

"Good evening, Doctor McCoy."

"Enjoying your first cruise so far?"

"Yes, Doctor." Marlowe grinned at him. "Yes," he added softly.

"Good. Don't overwork yourself, now." The lift stopped, and McCoy got out; unexpectedly, Marlowe followed him. "If you've a message for Spock, y'know, you can give it to me," McCoy offered.

Marlowe shook his head, turning down the corridor in the opposite direction, towards the door with the security guard standing outside it. The Captain's; on the same corridor as Spock's and his own quarters, though (thank gods) at the other end.

The guard nodded at Marlowe and let him in; McCoy turned away, sighing. Captain Kirk fucked half the ensigns posted to the ship -- and dumped most of them in the first three days. Still, Marlowe didn't seem to be too unhappy about it.

=@=@=

"Did you and Mr Scott have an interesting conversation?"

"Do you have every single cabin on this ship bugged?"

Spock lifted an eyebrow. "No. Or I would know what you talked about."

"Pon farr, among other things," McCoy snapped, went through to the bathroom, and vindictively switched on the water setting of the shower. Spock preferred him to use the sonic setting. The hell with it. He came back, still slightly damp, and rolled himself under the covers. When Spock returned from the bathroom he was naked, but scarcely seemed aware of it; he slid neatly into bed beside McCoy and gathered his bondmate into his arms.

"You are still wet."

"Mmhm." McCoy kissed him. "Felt like washing in water for a change."

"I trust that you do not intend to make a habit of it."

"Well, if I do, I'll try and dry myself more efficiently," McCoy conceded, snuggling. He ran an exploratory hand down Spock's side, tracing the outlined ribs. "You've been getting thinner lately, you know. You should eat more."

The hand, cool, human, caressed one bony hip and, feather light, over his genitals. Though Spock had never managed to bring himself to initiate sexual contact, he usually found it quite easy, once the first arousal was beginning to spread its warmth, to reciprocate.

McCoy propped himself up on one elbow and frowned. "Spock, is something wrong?"

"I am tired," Spock said, and shut his mouth like a trap.

"Something's wrong," McCoy translated. "What is it?"

Spock looked back at him opaquely, but said, with an effort, "You know, Leonard."

"How can I know if you won't bloody tell me?" McCoy demanded reasonably.

"You discussed it with Mr Scott... I appear to be approaching pon farr."

"Oh, shit." McCoy lay down again, rapidly removing his other hand from where it was resting. "I really didn't know...."

"Your discussion with Mr Scott on that subject at this time was purely coincidental?"

It was amazing how much freezing disbelief Spock could convey without even raising his voice. McCoy shivered involuntarily. "He was reading one of those Vulcan/human porn stories when I came in to drop off the discs," he said defensively, and angry because he had been put on the defensive. "We started talking."

"It must have been a fascinating discussion." Spock's voice was still cold.

His bondmate controlled himself fiercely, managing to say, quite calmly without shaking or snapping, "Spock, we decided not to start a fight like this last time. Remember?"

"Yes, I remember." Spock said nothing further; after a while, wishing that his bondmate would reach out first sometimes, McCoy slid one arm round Spock's thin shoulders and hugged him awkwardly. Spock reciprocated.

"There are certain matters that I should... discuss with you, with regard to this event."

"Yeah," McCoy agreed. "Just tell me two things right now; how long, and does this mean no sex till then?"

"I am in the slan xei phase at present; I estimate that in one to two months this should give way to the plak tow, which normally lasts no more than ten days, and then kee mvar is usually no more than three to five days long. As for your second question, I have no reliable data to answer it. In the plak tow phase the Vulcan male is incapable of mating, but I do not know whether my... inability, this evening, is directly due to the physiological effect of slan xei, or is indirectly caused by the typical bodily tiredness, or is purely psychological in origin."

"Whichever. It doesn't matter, Spock." It did, but McCoy would have bitten his tongue out rather than say so. Sex was the only way to get Spock to touch him without being directly asked. "Look, save the details for our next day off; it can wait three days."

"Very well, Leonard." Spock would have pointed out that even if he could make no response this would not deny his bondmate satisfaction, but he had learned that such logical remarks about sex were the fastest way to irritate his prickly bondmate.

McCoy turned and snuggled comfortably against his bondmate's warmth, flinging one arm across Spock's chest and encouraging Spock to put his free arm around McCoy. He was aware of a faint, nagging arousal, and ignored it. If it didn't go away, he'd have time when Spock left next morning.

=@=@=

"Spock sent another of those messages to Vulcan, yesterday," Uhura mentioned casually. She was sprawled comfortably on the bed in Chapel's cabin, offwatch a couple of hours, and waiting for Chapel to finish changing out of her uniform and Flynn to finish her watch. The three women were only offwatch all of them together once in nine days, and usually spent six hours or so, swopping stories and drinks, in one or other of their cabins.

"What, in code on his family channel?"

"That's right. Still can't make the code out."

"Just as well for you, probably," Chapel snapped.

Flynn came in without knocking, dumping her gun on the floor by the door with a sigh of relief, and going straight through to the shower. "Came direct from the cells," she called through her shirt as she was taking it off. "Mind if I use your shower, Chris?"

Chapel grinned at Uhura. "Help yourself." While Flynn was showering, she added "I'm serious, Nyota. If you ever did crack Spock's own private family code, and he found out, I think we'd be short one communications officer -- alliance or no alliance."

Uhura nodded reluctantly. "Anyway, I think it's in Vulcan, which I still can't read fluently, and not a standard dialect; so even if I could decode it, I still couldn't read it once I had. The only Vulcan language tapes on the computer, the only ones Starfleet's got, are in the two most common modern dialects; even today, though I think all Vulcans probably speak either T'yawe or Ger'new as either a first or second language, there are maybe fifty other dialects, and back in Pre-Reform times there were more than five hundred. Must have been like Earth before the Federation made everyone learn Standard."

Flynn came out of the shower as Uhura spoke, and Chapel, grinning, tossed her a spare uniform shirt. "Here."

"Thanks -- this is mine!"

"I know. I got tired of you borrowing mine. Shove yours in the autolaundry." Chapel flopped back on the floor.

"I already did. What's this about Vulcan, Nyota?"

"Spock's coded messages. He sent one yesterday."

"Oh yes." Flynn looked disgruntled, sitting down on the bed beside Uhura. "You know, there's supposed to be a regulation about anyone but the commanding officer sending coded messages that the head of security doesn't understand, from a Starfleet ship."

"So report Spock to Starfleet," Uhura suggested sardonically.

"Hnh. No, I think Rule 22 covers Spock nicely."

"But there isn't a rule 22 in the security section -- " Chapel interjected, then realised as Flynn grinned.

"'Starfleet Regs, Security Section, Rule 22;'" Flynn said sing-song, "'Anything which is done by an officer with sufficient family influence shall not be considered a breach in security, and any breaches in security resulting from such an officer's actions shall be blamed on someone else. When in doubt about any interpretation of this rule, consult rule 22.'"

All three officers laughed, but Chapel added "Just the same, it's not funny. It's too true to be funny -- and neither of you have to work with his bondmate."

"McCoy's all right," Flynn said tolerantly.

Uhura snapped her fingers. "You know, I just remembered when it was Spock sent the last coded message to his family. Just a year ago, just before he and McCoy got bonded -- or before he put it down in their records that they were bonded, anyway."

"You think he's planning to get unbonded?" Flynn asked, grinning hugely.

"No, but I wonder -- "

"Pon farr!" Chapel interrupted.

"Sadomasochistic porno fantasy," Uhura said wearily. "Come on, Chris, you don't believe that crap?"

"No, but pon farr's real. No one studies Vulcan physiology in xenomedicine, I just have a page of notes about healing trance and a list of conditions under which a Vulcan may not be refused sick leave on Vulcan. Pon farr's one of them -- I'd bet my next week's rec credits that Spock will be asking for sick leave on Vulcan for him and McCoy within a week. But McCoy's not a Vulcan." Chapel frowned. "Though I daresay Spock's family could get it done as a favour from Starfleet -- he's not CMO any more, after all."

"He is a Vulcan, a Vulcan citizen," Flynn corrected. "Didn't you know? He's a Vulcan citizen and a member of Spock's family, and according to all the regs he's as Vulcan as Spock is."

"Chris -- " Uhura appeared to have difficulty in speaking. "Chris, you're serious?"

"Perfectly. What's wrong?"

Uhura took a deep breath, regaining control. "Nothing," she said wryly. "I've just never got used to tolerating rape. I know you don't like him, Chris, and nor do I, much, but I've never liked rape."

"He's willing enough," Chapel said sourly. "Mandala, there's food in that cupboard, and I saved a couple of bottles of good wine from the last shore leave."

For several minutes they were occupied in tipping protein nibbles into bowls and breaking the long bread sticks into chunks. Chapel poured wine into three mugs with a flourish. "You'll like this," she promised, "'angels coming on your tongue'." It was a heavenly wine; silence reigned for a moment more as each woman appreciated it.

"What makes you think he's willing?" Uhura asked.

"Gods, do we have to spend the entire night talking about McCoy? I said willing enough -- the day before Spock registered their bonding, he sent McCoy a note, and after McCoy got the note he went straight to Spock's cabin. No protests, no complaints, and I've heard none since."

"Spock isn't the safest person to say no to," Flynn observed reflectively. "And if McCoy did want to complain, forgive me, Chris, but I think you're the last person he'd approach. Still, I haven't heard anything about McCoy complaining or protesting, even."

"The only one he could protest to would be the Captain," Uhura pointed out. "We all know Kirk thinks the sun shines out of Spock's -- ears. He'd never listen to a subordinate complaining that Spock raped him. And McCoy's got sense enough to know that. Look, I don't suppose McCoy did fight too hard. I'm just saying that I doubt that this bonding was any idea of his, and I doubt that he had any choice in the matter, and I call that rape."

"Well, there's nothing you could do about it," Flynn said. "And I hope you're not planning to try, Nyota."

"I have some regard for my own skin, thanks. You're right, Chris, there's no point talking about it when there's nothing I can do." She took another sip of wine, and said, determinedly changing the subject, "This wine reminds me of that vineyard that shoreleave on Damu 5, remember, where we stole the grapes and ate them in the woods..."

"And we saw the foxcubs come out to play in the moonlight," Flynn joined the reminiscence. "You were still chasing that xenomedic Doctor Rigel, Chris, weren't you?"

"More interested in that pet mongcat than in me," Chapel sniffed. "But you two had better luck in that bar, the Rad, that time -- "

"What I'd call an embarrassment of riches!" Uhura chuckled. The rest of the night passed in stories that had nothing to do with this one.

=@=@=

"Okay, tell me about it."

They were eating supper; both their shifts had ended an hour ago, and they were both clear, except for emergencies, for a full thirty-six hours. McCoy didn't want to talk about pon farr; he wanted to go to bed and cuddle and not talk and go to sleep with Spock's head cradled on his shoulder.

"I have informed my family on Vulcan that I am in slan xei, and will be requesting medical leave in one month, with you. I think that we will probably be asked to stay in the clan house for the duration of the plak tow and kee mvar; if not, I will make arrangements to rent suitable accommodation for the time."

That he and Spock might have to stay with Spock's family was something that had never occurred to McCoy, though he realised that it should have. Spock had told him, and he had checked it for himself in the records, that he was legally a member of Spock's extended family unit; but he had assumed that this was merely a formality. "I see. Ah, maybe you'd better explain to me how to behave to your family, later."

"I had intended to do so." Spock pushed his tray away, still half full, and looked at his bondmate expressionlessly. "During the slan xei phase of pon farr, all bodily processes slow down in preparation. For an unbonded male, this phase does not end. For a bonded male, however, within two or three months the bond stimulates the production of adrenaline and ewreiu -- a substance found in the brains of mature Vulcan males, which is the actual glandular trigger for pon farr. Over the course of the plak tow, both adrenaline and ewreiu build abnormally in the body. This is a period that is used in these times for meditation. When the adrenaline and ewreiu reach a critical level, usually after about ten days, the kee mvar phase is entered. During this phase the male must be in telepathic and physical contact with his bondmate until the ewreiu has reached normal levels, usually within three to five days. The manner in which the ewreiu is broken down is by sexual release."

McCoy caught himself before he shivered. "So. What do I have to do, apart from just be there?"

"From what I have read," Spock said carefully, "it would appear that 'being there' is the bondmate's most important function." He steepled his fingers, gazing at McCoy. "What in particular makes you afraid of pon farr?"

"I'm not afraid," McCoy snapped. "And you'd better finish your meal, I told you you weren't eating enough."

"I am not hungry."

"I don't care whether you're hungry or not, finish your food!"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "You have not finished your meal either."

"I'm not going into pon farr. Eat, or damn you, I'll feed you with a spoon."

"That would not be advisable."

"So you're stronger than me, and we both know it. Eat."

"And you are afraid," Spock said evenly, beginning to eat again, "and we both know it."

McCoy watched until Spock had nearly emptied his tray, and then got up and went into the shower. He used the sonic setting without thinking about it, and went straight to the bed and lay down, waiting for Spock, without thinking about that either, much. Spock was standing, fully clothed and absolutely expressionless, by the table. "Would you prefer that I slept elsewhere tonight?"

He would have preferred that Spock hadn't asked him. "No. Stay."

Spock nodded and went through to the shower, undressing and cleaning himself. Sometimes he caught himself thinking that he would never understand his bondmate; though sometimes he felt almost as if he were faced with a puzzle pattern of which he only needed one more piece to fall into place and then he could see the solution. But the solution seemed just as far from his grasp as it had a year ago. Though he knew, by empirical experiment, some of the effects that caused his human bondmate to feel fear or anger or, more usually, both, he still did not understand why.

If the family decided to follow tradition and allow him to come home for pon farr, then his mother could meet Leonard. Spock rather thought that they would both appreciate each other. Going back into the other room, he turned the lights down, and slid into bed beside the human.

McCoy pulled Spock in against him, holding him tightly and rubbing his face against Spock's. Beardburn, he muttered mentally. I wish you'd shave.

It was a frequently reiterated wish; Spock had stopped replying to it. Leonard knew perfectly well why Spock retained the beard; it had an immediately impressive effect on human crew that was excellent for discipline.

Gently, McCoy was nudging against Spock's groin, to null response. Spock simply lay there, his hands moving lightly, warmly, over his bondmate's back, but he was not in the least aroused. With a sigh, McCoy gave up. Two and a half months, at most, to get through, and then they would be back to normal again, for the next seven years. He closed his eyes, setting his teeth against the fear. Spock would not hurt him, not willingly; but Spock was physically capable of doing him a great deal of harm, and high on adrenaline and whatever chemical ewreiu might be, would he know that he was hurting McCoy? Would he be capable of controlling himself so that he did not hurt McCoy? Vulcans were considerably more physically robust than humans, and pon farr probably operated on the instinctual level.

What is wrong, Leonard?

"Nothing," McCoy said in a strained voice. "Go to sleep, Spock."

Leonard, tell me that there is nothing wrong through the bond and I will go to sleep.

There's nothing wrong. Even McCoy could hear that it rang false.

"I am sorry that I cannot respond," Spock said aloud, almost hesitantly, feeling his way.

"It doesn't matter."

"Then it is the fear... Leonard, I thought that you had understood a year ago that you do not need to fear me."

"I'm not afraid," McCoy snarled, "and you can either shut up or go away."

"Very well." Spock lay still. Presently his bondmate turned and flung an arm across his chest, pulling him closer. He could hear the fast beating of the oddly-placed human heart, and wanted to pull his bondmate closer still, hold him tightly against himself and never let him go. It was, of course, a glandular emotional effect produced by the slan xei.

"I do love you, you know," McCoy said abruptly, very close to his ear. "I even trust you, at least as far as my own welfare's concerned. It's just that," and Spock heard him swallow, "just that I don't understand exactly what the changes in pon farr will do to you."

That was something that Spock could understand. "Neither do I... I have never consummated pon farr before, and the material on the subject is not personally helpful. All that I can be certain will happen is that I will grow much thinner."

McCoy chuckled. Spock did not understand why. "Not with me overlooking your diet, not if I can help it you won't. You're too thin already."

After a moment, Spock reached with one hand to touch Leonard's familiar, timeworn face. Will you sleep linked with me tonight?

A moment's hesitation, almost unwillingness; but consenting, in the end, to let down the hard-held shields. When they slept, minds interlinked as hands in a coat pocket, they wandered through the same dreams.

=@=@=

In one dream, Spock found Leonard asleep in a room that looked like the room he had slept in as a child in the clan house, except that it had been cleared of all furniture but the bed, which had been a child-size bed when Spock had slept there but which was now large enough for two adults to sleep with ease. He did not wake Leonard, but stood watching him for what felt like a long time; his bondmate slept neatly, only one arm flung out across the other side of the bed, as though holding someone who was not sleeping there. He was naked; that was visible through the thin sheet that only partly covered him. His hair was untidy, and Spock reached down to smooth it against his skull. Leonard's mouth moved as though he were saying something in a dream.

Desiring his bondmate suddenly above all things, Spock realised that he too was naked, and pulled back the sheet and lay down upon the human, touching him all along his body. Leonard's eyes opened, blinking and sleepy, blue as a Terran sky. Expecting welcome, expecting pleasure, Spock almost did not recognise the fear that distorted Leonard's face, but felt the human flinching from his touch. The dream dived into horror, and Spock struggled and woke.

He lay still, not speaking, knowing Leonard was also awake, not wanting to turn and see him. They had been linked, to a deep level, and it was entirely possible that Leonard had been the Leonard in his dream. If that were so, then who had brought the fear, and who the desire, into the dream? I love you, his bondmate had said, and, more comprehensibly, I trust you. Spock did not surrender to sleep again that night.

=@=@=

"I had a dream last night," McCoy said cautiously, over breakfast the next morning. Spock was still not hungry. He chewed the cereal that McCoy had insisted he eat, looking as uninterested as possible. "It had you in it. I mean, we were linked fairly closely and I thought that it might have been... really you." McCoy waited. "I dreamed I was in a room -- I thought I knew it, though I know I've never seen it before -- and you were there too. You didn't see me. You were standing by the bed looking at this doll that was laid out there."

"A doll?" Spock inquired, raising one eyebrow.

"A model, then. It looked... like me. You touched it and then you got into the bed beside it, and then you..." McCoy trailed off.

"I do not recall dreaming of those events," Spock said truthfully.

Believing that he had already said too much, McCoy took another piece of toast and bit into it. Through crumbs, he said briskly "You'd better tell me how I'm to behave with your family, Spock."

Accepting the change of subject, Spock detailed tersely the traditional behaviour expected of a bondmate of one in pon farr. "It is customary, when the other bondmate has not experienced pon farr before, to provide a companion while the bondmate in plak tow is in seclusion, meditating. This companion will be selected for you by the elders of the clan from among those males who have experienced pon farr both in themselves and in their bondmates, and will explain to you any questions you may ask. Finally, Leonard, if you feel that you have said or done something wrong, apologise and ask for your error to be explained. It would not be logical to penalise ignorance."

"Seclusion," McCoy said slowly. "For how long? How strictly?"

"Assuming that my family allows me home, for the full period of the plak tow, I will remain in a meditation chamber, alone. While in the kee mvar, you and I will be secluded in a suitable chamber. If we do not spend this time with my family, I would still prefer to be secluded as far as is possible for the period of the plak tow and the kee mvar."

McCoy nodded stiffly. That was another thing that he hadn't thought about; ten days or so virtually alone on Vulcan, either in a rented house or in the middle of Spock's extended family, who weren't likely to welcome him -- "Spock, I thought you said your family had kicked you out?"

"I chose to join Starfleet," Spock said after a pause. "The clan elders accepted my reasons as logical. Neither of my parents approved. My father has ceased to speak to me. However, I am an adult, and my parents have no especial right to command me." Dryly and coldly, Spock added "I do not know if my father will refuse to speak to you also, but I anticipate that he will probably choose not to be resident in the clan house for the period of my stay; so the question need not arise."

The computer beeped. Spock stood up briskly and went over to it. McCoy watched him inattentively, crumbling bread on to his plate. Propping his chin on one hand, he brooded, feeling trapped and miserable. He had understood from the beginning that this time was the reason that Spock had wanted to bond with him; and he did not want Spock to die, not when he could keep him alive at such small cost. It had seemed small cost, last year.

"My family will expect us home in one month's time, for two months leave," Spock said abruptly. "I have confirmed that you also have that much offship leave due you, and claimed it for both of us." He returned to the table, sat down, and gazed with distaste at his cereal. McCoy shivered involuntarily.

"Are you cold, Leonard?"

"No," McCoy said drearily. "Do we need to stay on Vulcan for the full two months?"

"We could, of course, leave immediately I am recovered from the kee mvar. If you prefer, we will."

"Immediately you're recovered," McCoy repeated, without inflection.

"It is usual for the male who has been in pon farr to require several days rest and recuperation. When I am fit to travel, we can discuss what to do with the remainder of our leave."

McCoy's face was unreadable. He stared down at the pile of crumbs on his plate, saying nothing. Spock thought that he must be afraid, but could not estimate of what. Leonard.

"Yes?"

When he refused to answer through the bond, it was a bad sign. If you are afraid or concerned about something, it would be logical to explain what, and why, to me.

His bondmate shook his head. "No, it wouldn't. So go on telling me how I have to behave to your family."

"Very well." Spock steepled his hands, his face equally expressionless. "Firstly, you will have to learn Vulcan; I can get the tapes of the dialect that my family speak at home...."

=@=@=

Amanda had always liked this room, the one the clan elders usually met in. It was graciously proportioned, long and broad and high; tall arched windows cut through the thick stone walls on one side, with bronze shutters that could be closed in the heat of midday. In the morning, the indirect light shone on the tiled floor, showing the mosaic clearly. It was a picture of battle, taking up the entire floor, with hundreds of scenes of heroism and honour and green blood pouring out on to the thirsty earth. In the centre the war god that legend said had been the mother of the founding hero of the clan, stood in mid-air gazing with calm foreknowledge on the battle. It was supposed to depict the last fight between this clan and the one who had once claimed this land, but Amanda had never been able to reliably tell which side was which.

In the evening the dying sun lit all the warmer colours glowing like a banked fire, and the jade figures in the shadows sometimes looked as though they would move, or speak. The room had a long name that translated as the Noble Hall of the Illustrious Ancestors, who were the carved jade figures in small niches all the way down one side of the hall, and between the windows all the way up the other. Almost half the niches were empty, though the room was more than three thousand years old. In Vulcan terms, of course, that was no more than sixty generations, and there were nearly two hundred niches to be filled. She had counted them one day, maybe fifty years ago.

It was early evening, so the shutters had been opened; Amanda walked slowly down the room, to the round table at the far end where the five elders sat. T'Pau. Ch'vrei. Saiej, the only man. T'Fon. K'yiru. They were all over one hundred and eighty years old; Ch'vrei, the eldest, was two hundred and thirty-seven. K'yiru, the youngest, was barely one hundred and eighty-five.

None of them wasted time in formal greetings. "Sit down, daughter," T'Pau said.

Seating herself, Amanda realised that those three words concisely conveyed, firstly, that since they had invited her to sit with them, Amanda herself was not in trouble (something that had happened with such monotonous frequency when she was younger that any summons to appear before the clan elders was always apt to bring it to mind). Secondly, that since T'Pau had called her 'daughter', not by name, it was a family matter. And thirdly, that the elders would not have asked her to sit down unless it was likely to take quite some time to discuss.

"It's to do with Spock, isn't it?" she asked.

T'Pau lifted an eyebrow. T'Fon said quietly, "I told you so, my sisters, my brother."

Ch'vrei frowned (she and T'Pau had been the only two who had been clan elders fifty years ago, and Ch'vrei at least still obviously recalled the young Amanda) and said harshly, "Yes, it is your son."

"In one month," Saiej said softly, "he will be returning home with his bondmate Leonard Eleanora's son for the time of his pon farr."

Amanda's first thought was that she hadn't realised that it had been seven years since that first terrible time. Her second, fleeting, thought was of this unknown Eleanora, and what she might think, if she was alive, of her son and his bonding. The third was quite simply, of Spock. She looked back at her clan elders with schooled calm. "That is not all."

"No," T'Pau agreed. "It has been decided that you shall inform my son in your own time and way."

"It being certain," K'yiru said drily, "that if Sarek is informed before his son arrives, he will not be seen here for three months."

"Secondly," T'Pau continued, shooting a glance at K'yiru, "it has been decided that you shall have the duty of preparing adult apartments for your son, and for his bondmate." Amanda nodded. That was still not all; admittedly one month was short notice, but there was really not much to do.

"Thirdly, we require your considered advice on a suitable companion for Leonard while Spock is in seclusion."

"Now?" Amanda inquired.

"Of course not," T'Fon interjected. "We'll meet to decide that after they arrive."

There was a pause. Amanda looked back at the impassive Vulcan faces, schooling her own to stillness. There was something more; and she would not move to be called back like an impatient child. I can outstubborn you any day, she thought, and deliberately did not smile.

"There are seven ages in a mortal life," K'yiru said at last, a proverb and a platitude. The first from birth to the age of seven, the age of irresponsibility; then the three ages of service; from seven until fourteen, service to the House, from fourteen until twenty-one, service to the Line and Family, and from twenty-one until twenty-eight, service to the world. The word service, in all three dialects of Vulcan that Amanda spoke, came from the same root word as education. The fifth age, from twenty-eight until a hundred or so, the age of responsibility; the sixth, from a hundred to a hundred and seventy, the age of enlightenment, and the seventh and last, onward from a hundred and seventy, the age of reason, or the elder age.

Amanda lifted an eyebrow. Decades of practice had perfected her in the art. The elders seemed, unlikely as that was, to be prevaricating.

"You are in an age of enlightenment," Ch'vrei said at last, naming it. "And I am near the end of the last mortal age. When I die, then, will you take my place among the elders of this clan?"

"But I am -- " Amanda began, then halted. She was seventy. If she were Vulcan, she would be still in the age of responsibility, unqualified to be an elder for another hundred years. But in a hundred years, she would be dead. "I am human."

"We are not unaware of that," T'Pau said harshly. "In human ages, you are, or will be when Ch'vrei is dead, an elder. It seemed logical, therefore, that we should consider your name among the others who might have become elders of the clan, when our sister dies."

"Sarek is fifty years my elder," Amanda continued, naming something else she usually left unnamed. "And yet Sarek would not, I think, have been among your names."

"Sarek is but one hundred and twenty-three," Ch'vrei countered. "And he is Vulcan. In fifty years he will be of the age of reason."

"And I am one who married into the clan; nor will I have descendants born to the clan after my son dies."

"I too," T'Fon said gently. "I was not born in this line. Nor have I given children to it. Nevertheless, there are none who doubt me."

"You would not have been told that you had been named as an elder," T'Pau spoke straight to Amanda, "if all here had not been in agreement."

"Who named me?" Amanda was still fighting astonishment.

There was a glance around the table, and Ch'vrei tilted her head. "I did, daughter, as is my privilege as an elder dying." Ch'vrei was saying that Amanda had been the first choice of the elders, and not (though Amanda would not have been told who had been named before her) a second or third choice, the first having refused.

"We do not require your decision now," T'Pau said finally. "You must tell us before this day next year; and until you decide, or if you refuse, speak never of it again to anyone."

It was dismissal; Amanda stood up and took her leave. Down the hall again, the bronze doors closing lightly as feathers behind her. She glanced swiftly around to make sure that no one was within hearing distance, and muttered "Shit."

=@=@=

Spock woke up, and turned, reaching out across the bed. It was empty, and the other side cold already. He sat up. The sleep-teacher was switched off, but the sides of the headpiece still folded open, as though Leonard had left it for but a moment. Since he was awake anyway, Spock got out of bed and checked the bathroom and confirmed that Leonard was not there.

It was not logical to go and check Leonard's cabin. Spock was dressing. It was not logical because, firstly, there was no reason to suppose that his bondmate had not been called to sickbay for a medical emergency. Spock opened the door and stepped into the corridor. Secondly, because if Leonard had gone to his own cabin it was presumably for a reason which seemed good to him, which Spock would completely fail to understand, and so they would have a disagreement.

McCoy was sitting in his own cabin, on the bunk wrapped in his quilt, hunched up. The light was dim for human eyes, but Spock could see clearly. McCoy said nothing when Spock came in and stood silently by the bunk.

Spock knew how to wait more menacingly than anyone else, McCoy thought. He said at last, clearing his throat, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"Your absence woke me."

"I couldn't sleep."

"Was that the reason?"

McCoy sighed. "No. The reason I couldn't sleep was the same reason I came in here."

"Perhaps you would explain your reason to me." The dim light shadowed Spock's face, the beard and eyebrows flaring demonic in the dusk.

"I know," McCoy said painfully, "that this time of yours was the reason you bonded with me. And since, on the whole, I'm glad you did, it is, as you'll no doubt tell me, illogical to wish it wasn't happening. You need to use me; if you don't, you'll die. You need me willing, and since I'm not willing to let you die, you have me. But it doesn't really matter that it's me." He was also not looking forward to staying with Spock's family, particularly not for the ten days when the only link he had with them would be shut up in a seclusion chamber. Spock had informed him that translators of any kind were inappropriate in family conversation, and his Vulcan, despite sleeping under the cortex-thumper for three weeks, was still not very fluent. That would not be the most tactful thing in the world to say, though.

There was a pause. "Would it calm your fears if I told you that I love you?" Spock's voice was as calm as if he were offering McCoy a piece of bread. A quick rippling shiver passed through his bondmate.

"Only if you meant it," McCoy said bitterly.

"Since I do not understand what it means, I cannot. It is a human word."

McCoy shut his eyes. "I'm human. And you trapped me into this with human sentiment, my Vulcan." He felt a hand touch the side of his face, very gently, and fall away. Eyes still closed, he reached out and caught the hand in both of his, holding it against him.

"It hurts me," his bondmate said quietly, "when you fear me."

McCoy's eyes snapped open. "That has to be the most human thing I've ever heard you say, Spock."

"Fear and pain are two concepts universally understood," Spock corrected. He did not attempt to free his hand from McCoy's grasp. His bondmate tugged at him, and Spock folded himself down.

"I always thought that was the most depressing statement in the xenopsychology textbook," McCoy said conversationally, wrapping the quilt round Spock's shoulders as well, and leaning close. "That those two, fear and pain, and only those two, are universally common to all species with which we can communicate."

"With which humans can communicate. Leonard, don't evaluate your species sentiments so high. I relied on your Healer's instincts, not your human sentiment. I have seen what human sentiment can do."

McCoy jerked away; Spock felt his tenseness. "Bastard."

"I do not understand -- "

"I'm human." McCoy was glaring. "I'm human! And you can damned well accept that it's human sentiment that's saving your life -- there are some things that it isn't required for a doctor to do, and sex with patients is one of them."

Spock stood up again. "I believe that we have talked enough." And more than enough. "Good night, Doctor McCoy." He left; and McCoy, shivering desperately, wrapped himself more tightly up in his quilt and tried to sleep.

=@=@=

The security chief escorted him in; a blind, shuffling, lump of mistreated humanity that it took McCoy half a minute to recognise as Nic Marlowe, the young navigation officer on his first cruise. The two security guards seemed to be supporting him rather than holding him by their grip on his shoulders.

"You're required to keep the prisoner alive until we reach Quoppina," Flynn said flatly. "He will be placed under custody there awaiting trial and sentence."

McCoy was already readying life support. "How long was he in the Agoniser booth?" he asked bleakly.

"Three days," Flynn answered just as shortly. "Those two have to stay here." She gestured to the guards, and, expressionless, they moved to stand by the door.

"One's enough, surely?" McCoy asked tartly. "He won't be in any state to move for some time."

Flynn almost smiled. "Quite an understatement. One, then. Sanger, you can go." She handed him the record of the treatment; he slipped it in to the terminal, his hands flying over the keyboard to set up the lifesupport. She had reached the door when he turned abruptly from the screen, saying sharply, "The interrogation was conducted by Mr Spock?"

"All matters specific to the security of the Captain are the ultimate responsibility of the First Officer," Flynn answered him, trusting that the man would say nothing more incriminating while she was there to listen to it. McCoy seemed to understand; he looked at her with unseeing blue eyes and turned back to the terminal screen. Marlowe would probably recover, given enough time; the Agoniser merely stimulated the pain centre in the brain, it did no physiological damage. Three days at the highest setting would turn any human into a vegetable, but whoever had actually conducted the investigation had the touch of a master; permanent pain, long enough at the lowest setting to weaken but not destroy, and precisely calculated periods at the higher settings to temporarily blind and maim. Oh yes, a master touch. Confirming that Marlowe needed no immediate attention, McCoy made for the nearest refresher and was sick. Spock's touch.

=@=@=

His bondmate was drunk. Spock had never seen him drunk before; had seldom, in fact, seen him consume alcohol at all. It was not a Vulcan custom, to consume metabolic poisons, though Spock had learnt to endure it when necessary. He had thought that Leonard had adopted Vulcan practices in this, at least. "Leonard."

McCoy looked up from his glass, straight at him, eyes bright blue. "Go to hell."

"I would like to know the reason for this behaviour."

"Nic Marlowe," McCoy spat, and took another long swallow from his glass. "Or don't you remember the name, just the screams?"

Spock took two steps towards the bunk where his bondmate sat; he was tired, and near his limits of control with the pon farr wearing it constantly away. He had had no sleep for three days, which in normal times would be no problem. "I do not wish to discuss this at this time."

"Fine with me. Get out of here!"

"You have no right -- "

McCoy stood up. He was not completely steady on his feet, but his voice was quite level. "Commander Spock -- " the title was an insult, one not used since the early days of their bonding -- "you can order me to stay, and I will not disobey an order. You can force me to stay, and I can't fight back. But I am damned if I am going to sleep with a torturer of my own free will."

"Then I order you to stay," Spock snapped.

McCoy flinched and sat down again, rubbing at his face with the side of one hand. "I thought it'd come to that eventually," he muttered.

"Since you find my presence so repugnant," Spock continued more levelly, "I will not stay for longer than to point out two salient facts. Firstly, you have been aware for four years that I am, as you put it, a torturer. You have, therefore, many times slept with a torturer of your own free will. Secondly, Ensign Marlowe's treatment was necessary by Starfleet and the Captain's standing orders; traitors shall be interrogated until they have given up all their knowledge."

"Nic wasn't a traitor, and you know it as well as I do! He just objected more loudly than the Captain expects when one of his bedmates gets dumped."

Nic had lasted a month, when most occupants of the Captain's bed stayed there at most, three days. He might have been beginning to think his position more secure, or Kirk might have said something to him in one night watch that was taken as more than Kirk would ever have meant it. But of course, eventually there was a new body occupying the Captain's bed; and Nic, as McCoy had gathered in one half hour coffee break with his ears open, not brooding over his own problems, Nic had confronted Kirk in the middle of the rec-room and said angry, outraged, maybe even hurt things. Nic was only eighteen. He might have believed that Kirk had found him special.

"If an ensign threatens his captain loudly and clearly in a crowded room," Spock said quietly, "that ensign must expect to be brought up under serious charges."

"Three days torture?"

"It is, I believe, a human maxim that there are certain occasions where justice need not be done, but must be seen to be done."

"You put a boy through hell for three days and try to excuse yourself by claiming it's a human maxim?"

"I claim no excuse. I repeat, you knew that it had been my duty to do these things before, and would probably be my duty to do so again."

"Not since we were lovers!"

McCoy heard himself say the word aloud, the word he had never said before about himself and Spock, heard through ringing shock that he had said the word at this time.

Spock was asking, "Does that make a difference?"

"It does to me," McCoy said briefly, pointlessly. He opened his mouth, shut it again. "Spock, I love you." He forced himself to go on, though Spock had only lifted an eyebrow. "A year ago I didn't. That's what makes a difference."

There was a silence. "You are -- necessary to me," Spock said quietly. "More necessary than I think you understand. If you wish me to leave Starfleet rather than obey an order, because it is not in you to bear what I am ordered to do, then I will do so."

McCoy rubbed his eyes. "Sometimes you've a way of giving me the moon and the stars like a slap in the face."

"I have not offered you -- "

"I know." McCoy looked up, smiling crookedly. "You're making me learn Vulcan, but you won't let me teach you anything human."

"I have no wish to be human."

"No," McCoy agreed dryly. "Just as well."

Another silence fell. Spock had been tired before; he was near exhaustion now. "If that was intended for insult," he said finally, "humans devised the Agoniser booth, and humans set the standing orders that require torture. I would have given the ensign a swift death." He was gone so swiftly and silently that McCoy, looking up, saw only the closing door.

Spock went to his own cabin, in the state of exhaustion that is far from sleep; he wanted, so desperately that he could scarcely breathe for the wanting of it, to lie holding Leonard in his arms and linked with him mind to mind. He might have had it, if he had the energy to remain on his feet and in control of himself in Leonard's cabin, for however long the confrontation would have lasted this tine. He needed his bondmate at this time more than ever, and yet it was just at this time that he kept making stupid errors, errors he should be able to foresee, errors whose magnitude he could not measure. Fifteen days since he had slept with Leonard. Tonight would be the sixteenth. He removed his clothes and lay down on the meditation stone, trying to focuss his mind away from the needs of the body.

I love you, Leonard kept saying. Illogical. As if that made any difference. Either his mindmatch could accept him in pon farr, or he could not. A mindmatched bondmate should be able to accept him, unless either of them deliberately walled the other out, which Leonard seemed to be trying to do. No. Each of them struck at the other, forcing the other to shield and strike again. He is necessary to me. To my mind, to my body, to my sanity, my mindmatch, my bondmate --

Lovers, Leonard had said. I do not understand what love is. Whatever it is, it is important to Leonard, and one of the things that hurts him, that makes him shield from me and strike at me, is that when he tells me that he loves me, I say nothing. I can say nothing.

Spock sat up, suddenly, triumphantly. So it is not illogical for him to tell me that he loves me -- I have only to find some way of assuring him of his value to me in return. We may solve at least one problem in this time. For a moment, he did not see McCoy by the door; when he saw him, finally, he took another moment to study him, standing there with his arms folded across his chest, familiar and defensive and stubborn.

McCoy cleared his throat. "Couldn't sleep," he said gruffly. "Neither could you?"

Spock shook his head, slid off the stone with stiff legs. "Will you lie with me tonight?"

McCoy nodded, shrugged off his shirt, and was sitting on the bed pulling his trousers and boots off when Spock lay down beside him. McCoy slid an arm around him, and jerked with surprise. "Spock, you're cold -- what the hell have you been doing? How long were you lying on that piece of rock?"

Spock calculated. "One and a half hours."

"Ever since you left me. Stupid idiot." Spock felt no warmer than human, which meant his body temperature was at least two degrees below Vulcan normal. McCoy pulled him closer, feeling almost too hot himself.

"There is something I must explain." Spock ignored his chilled body with what remained of his control.

"It can wait till morning." Whatever it was, McCoy didn't suppose he'd enjoy it.

"It cannot. Leonard, because I cannot tell you that I love you, I think that you do not understand how necessary you are to me."

"Spock. Don't. I don't want to talk about it, about any of it. Just sleep."

Spock nodded, slid one hand up Leonard's face in mute query. His bondmate hesitated a moment, but nodded, assenting; mind matched to mind and Spock slept, holding Leonard's mind in his as Leonard held him in his arms.

=@=@=

Nic Marlowe was on full life support. The security guard, alternately Sanger and Rowan, had stopped even pretending to be on guard; Sanger slouched by the entrance, face blank and eyes unseeing; Rowan flirted, almost mechanically, with every nurse that passed. McCoy and Chapel checked the life support registers alternately, every twelve hours, and the confirmed marks of twelve hours ago were all the communication they had on the subject.

Eight days till he and Spock left for Vulcan. The days slid past unstoppably, he could not catch and hold them. They were sleeping together again; it didn't seem to help McCoy, but at least he could ensure that Spock was sleeping, and eating. The Vulcan's control was a palpable thing, more and more visible as the days went on. McCoy found himself terrified of the day when it would, inevitably, break.

On the fourth day before they were due to leave, McCoy caught himself about to adjust the life-support controls. Marlowe's hold on life was fragile; it would be easy to widen the door and let him out of it. And if he lived, he'd be crippled; regen could never rebuild burned-out nerves. How long would a cripple live on a prison planet? And what would his life be like?

The Hippocratic Oath, that McCoy had sworn (illegally, on a Federation world, where no oath was held valid except to the State), forbade him to kill. Not even if it is asked of me.... "Gods," he said aloud, dropping his hand. "I mend torture victims." He glanced over his shoulder, automatically checking that the room was empty.

Chapel stood by the door. "Shit," McCoy muttered, then, louder, "Doctor Chapel. I didn't hear you come in."

"I just wanted to collect some notes," Chapel said, unruffled. She stepped to the life support couch, looking at McCoy, not the patient. "But I don't like mending torture victims either."

"You're a Federation officer," McCoy said flatly.

"I'm a medic, not a butcher. However, the controls are monitored."

"So?"

Chapel picked up the hypodermic from the nearby table and, holding it so that McCoy could see, set the controls to deliver one millilitre O2 gas. "So." A bubble in a vein, would stop the heart; McCoy hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."

She set the hypo against Marlowe's arm, pressed it. There was a moment, and then he died.

They shook hands, briefly, over his body; it would be necessary to leave it five minutes to make sure he was entirely dead. Then Chapel called Rowan, and McCoy set about trying to revive him: but Marlowe was safe away.

=@=@=

"You are a fool," Spock said. His voice was quite level, quite even. "It did not occur to you that there are both audio and visio relays throughout sickbay, continuously monitored by the computer?"

"No," McCoy said, just as evenly. "I take it you've wiped the record?"

"I have. This does not reduce the magnitude of your folly. Only the fact that I had instructed the computer to report all evidence that could be used against you to me first of all, prevented your crime being reported directly to the Captain."

"That alliance -- "

"Is a fragile thing at best; not to be put under undue strain, such as two of the alliance going against both standing orders and the Captain."

"So why didn't the Captain ask the alliance about this supposed traitor, Nic Marlowe?"

"I recommend that you not ask the Captain that, or at least not in that tone of voice, or it may be necessary for this leave on Vulcan to be lifelong."

"And Chapel?"

"Since what you did no longer exists on record, nor does the killing that she did."

"Good." McCoy caught the knife-edge of Spock's raised eyebrow and swung on him. "What we did may have been foolish, Spock, but it ended his pain. You put him into hell and we let him out. You've got no damned right to pass a moral judgement on me or on Chapel."

"I did no such thing," Spock said quietly, and left before McCoy could answer it.

=@=@=

Tired as Spock was, there was still one duty left. Kirk was probably in his cabin playing through a chess problem. Spock touched the door signal and was told brusquely to enter.

"Captain, I have to inform you that Ensign Marlowe is dead."

Kirk glanced up from the board. "Dead? I gave no orders..."

"No. His heart stopped. This does occur."

"Yes," Kirk said, and moved one piece at random. "Damn the boy. Why did he have to be such a stupid idiot?"

It was a rhetorical question, Spock assumed, and in any case he could see no profit in answering it. "Where is Ensign Jacobi?"

Kirk looked sharply at Spock, but laughed. "Can't keep a thing from you, can I, Spock? Lee's on duty for a couple more hours."

"You could have changed her watch-duty."

"Dammit, Spock, you know I don't do things like that. It's not worth the trouble it causes."

Spock could think of things he could have said, had never said; Kirk's monumental selfishness applied first and foremost to his ship, which made him an excellent Captain, one Spock was content to serve under. They made, in fact, a perfect team; Spock's steadiness balancing Kirk's impulsiveness, and while a human First Officer might have resented a Captain who invariably grabbed the glory that was going, Spock rather appreciated it.

And Kirk, in turn, appreciated him. "It's been a while since we had a game of chess, Spock?"

"If the Captain would excuse me... I am somewhat tired."

"Yes," Kirk said, noticing for the first time that Spock looked gaunt rather than thin. "You really do need this rest on Vulcan, don't you?"

"I do," Spock agreed. More than he could ever tell Kirk, even if he could find the words to explain the pon farr to him. If Leonard McCoy could not understand, James Kirk never would.

Kirk stood up, smiling at him. "You're off day after tomorrow? Take it easy, then -- I know I work you too hard." He touched Spock lightly, briefly, on the shoulder. "Good night, Spock."

"Good night, Captain," Spock said formally, turning to go. Rest? I wish I could.

=@=@=

Sarek had reacted as Amanda had anticipated. She had told him the evening before Spock and Leonard were expected that his son was returning home and there would be a family meeting tomorrow night which he would be expected to attend if he were resident.

"And don't," she added aloud "tell me you've suddenly remembered an urgent appointment in Uilakis." (A city, across the other side of the world, where Sarek did indeed have occasional business.)

Sarek lifted an eyebrow. "Then I will not. But I will not meet Spock."

Amanda sighed. Against the obdurate wall that both her bondmate and her son could present when they chose, she knew she would achieve nothing directly. "Is it logical, Sarek, to maintain a quarrel so long? You know I did not wish him to enlist in Starfleet either; but it was twenty years ago, and it would be fruitless to continue to argue against it."

"It is illogical," Sarek countered, "to seek out conflict unnecessarily."

"At all events, come to the gathering tomorrow night. I must attend it, since the elders required me to choose a companion for Leonard while Spock is in seclusion, and your company, t'hy'la, would give me great pleasure."

She had learned, over fifty-two years, to read the signs of amusement in a Vulcan face; Sarek's eyes glinted, and his eyebrows flickered. "Indeed, t'hy'la. Well, I will attend." But do not select me as Leonard's companion, or I will go to Uilakis and remain there for a year.

That would be most unsuitable. Amanda laid her hand over Sarek's, and for a while they sat in companionable silence.

=@=@=

It was when the transporter beam left them and McCoy realised that he was surrounded by more Vulcans than he'd ever seen at once in his life, that he went numb. The shuttle was crewed about half-human, half-Vulcan, but practically all the passengers were Vulcan. He followed Spock numbly to their seats, and sat uncommunicative for the three hours it took the shuttle to make landfall on the Vulcan spaceport. When Spock stood up, he followed him again, out of the shuttle where the fierce heat struck him like a blow, and across the vast landing ground. Their permits were checked cursorily at the gate onto the landing field.

Spock went straight through the spaceport and McCoy plodded drearily after him; it was barely dawn and already the sun was hot. He did feel, through the numbness, a trace of surprise as Spock reached the last building of the port and walked straight out onto the open desert; but as Spock paused and turned, glancing round, he saw a small aircar parked only a few metres away.

The pilot was a young Vulcan woman; she climbed out of the aircar as Spock approached. "Kuiasy Spock?"

"Mek'clio desri e gemise, T'aiu."

McCoy blinked, realising that he had understood them; those language tapes worked. He'd had no previous experience with tapes, relying on the subcutaneous translator, but Spock had had it removed yesterday. The young woman had addressed Spock by a word that translated as 'cousin' in McCoy's mind, though he was peripherally aware that it was more complex; and Spock had answered with a phrase of greeting, "Live long and prosper."

She was looking at him now. "Vokuiasy Leonard."

He could not copy that hand-gesture, but he repeated "Mek'clio desri e gemise, T'aiu."

And that, evidently, was all that Vulcans did when welcoming home a prodigal son. T'aiu asked Spock to sit in the other driver's seat since he was qualified to fly the aircar, and McCoy climbed up to the back seat with the two small carisaks that were all their luggage. Once in flight, T'aiu inquired whether they had had a good journey, and Spock answered, equally briefly, that it had been free from incident. The flight lasted just over half an hour, and there was no further conversation until Spock observed, as they were circling for landing, "I see that the elders have caused further irrigation since I was last here."

"Yes," T'aiu said, "it was agreed that there was need for more farmland."

That had stirred a flicker of intellectual curiosity, though no more, on the journey; all McCoy had ever read of Vulcan was its deserts, and yet in the last ten minutes of the flight they had left open desert and were crossing farmland, as far as the eye could see, irrigated by many canals.

The aircar landed on a plateau about halfway up a mountain. For a moment, T'aiu seemed to be running it straight into a wall of stone, and then the stone slid aside. Inside the mountain was a parking bay, with three aircars parked and room for easily six or seven more.

Waiting by a door dwarfed by the immensity of the bay, was a Vulcan child; McCoy would have guessed eight years old. Spock made for that door; McCoy followed him. T'aiu was leaving by another door across the room when McCoy looked round for her.

"Whose child are you?" Spock asked.

"Second son of Kyuir and Saioe, named Secor," the child said gravely.

"Kaiesin Secor."

"Live long and prosper, Spock."

"Vokaiesin Secor," McCoy added when the child looked at him.

"Live long and prosper, Leonard. I am to guide you to your rooms." He turned and opened the door, Spock following him through it and McCoy following a hesitation after. He lost all sense of direction quite quickly.

"These are your rooms," the child said, stopping by a door identical to all the other doors, so far as McCoy could see. "I am to guide you to the family meeting tonight; I will return here an hour before dusk." He left without waiting for a reply.

Inside, a broad, bright, airy, and surprisingly cool room. The floor was tiled, and a long, low couch and a low table were the only furniture, with a few soft floor cushions stacked by the couch. McCoy sat down wearily, looking up at Spock.

"I wish to meditate," the other said evenly. "The quiet chamber will be at the other end of the hall, through that door; do not disturb me."

Left alone, the human lay back on the couch. He hadn't slept much the last couple of nights, nor at all since before they left the Enterprise for the shuttle. Lonely, and weary, and full of miserable angers and angry miseries, McCoy slept.

=@=@=

Waking, hours later, out of a dream-ridden sleep, the protective numbness had vanished. He was here for two months. There was no getting out of it now. He was also thirsty and hungry. McCoy pushed himself to his feet and cautiously pushed aside the heavy felt-like cloth that curtained the doorway. It led on to a windowless corridor, with three curtained entrances off it and one door at the far end that was looked as if it were made of solid wood. The quiet chamber, presumably.

The other rooms were a small kitchen, a bathroom (fitted for water showers, McCoy noted with pleased astonishment) and a bedroom. All sparsely furnished, but it was not a matter of pure bleak functionality; there was grace in the bareness. He found a glass in the kitchen and had a long drink of water before investigating the cupboards.

Most of the food he didn't recognise, oddly-shaped vegetables and strangely-scented herbs. There was also some pre-prepared food in sealed cartons, lettered in Vulcan script. However, in one cupboard he found an array of human foods, even including a jar of coffee. There was a percolater, he noticed now, on the counter across the room. The bread was flat and hard, but recognisably bread, which was a relief. McCoy put the coffee on to perc, helped himself to a couple of pieces of bread, and went back through to the front room.

"Good afternoon," said the robed and hooded woman standing by the door, in flawless Standard.

"Uh -- live long and prosper," McCoy said, swallowing hastily, aware that his Vulcan did not compare with her Standard; he was surprised when she laughed.

"May you live in interesting times, Leonard." The hood thrown back, she was obviously human; he did not need to be told who she was. "I'm Amanda -- Spock's mother. I'm sorry, I'm interrupting your lunch."

"It's all right -- I just woke up. Um, Spock said he would meditate -- "

"I came to see you, actually." Amanda sat down on the couch. "I can't stay long, because I shouldn't be here -- sit down, Leonard."

McCoy sat, at the other end of the couch. However he had imagined Spock's mother, Amanda was nothing like it. Not a tall woman, looking almost frail (an illusion; must be) looking like anybody's granny, but with a fierceness in her that burnt through. He finished the last piece of bread in one bite, wondering what the hell was going on.

Amanda was wondering where the hell to start. "Did Spock tell you that while he's in seclusion, his family provide you with a companion to explain things?"

"Yes, he did."

"Good. I was given the duty, by the elders, of selecting your companion. Now, traditionally I should choose a man bonded to another man, who has experienced pon farr through his partner at least once before, and before he had experienced pon farr himself. But what occurred to me, was that I am the only other member of the family who knows what it's like to be a human bonded to a Vulcan going into pon farr -- so, if you feel comfortable with the idea, I will marshall all my most logical arguments and convince the elders that your companion should be me. If not, I have a couple of suitable men in mind; but I wanted to ask you what you'd prefer."

McCoy hesitated. Amanda grinned at him. "I left some coffee in your kitchen -- I'll go and put it on while you're thinking. You do drink coffee?"

"Yes -- "

Amanda vanished through the doorway and came back with two cups of coffee, a jar of honey, and a jug of milk, which had apparently been in a cooler unit that McCoy hadn't found. "You found the coffee. Sweeten and lighten yourself. The milk is from sheep; Vulcans approve of sheep. And bees."

"Sheep?"

"They're woolly, they bleat, and they live on scrub grass that nothing else could use. I call them sheep. The bees are Terran bees, imported a couple of centuries ago."

"What about all the vegetables and stuff?"

"From my own greenhouses. No, you're not depriving me; I always produce a surplus. It's not a luxury; humans do need certain dietary elements that aren't found much in a Vulcan diet. There's a kind of grain that's a native supply, and I ate bowlfuls of porridge before I had my greenhouses going effectively."

"And the coffee?"

"Doesn't grow well on Vulcan. It's imported. Luckily T'Fon has a passion for it, and always signs the requisitions." She finished her cup and stood up. "Leonard, I really am not supposed to be here at all, you're supposed to have a clear day before you meet any of the clan to speak to; have you considered?"

Better the devil you know -- "I'd rather it was you."

Amanda smiled. "All right; we'll meet tonight for the first time. The cooler's the top cupboard to the right of the door." Pulling her hood back over her head, she left quickly.

=@=@=

Spock had been meditating in the quiet chamber for hours -- for so long that when at last his mind slid from contemplation of the Infinite to realisation of the temporal world, his legs were cramped. By his timesense it was mid-afternoon outside. He must go out, and face Leonard, for in a few hours he would have to face all of his family that were resident in the house, and if he could not deal with his bondmate, how could he with them?

He would have to change out of his Starfleet uniform, as well. He so seldom wore anything else, it had only been the slight changes of surprise in both of his young cousins that had reminded him. Spock trusted that whoever had prepared these chambers had thought to provide robes for both himself and Leonard; turning up to a family meeting clad in alien uniforms would be perceived as a deliberate insult.

His bondmate was sitting in the conversation chamber. He stood up as Spock entered, and came over to him with a determined expression that reminded Spock of the first evening after they had been bonded; he was not surprised when Leonard took him by the shoulders and kissed him. The human was standing close to him, looking up with a peculiar expression, half-humorous, half-determined. Spock had the greatest respect for Leonard McCoy's determination, though he might not always approve its aim.

"What is it?"

"Kiss of peace?"

"Logical." Spock reciprocated, with tenderness but without passion. "Leonard, there are some things we should discuss. Have you investigated our chambers?"

"Only the kitchen. And that reminds me, Spock, you haven't eaten for at least twelve hours -- "

"Later. Come with me." Spock led them into the sleeping chamber and opened a door that he seemed to see immediately; McCoy had never noticed it. "Camouflage architecture," he muttered. Spock cast him a flickered eyebrow, but continued to look through the dark blue clothes hanging in the wardrobe.

"Excellent," he said finally, closing the door. "Appropriate clothing has been provided in both my size and yours."

"How would they know my size?"

"It is easily ascertained from your Starfleet records."

"How would they get hold of them -- oh. You transferred them. You might have told me."

Spock raised both his eyebrows. "Your opinion of my skills is gratifying, but not even I possess the ability to transfer a record from a Starfleet computer to a non-Starfleet computer without it being traced. So far as I know, the only way to accomplish such a transfer is to ask for it openly."

"And have sufficient clout to ensure that your request won't be refused," McCoy said slowly. "Spock, just who in your family is more powerful than the Supreme Commander of Starfleet?"

"T'Pau and Ch'vrei certainly. K'yiru quite possibly; she has many strange contacts in Empires other than the Federation."

McCoy opened his mouth, shut it again. To anyone else, he would have said either "You're serious?" or "You're kidding!" but Spock was never anything but the one and didn't seem to know how to do the other. Spock was carefully pulling out two long robes and laying them out on the bed.

"And I have to wear that?"

=@=@=

Amanda, and Sarek (who was greeted with such an entire absence of raised eyebrows as to be pointedly noticable) were placed at the left hand of the elders. The Hall of the Illustrious Ancestors was not crowded, but Amanda calculated that there must be at least fifty or so of the clan present. That meant that all the adults resident had turned up, which in turn meant that there was no reaction against a second non-Vulcan bonding in such a short space of time as fifty-two years.

She was aware when Spock and Leonard entered, by some raising of the hair on the back of her neck, nothing more. There was no abrupt silence or increased sound of conversation. Amanda lost the thread of her conversation with Kyuir, and the younger woman had to politely pick it up for her. "You were saying, Amanda, that Terinashu's political limits are most easily seen in his treatment of the secondary figures in his saga, such as the Thief or the PsiWarrior...?"

Maybe, Amanda thought, but right now I can't imagine what the hell I meant by it. "I'm sorry, I'm a little distracted -- "

Kyuir lifted an eyebrow, but her voice was even. "I found what you were saying most interesting, but perhaps this is not the time. I shall be most pleased to meet your son again. The last time I met him, we had a very stimulating discussion on Terinashu's work."

Spock was moving through the hall, looking perfectly in control of himself. Leonard was following him very closely; Amanda wondered if he needed rescuing. He seemed to be coping, and it would be regarded as inappropriate. It was her first sight of her son in seven years, and that had been at a distance and under circumstances that had precluded any conversation. He had fled back to Starfleet, back to the humans who did not even know what questions not to be asked.

"Indeed," Amanda said absently. "Perhaps you will have the opportunity at some point during his stay here."

Forty-odd relatives took a lot of greeting. Spock must have noted his father's presence, but both of them were diplomatically circulating in opposite directions. Amanda remained still. Spock could hardly avoid her. Kyuir shot her a single look that it took all her Vulcan experience to read as embarrassment (of course; Spock is not supposed to have time to discuss anything until he's through pon farr) and Spock, with Leonard, was approaching.

"Kaie Spock," Kyuir said formally. "Vokaie Leonard."

"Live long and prosper," Spock said, and Leonard repeated. The human looked intensely bored; Amanda, remembering her first formal meeting with her new Vulcan family, could only grin. "Spock, welcome home. Leonard, welcome."

Spock's lifting eyebrows betrayed surprise. "Live long and prosper."

"I'm Amanda," she forestalled anything McCoy might have said. "Spock's mother."

Spock whisked Leonard on to other relatives before either his mother or his bondmate could say anything more untraditional; he was indeed being very Vulcan this evening. Some time later, Amanda felt Sarek returning to stand beside her as Spock approached the elders, and reached out to touch fingertip to fingertip.

You embarrassed our son.

I was trying to relieve the boredom of his bondmate.

Having each greeted Spock and Leonard, Ch'vrei, as eldest, poured out the cup of water, and T'Pau, the most nearly related, broke the bread into six pieces. It was hard dry bread, the sort Vulcans had made for journey-rations for seven thousand years.

Ch'vrei drank, and gave the cup to McCoy. "This is our blood; drink, and be one."

He drank and (Amanda crossed her fingers) did not give the cup to Spock but handed it back to Ch'vrei, who gave it with ritual solemnity to T'Pau, who drank and passed it to K'yiru, and took up one piece of bread. "This is our body; eat, and be one." She gave it to McCoy, who managed to bite into it without breaking any teeth. T'Pau had eaten her portion and was giving the dry pieces to the other elders.

Leonard looked as if he could have done with another drink; Amanda remembered nearly choking on her piece of journey-bread. One more ceremony, and then they could go.

"Our daughter Amanda," Saiej said formally. "Have you chosen a companion for our son Leonard, while his bondmate is in the Time of Seclusion?"

"I have. Myself." Amanda moved forward, aware of silence; of course, Vulcans did not gasp in shock. "I am the only logical choice; only I know what it is to be a human, bonded to a Vulcan; and though some might see a certain impropriety, I am certain that you will see the wisdom of allowing logic to rule over propriety."

She folded her hands and stood calmly, not allowing one vestige of her awareness that she had just out-manoeuvred T'Pau, Ch'vrei, and Saiej's first argument against her choice, to show on her face. Of course, either of the women might think of other arguments. As for T'Fon and K'yiru, their amusement was plain even to her.

"Are there any objections to our daughter Amanda's choice?" Saiej asked quite evenly.

"None," T'Fon said with a lifted eyebrow, and "None," K'yiru echoed her. T'Pau signalled negation with one lift of her hand, evidently not wishing to speak, and Ch'vrei paused for a long moment. "None," she said finally. "My compliments on the wisdom of your choice, daughter."

That should have been Saiej's line. Amanda swallowed down a nervous laugh, and bowed to the five of them, ending the formal gathering. The elders would remain until everyone else had left, and under the circumstances it would be courteous to leave as fast as possible.

"Spock, Leonard, will you accompany me to my chambers?"

There was absolutely no way Spock could refuse; particularly as Amanda gave him no time to do so, but turned and left the Hall of the Illustrious Ancestors as if assuming they were following. Sarek, of course, had vanished. The man should have been a bloody diplomat.

=@=@=

For McCoy, the hour spent in the vast hall had been underlined by one phrase, I do not want to be here. The long robe had been more comfortable than he'd thought, and though he felt ridiculous it was quite easy to wear, once he got the knack of not tripping over the edges. He had followed at Spock's heels, being introduced to umpteen Vulcans all of whom, it seemed, were related to him by marriage. He had grown very tired of repeating the endless formulae. Amanda had been the one friendly face in the middle of it all, and Spock had whisked him on to more relatives whose names and connection to him he could not, for the life of him, remember.

"What did that ceremony mean?" he asked, in Amanda's sitting room. "The bread and the water...?"

"The meeting is so that all the family may overlook the newest member," Spock said flatly. "In pre-Reform times, it would have been mortally necessary, as only children of your own clan were safe with you. The water is of life, and the bread of truce, and to drink and eat ceremonially with the elders before all of the clan makes you by the oldest laws of Vulcan, one with the clan."

"It's a marriage ceremony," Amanda said, handing McCoy a mug of coffee. "Spock, I can't remember, do you take milk or honey?"

"Neither," Spock said, still flatly. "Thank you, Mother, I will have no coffee."

McCoy glanced from one face to the other, and buried his face in the mug of coffee. Spock and his mother did not look alike, but now, facing each other, there was a kinship visible in the stance, in the look in their eyes.

But Amanda said, very gently, very mildly, "Of course not, Spock, when you're just going to bed. Can I offer you milk? Or fruit juice? Or water? And perhaps we had better share a piece of bread."

"Mother, there is no need of truce between us."

"I think that there is, my son. I did not wish you to join Starfleet."

"Mother -- "

"Perhaps I'd better go," McCoy said hastily, getting to his feet, wondering if he would be able to find his way back to their rooms from here.

"No, Leonard, stay," Amanda said quietly. "Spock, that argument is twenty-two years stale. It is finished. You have made your choice. And you and Leonard are both welcome here."

"Are we? Is my father here to welcome me and eat this bread of truce?"

"I welcome you," Amanda said with steel.

"So I see." Spock gestured McCoy towards the door. "Good night, Mother."

"Wait. Leonard, I will see you tomorrow morning to discuss what we have to discuss. Good night, my sons."

The door, like all doors designed on Vulcan, shut without a sound. When Sarek returned, a couple of hours later, he found Amanda in bed, but not asleep, though she was shielding so deeply that he could not touch her mind.

=@=@=

Walking back to their rooms, McCoy did his best to memorise the route; Spock walked quickly and in silence, his face set. "How big is this place?" McCoy asked finally.

"There are chambers for eight hundred, of all generations. And of course, there are chambers for work, for storage, for exercise, for relaxation, and for family occasions as tonight."

"How many in your family?"

"A hundred and twenty-three, in the immediate clan. About twice as many again who live in other clans. But this was carved out of the mountain over a a period of one hundred and seventy-eight years, three thousand and forty-seven years ago, in pre-Reform times. The number of people in the clan was greater then, though lives were shorter."

"I hate accuracy," McCoy muttered. Three thousand years. He had no idea what his remote ancestors had been doing in 700 BC. Some of them, maybe, might have been carving pyramids. "How do you know so much about it?"

"Family history is always taught to children, whatever other fields of study they may choose to specialise in."

They reached the door of their rooms; McCoy made straight for the kitchen. "You're hungry."

"No," Spock said quietly.

"Whether you are or not, you're eating. You're too damned thin."

Spock leant unobtrusively against the wall of the food chamber. "Leonard," he began, and could not think how he had meant to finish the sentence. He only knew he could not endure his bondmate's bullying, not tonight, not and stay on his feet.

McCoy turned, realised that Spock was not standing upright, and was across the room in two strides, putting his arms around the other man. "Stupid," he accused himself, guiding Spock out of the door and to their bedroom. "Stupid," he added to Spock, as his bondmate attempted to pull himself free. "Lie down." He undressed Spock as he would a child already asleep, and Spock endured it with -- almost -- satisfaction. "Listen, I know you can go without sleep for days and not notice, so how long was it this time?"

"Three days," Spock murmured, even enjoying being tucked in, the cotton covers wrapped around him. McCoy went away and came back with two steaming cups, "Hot milk and honey. Don't argue, Spock, you can use it."

He drank obediently, lying against Leonard, feeling at home for the first time since he had spoken to his cousin T'aiu. "Leonard," he added, after he had finished the cup, "I do not like hot milk. With or without honey."

His bondmate put both cups safely down on the floor, flinging an arm across Spock's chest. "Never mind. Sleep, Spock." Linked lightly, they drifted into dreams that were not shared.

=@=@=

When McCoy woke, Spock was gone, having left no message. He put a sketchy breakfast together and did his best to reverse the trail taken last night, to Amanda's rooms. He found what he thought was the right door, and knocked.

No answer, so he pushed the door (which was neither locked nor had any lock) open and went in. There was a picture of a Terran landscape that he remembered from last night, otherwise he wouldn't have been sure if he had the right room.

While he stood looking at it, a Vulcan man came in from the other doorway and stood stock still, staring with eyes cold as ice. McCoy could not remember him, but knew that he might well have been introduced to him last night. He could not remember, either, what the hell he was supposed to say, or if he was supposed to speak first, and certainly not what relation this man might be to him.

"My son's bondmate," the man said icily. "The Starfleet officer."

McCoy twitched. At least he now knew who this man was. "Uh, live long and prosper...." He trailed off.

"At the moment, I can think of no reason why I should wish that you do either, lieutenant-commander."

"I'm a doctor," McCoy said, bristling.

"Sarek," said Amanda, entering the room behind him, "you didn't meet Leonard last night. I asked him here this morning because we've things to talk about."

"Indeed. Then I will leave you to your discussion." He departed, and the room returned, so far as McCoy was concerned, to the temperate zone.

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

Amanda shrugged. "I don't know where to start... let's go up to my greenhouses. I need to do some work there, and it's usually quiet."

=@=@=

"You're in good health," the Healer said impersonally. "Surprisingly so for someone as far along in the slan xei as you are." Her eyebrows flickered. "I suppose that's what comes of having a Healer for a bondmate?"

Spock refused to answer the gesture. "Indeed."

"You should enter the plak tow in less than five days; I can only estimate, for lack of data on your reaction to ewreiu, but I think it is probable that the plak tow will be three or four days longer than average. I recommend, therefore, that you eat high-calorific foods for the next five days, however little you feel inclined." Kyuir paused a moment, as if waiting for something, but as Spock sat impassively still, she lifted her eyebrows and added "It would be appropriate for me to meet with your bondmate today."

"I believe that he is in discussion with my mother, this morning."

Kyuir paused a moment, checking her timesense. "At this time in the morning, Amanda is usually in her greenhouses. Shall we go up together?"

=@=@=

Amanda was whistling softly as she worked among the green growing things; the familiar smells of Terran plants were comforting to McCoy as he watched her. "How did you come to be here?" he asked suddenly, adding "Don't say if you'd rather not -- "

The older human pushed her hair back from her forehead, smiling. "Why wouldn't I? No, I'm not a renegade Starfleet officer, if that's what you're thinking -- though you might call me a renegade. I'm a runaway. I daresay you could find the Federation records of one Amanda Grayson, who went missing on Vulcan fifty-two years ago, and died in the desert."

"But how were you here in the first place?"

"I was part of the troupe of retainers that a member of the High Council always travels with, and when this High Councillor was making a tour of Vulcan, I fell in love. Do you believe in love at first sight, Leonard?"

"No. I don't think so."

Amanda smiled, a private, reminiscent smile. "No, neither did I. But from the moment I first saw this world, I fell in love with it. From then on, I was looking out for a chance to get away, and five days into the trip, I found it."

"Was it here?"

"No, in a city called Uilakis, about three thousand miles away. I just climbed out of the window, which wasn't far from the ground. I thought it was only a matter of keeping out of sight until the High Councillor and his people had left, and then demanding to stay. I was wrong, but luckily I ran into a young Vulcan who was visiting his dead wife's family. He helped me, and later we bonded, and once we were bonded, I was as safe on Vulcan as a Vulcan. There was no way they would have let a runaway human stay, but the bondmate of Sarek son of T'Pau, that was a different matter."

McCoy knew that Spock had entered a moment earlier; Amanda looked up, but finished her story, adding "Good morning, my son. Good morning, Kyuir."

"Live long and prosper, Amanda," Kyuir said, pulling a green tomato off a plant surreptitiously. Amanda only grinned. "And to you, Leonard. You should have told him, Amanda, since you are instructing him, that anyone's bondmate would have been allowed to stay; the fact that your bondmate was T'Pau's son merely facilitated your adoption. After all, once bonded, there is nothing that even the Council of Families can do to split the two apart." She turned to Leonard. "Your bondmate is in good health; he will enter the plak tow in five days. I imagine, Healer, that you have been ensuring that he eat. I advise that you continue to ensure it -- " her eyebrows flickered -- "though I sympathise with the problems that this can cause."

McCoy knew he should answer this, should meet Kyuir half way, but five days? Only five days? Two weeks, and Spock would be in pon farr. Uncomfortably immediate.

He said nothing; after a moment, Spock said stiffly "If you have nothing further to discuss with Leonard this morning, we will leave you, Mother." McCoy stood up promptly, sorry to end the peaceful time, but not particularly anxious to stay in the same room as Spock and Amanda.

Kyuir lifted one hand. "I had not finished, Spock. Further, Leonard, we established that the plak tow will in this instance probably be rather longer than normal, perhaps fourteen days. I cannot be certain because there is no other data on a Vulcan/human hybrid, and the last time that Spock was in this condition, he was not available for proper assessment to be made."

Spock was aware of McCoy's eyes on him, though his bondmate said nothing at all, but only folded his hands behind his back and nodded as though to a casual piece of information. Amanda said briskly, "I'll see you again tomorrow morning, Leonard, but if there's anything you want to discuss, you know where I live."

McCoy nodded again, and slipped out of the door ahead of Spock. The greenhouses were built on top of the house/mountain, a cap of glass, and from inside they were an endless rambling maze of glass and water. McCoy stopped, common sense pulling him up, in the middle of a room full of tiny reddish-purple leafless plants covered with small bright yellow flowers. The room was heavy with a not entirely pleasant scent, reminiscent somehow (McCoy thought) of steaming rot.

"I only know how to get back to Amanda's rooms. Which way to ours?"

Silently, Spock turned towards a door in the west side of the glass room, and McCoy followed him. Soon enough, they were down into the cooler darkness of the mountain.

=@=@=

"You wish to know why I did not tell you I had approached pon farr before," Spock forestalled, he hoped, his bondmate.

"You lied."

"No. I have never consummated pon farr before. An event occurred while I was in the plak tow, seven years ago, that ended it."

Unforgiving of himself, McCoy knew that the sudden uplift of his heart was hope -- maybe I won't have to go through with this --

"I did not tell you because there seemed no point," Spock said levelly, "but it is also true that I did not know how. I still do not."

"No point? Spock, you told me you'd never been bonded before -- no, you didn't. You just said you'd never had sex before."

"All male Vulcan children are bonded at the age of seven. Female Vulcan children need not be, since they risk nothing."

"Who were you bonded to?"

"A woman named T'Pring. She was distantly related to me; the bonding had been arranged to link the two halves of our family together again."

"What happened? Did you -- " he couldn't quite bring himself to finish it, but Spock, face set into a mask, said icily, "No. It was not her I killed. A man named Vanadi."

McCoy turned away, walking carefully across the conversation room's smooth-tiled floor, looking with intentness at a random pattern in the grain of the stone walls. He ran a finger down a line in the stone, saying, "So you don't actually need to have sex. You could just kill someone." The hope had died, and in his gut worms of apprehension were crawling.

"If I thought that what happened seven years ago could happen again," Spock said with a terrible quietness in his voice, "I would kill myself now."

McCoy pressed his face against the wall, unable to turn and look at Spock. "Where is T'Pring?"

"She is serving as a chattel in the house of Vanadi's family. I gave her to them."

"Why? What did she do?"

"She challenged the bonding, which made her chattel. My property, since I won the fight of challenge. Leonard, will you look at me."

The human pushed himself away from the wall, turned himself carefully, and looked at his bondmate. Spock's face was still a mask. "I give you my word," the mask said, "that there is nothing that I would not do to prevent -- "

"My becoming your chattel?"

"Only if you challenge the bonding," Spock said. The room was utterly still. "If you do intend to challenge, Leonard, do not wait until I am in the plak tow."

Unable to speak, McCoy shook his head. He took two steps away from the wall, folding his hands behind his back to keep them from shaking. I told you -- I don't want you to die, Spock. Still as carefully as though the stone floor and his bondmate were made of eggshells, he went to Spock and put his arms round him, pulling Spock's head down to his shoulder. I don't want you to die. I don't want you to die.

Then I will not; it is your decision. Carefully, Spock returned the hug. I am sorry; I should have told you before this, long ago.

I'm sorry, McCoy answered, his face buried against Spock's shoulder, feeling Spock's breath on his neck. I didn't mean to -- over-react. He tugged Spock towards the couch. Sit down. Tell me about it.

It was necessary to detach themselves somewhat in order to sit down on the couch, but McCoy kept an arm around Spock's shoulders, holding the other against him, wanting the security of touch.

"Tell me," he repeated aloud.

"T'Pring and I were bonded when we were seven. She was the second daughter of the eldest daughter of T'Peryin, who was the younger daughter of the sister of T'Pau's mother. The two sides of the family had drifted apart; this marriage was intended to link them together once again, and also to keep the bonding of the part-human hybrid within the family."

"They told you that? When you were seven?"

"The logic of the decision was explained to me, yes." Spock sounded unmoved. "It was explained to me that I was not to consider human genes inferior, nor myself inferior for possessing them, but that this family had made the decision, nine years ago, to admit human genes, which decision other families on Vulcan had not made, and should not be forced on them. I was considered old enough to understand logic and reason."

McCoy was silent. He was trying to imagine a child, seven years old, having it explained to him that because he was part human, he would not be allowed to marry outside the family. Could a child be comforted by such cold logic?

After a moment, Spock went on. "T'Pring and I shared few of the same interests. When we were fourteen, our paths of education diverged; I met her a total of thirty-seven times, in the next fifteen years, each time on a formal family occasion and at no time for longer than a few hours. When I was twenty-nine I left to join Starfleet, and did not see her at all, until, fifteen years later, I realised that I was almost in the plak tow. I applied for emergency leave on Vulcan, and was informed through family channels that I should go directly to the place of marriage and challenge, where we would be wed with full ceremony as soon as possible.

"T'Pring had since acquired a lover, a more distant connection of us both. I believe that they both trusted that I would die, far from Vulcan, and they could bond."

"Vanadi?"

"No, his name was Stonn. Vanadi came to the ceremony to do me honour; by custom, the male is accompanied by his closest friends. T'Pring challenged the bonding, and chose Vanadi for her champion. She did not wish to risk Stonn." Spock hesitated for one moment. "Her logic was flawless. If Vanadi had defeated and killed me, as he should have done, he would not want her; he was exclusively male-directed, and therefore she would have her Stonn. If by some mischance I killed Vanadi, I would probably not survive having done so, and as her elders approved the match between her and Stonn, she would still have him. Unfortunately, I killed Vanadi, and survived."

McCoy rubbed Spock's shoulder, wordless. They sat together for a while; the diffuse line of light moved across the floor. Spock was still as ice, his face frozen. He did not seem to be aware that McCoy was touching him, and the muscles in his shoulders were like knotted steel.

Spock was remembering, vividly sharp as the edge of a scalpel, one day twenty-three years ago --

(He and Vanadi had completed the last of their formal education, and had each gone home; Spock did not expect to see the other man often again. A year, and he had not yet informed his elders of the pattern of his life-choice. He knew what they expected; for him to go to the Academy, and combine his chosen paths of study, computers and ecosystems, in the dry and stony walks of abstract thought.

Twenty-three years ago, he had been called to the Guest Hall to find Vanadi waiting for him. Formally they greeted each other, as befitted two in the age of responsibility, but soon they were talking like young students again. Though it had been high summer, Spock remembered the day as if it were rainwashed, lit with the clear watery light of joy.

In the evening, in Spock's chambers (still those of one in an age of service, since he had not yet made a decision of responsibility) Vanadi asked at last "And what do you plan to do with the next seventy years?"

Every time this question had been asked before, he had answered it (truthfully) "Various possibilities of interest exist." Before Vanadi's query, he was silent.

"Everyone I've mentioned you to has assumed you'll go on to the Academy, for a few years anyway." Vanadi tilted his head slightly to one side. "But if you had definitely decided on that, you'd have told me."

"I have not yet come to a final decision."

"Well, what are the other possibilities?"

Spock hesitated. He had never said this aloud to anyone else, though he had been considering, and investigating, the concrete possibility for more than half a year. "Starfleet."

Vanadi lifted an eyebrow. "That's certainly interesting. What do your elders think of it?"

"I have not discussed this possibility with anyone, until now."

Vanadi leant back and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "It's not a possibility that would have occurred to me. But I perceive the logic; only in Starfleet could you study alien ecosystems in their actuality, not in representation."

Spock was not aware except by the cool flood of relief that washed over him, of how much he had been afraid that Vanadi, the one person he had ever known who could and would follow his thoughts along whatever trail they led, would find a sticking point here. "Yes. If I went to the Academy, I would be expected to create representative models of ecosystems and study them, never to look and study what I can see."

"Then why your indecision?" Vanadi asked, leaning forward and planting his elbows on the table between them.

The excitement died in Spock. Coolly and precisely, he said "The elders of my family would never approve such a decision. Therefore, I must consider something else."

"Present it as a logical, rational decision, and they'll accept it," Vanadi pointed out. "We're not children, to be protected from our own logic."

"They might accept it. They would not approve."

"But what do you want, Spock?"

"Starfleet," Spock said without hesitation. "But I do not need -- "

"If it's what you want, do it." Vanadi had spoken emphatically, abruptly, and a disturbed silence fell. After a moment he added, "Spock, I've known you fifteen years. I've never heard you say 'I want' about anything that mattered. I've known you deny yourself something you wanted because you didn't think that a pure Vulcan would want it. I've even known you deny yourself what you want because you don't think a pure Vulcan would want it so much. Spock, as I am your friend and your brother, I want you to have what you want, not what you think your family would approve."

"You urge me to become a renegade?"

"If you make a logical decision about your life, what reason have your elders to declare you renegade? Spock, go."

Vanadi had had to leave the next morning, and Spock had not seen him again for sixteen years. T'Pau's demand, "Are thee Vulcan or are thee human?" and Vanadi coming from the gathered family to stand at his side, answering for him, "As Vulcan as I am, T'Pau," when Spock could not speak -- and then T'Pring's challenge. Seven years ago.)

- Leonard was still rubbing at his shoulder, he must say something. How long had he been lost in memory?

Long after McCoy had begun to feel superfluous, Spock shifted slightly, raising his head, and said, deliberately level, "Did you have any programme planned for this afternoon, Leonard?"

McCoy shook his head, pulling away and leaning against the back of the couch. He supposed it must be well past noon, but had no way to tell. Spock had told him to remove his watch, which would in any case be useless in Vulcan's longer day, and he had seen no clocks, anywhere. It added to the feeling of being lost.

"You will not be permitted to leave the house once I enter seclusion, but there is no reason why we should not go for a walk this afternoon."

"A walk?"

"Through the farmland. Probably there will be an aircar free; we could go to the Geirui."

McCoy shrugged, trying to suppress both the pleasure he felt at going for a walk with Spock, and the resentment of that pleasure -- like a dog bouncing up when the owner picks up the leash -- He smiled, neither too cool nor too warm, and said, "Yes, Spock. I'd like that."

=@=@=

The Geirui were hills, scrub grassland. McCoy saw, at a distance, the animals Amanda had called sheep, and could see why. Except that they each had three horns, short flat efficient tools that Spock said they used to dig up roots, they were very like Terran sheep.

They had walked for a while, not talking, and lain down to rest in the shade of some huge rocks until the sun was close to the horizon. "We must attend family meal tonight," Spock said abruptly, as they walked back to the aircar. "While I am in seclusion both you and I are released of all family duties, but until then we have no excuse."

McCoy had enjoyed the hours with Spock, mostly silent; when he had had questions, he had asked them, but Spock had not seemed disposed either to volunteer information or to initiate conversation. For a while, lying in the shade of the stones, on the springy not-quite-sage-scented grass, his head pillowed on Spock's shoulder, he had been able to forget -- not that they were on Vulcan, not exactly. But for what purpose. And what Spock would do to him, in less than three weeks.

But the family meal was not the nightmare McCoy had feared. True, nobody spoke to him, but that was fine. He understood Vulcan when Vulcans spoke fairly slowly, but when they were talking at speed to each other, he missed at least one word in three. Listening to the conversations running over his head was good practice.

There were Vulcans of all ages at the meal, from (McCoy guessed) age six (eight?) upwards. It seemed to be a rule that children under a certain age didn't speak unless spoken to; he wondered, a little wryly, if that rule was supposed to apply to him. Amanda was there, but seated further up the table from him, beside the Vulcan man who had frozen him out when they had met. Sarek, Spock's father. Everyone was dressed in the formal robes of varying shades of blue.

He kept going on willpower, eventually. When he reached their rooms with Spock, he showered in blissfully warm water, dried himself roughly, and rolled, still slightly damp, into bed. Spock switched the light off (no voice-operated lights in the entire house) and came silently into bed, in the dark.

With relief, McCoy reached for him. Spock said, out of the dark, quite abruptly, "You comported yourself quite well at supper. But it is not necessary to sit for an hour in silence waiting for someone to speak to you; you are old enough to speak for yourself."

McCoy recoiled. "I had nothing to say," he snapped, "and no reason to say anything. If I'm supposed to be there, I'll be there, but I have no reason to talk." He was lying on his back with his arms tight down by his sides; Spock lay still within arm's reach. McCoy did not relax enough to sleep until after he knew Spock had gone to sleep, and then his rest was troubled, full of unquiet dreams he could not remember.

=@=@=

When he woke up the next morning the first thing he thought was, four days, even before he remembered what it meant. In his sleep he had turned over and was lying against Spock, one arm thrown over his chest. He pulled away, and climbed out of bed. Amanda would give him breakfast.

Amanda had just woken up, but seemed pleased to see him. "This time of year Sarek always gets up at ungodly hours. I quite like company over breakfast, but not when breakfast is an hour before dawn. How is Spock?"

"Fine," McCoy muttered, and then, more intelligently, added "I'm sorry, but I can't give you a medical update. I don't know enough."

Amanda shrugged. "So long as he isn't climbing the walls. There are two reasons for seclusion; one is to keep the man in plak tow away from the rest of us, and the other is to keep the rest of us away from him. So long as Spock feels able to attend family dinner -- he was just as usual afterwards?"

"Yes. Just as usual."

"Then everything is probably still all right."

McCoy drank coffee and said nothing. After a moment he asked suddenly "What was Spock like when he was a child?"

Amanda frowned. "He was quiet. Curious. Most Vulcan children are curious; they're encouraged to ask questions, and have them answered. I suppose Spock was quieter than most. I was glad he looked so wholly Vulcan; it made things easier for him while he was in the creché. That's where the under-sevens mostly spend the daytime," she added, and after a moment "Would you like to see it?"

=@=@=

In the first, main room of the creché, there were three children playing, building a complex castle out of blocks that could evidently be pressed into different sizes and shapes. The moment that they looked up and caught sight of Amanda and McCoy entering, they all three abandoned the building and two -- the older two -- turned and raced out of the room. The third and youngest rolled over on to her stomach and stared at McCoy with absorbed, speechless, curiosity.

As a middle-aged Vulcan man came out of a door across the room, raised an eyebrow, and crossed to meet them, the two children came tearing back, followed by a horde of other children of all ages. "Amanda."

"Suiarh," Amanda said politely, to McCoy's gratitude. The Vulcan looked at him and said, not coldly, "Leonard. I had not expected to see you here for at least another thirty days."

"He doesn't have household duties, but I thought he might like to look around."

Suiarh lifted his eyebrows. "So will the children." They were all staring at McCoy; not a horde, now they were standing still, but -- McCoy counted -- five of them, from toddlers to six or seven year olds. At least he wouldn't be expected to know their names already.

Amanda showed him through the three main rooms, all bearing signs of having been left in a hurry. The children followed them at a distance, staring. The fourth room was a nursery; two children too young to walk were lying in large padded cots, playing with complicated mobiles that hung above them. Another adult was also there, a portable terminal on her lap, tinkering with the hologram that hung in the air before her. She gestured at them to be quiet, and Amanda backed out.

"T'Erei. I suppose Revaes is asleep, if there are two babies in the nursery now. He was probably up all night. Leonard, would you mind if I left you here? I'll meet you back in my chambers at noon, but I should see to my greenhouses. Or if you'd rather come back up with me -- "

"No," McCoy said hastily, "I'll stay here." He liked children; he had even liked the stint in paediatrics in med training, and he had loved the two years he had had of his own daughter, a bright and healthy and happy and robust toddler when he had last seen her. Besides, it felt unlikely that Spock would come to look for him here.

Left alone, he moved towards the bookshelves, careful not to tread on any toys. The books were designed, obviously, for children -- large, and capable of being laid flat, with smooth plastic pages that would not wrinkle and could be wiped clean. He pulled one down from the shelf at random, and opened it near the beginning. They were also all in Vulcan script, which McCoy could not read. Just then a small polite voice said from behind him, "Excuse me, Leonard."

McCoy put the book back, turned and squatted down on his heels, to be face to face with her. Her? All the children were dressed more or less alike, and in what seemed to be simply scaled-down versions of adult informal dress; loose trousers and sleeved tunic. All the adults had short hair, all these children had long, braided hair. He thought that this child was female, but he knew he was guessing. Anyway, she was one of the older children, so she must be six or seven. He could not have begun to guess at that, either. "Why do you have blue eyes?" she asked.

Her eyes were brown. He remembered being introduced to Vulcans with green eyes, with black eyes, with darkly purple eyes, but come to think of it, none had blue. "I was born with them."

She nodded. A boy about her age, perhaps younger, who had approached while she was talking to him, asked "Do all Terrans have blue eyes?"

"No, silly," the girl retorted with scorn. "Amanda has brown eyes."

He looked confused for an instant, but recovered and asked "Do all Terran males have blue eyes?"

"No," McCoy said gravely. "Some have brown, some green, some grey or blue."

A still-smaller child, three? four? ran up full of visible excitement and demanded something incomprehensibly. McCoy shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

The older girl frowned. "Yuite wants to know what happened to your ears."

"Nothing," McCoy said patiently. "I was born that way. What's your name?" he asked the older girl.

"T'Avori. This is Silxor."

The smaller child demanded something else; McCoy still didn't understand, though he caught the odd word. He looked at T'Avori enquiringly.

"Yuite wants to know if you and Amanda are related."

"No," McCoy began, when Silxor interrupted. "How could they be, silly? Leonard's bonded to Spock and Amanda is Spock's mother." Yuite had sat down with a thump and was simply watching McCoy with enormous eyes.

"Silly yourself," T'Avori snapped, "they could be in the same clan."

"No, we're not related," McCoy said again.

The other two children, probably older than Yuite but younger than Silxor, had gone back to the first room. They had been building the castle, and had evidently stared their fill at McCoy.

"Why do you talk funny?" Yuite asked, this time very slowly.

McCoy shrugged. "I only just learnt Vulcan."

"But you're grown-up," Silxor said.

"Yes; I learnt Vulcan off tapes less than -- forty days ago." He had been going to say "a month" and had found no word equivalent. Vulcan had no moon. The two older children stared like the youngest for a moment, clearly completely taken aback.

Suiarh came in, glanced around. "Children, I think that you should tidy up."

"Ah, why?" T'Avori demanded.

"I think that you should tidy up because you and Silxor are going hiking this afternoon, and if you leave all your toys lying around on the floor, when you come back you will not know where anything is." Suiarh's eyebrows flickered. "Do you think that this is logical, T'Avori, Silxor?"

T'Avori groaned and started to get up with deliberately exaggerated, weary-creaking-joints difficulty. "I suppose so."

Silxor followed her, asking "What about Yuite?" The smallest child was still sitting on the floor, rapt in contemplation of McCoy, who had stood up again when T'Avori did.

"Yuite," Suiarh said crisply. The small child looked round. "Your older siblings are going to work at tidying up this room. You can be as grown-up as them and help, or you can be little and stay out of the way."

Yuite grinned and said something McCoy didn't understand. T'Avori groaned and rolled her eyes up. Suiarh glanced at her. "Very well, Yuite, you may be little and stay out of the way. Come." He held out a hand; she pouted but got up and took it.

"Is Leonard little or grown-up?" Silxor asked, visibly provocative.

Suiarh's eyes glinted, but he answered "The question is irrelevant. Leonard did not leave this room in a mess." He turned and left, Yuite with him. The two older children began to put things away with rather more attention than McCoy would have expected from a pair of human six year olds; but by the time the floor was clear, they had slowed down and were asking him questions again.

He answered all he could, and promised to come back tomorrow to answer more, and thought very little of time until Suiarh came in again and said "Leonard, it is nearly noon, and Amanda will be expecting you."

=@=@=

Amanda was having trouble with Leonard. He and Spock had been here three days now -- four, counting the first day -- and while Amanda had not expected much from her son (even if Spock were naturally communicative, in the days before plak tow he would never be) she had thought that Leonard might be easier.

He talked, all right; about Vulcan, about the weather, about history and about architecture. He seemed to spend most of the mornings in the creché; Suiarh said that he and the elder children were getting on well together. Revaes too commented on his ease with the children. T'Erei remarked that at least he knew how to change a diaper; which from her was high praise.

But he did not talk about Spock, and he did not talk about the approaching plak tow and kee mvar; and Amanda had not yet tried to make him. Or even to insist on talking about either. If she was not to fail in this duty she had taken on, she would have to make him talk about what he didn't want to talk about.

Maybe she should have given the duty to someone else. Suiarh. (He would have hated it, but he was male-bonded, and after forty-three years of dealing with Vulcan children under seven he knew how to make people talk about subjects they'd rather avoid.)

Amanda laughed, and Sarek looked at her with a tilted querying eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, I can't explain."

"A human joke?"

"Something like that," Amanda agreed.

"Sometimes I almost forget that you are human," Sarek said after a pause.

"Sometimes I almost forget that I am."

He reached out and touched her fingertips with his own; not needing to look to know where her hand lay. That was part of it, something to which she had grown so used over the years that she scarcely thought about it. On a dark foggy night in the middle of a maze designed by a mad Tellarite, she could walk straight to Sarek with never a false step.

Across the division of species, sex, world, and culture, they had met and touched and become one; if there was such a thing as soul, her soul and Sarek's were of the same stuff. Mindmatch, the Vulcans called it; Amanda, true to her childhood though not her later training, called it miracle.

Long ago, when she had first discovered that she loved Sarek, it had been painful to suppress saying it, understanding that he would not understand. Later, grown further together, she had understood that it did not matter; the bridge between them was made of more durable stuff than words. She could tell him that she loved him, but what logical answer would there be but, I know?

"T'hy'la; let us go to bed."

Sarek stood up immediately from the couch, setting the book viewer to one side. "Indeed."

As they walked to the sleeping chamber together, his hand on her arm, he added through the bond What has been concerning you?

Our son's bondmate.

"The Starfleet officer," Sarek said aloud, his voice suddenly cold.

"The human Healer," Amanda said, equally chilly. "His name is Leonard." She turned abruptly and seized Sarek by his upper arms, the biting grip that not even an adult Vulcan could break, caught herself by fear. "Sarek, you did not welcome Leonard into the family."

He raised an eyebrow. "And so?"

"Give me your word you intend him no harm."

His face changed minutely, momentarily, with astonishment. "Amanda," Sarek said carefully, "you welcomed him. You are his guardian. You are my bondmate. He will come to no harm through me, no more than he would through you."

=@=@=

McCoy woke, and wasn't sure why. He reached out; the space beside him was empty of Spock. He sat up. Spock was standing in the centre of the room; he had evidently just pulled on a robe, and was tying the belt with concentration. When he looked up, his face was expressionless.

"Where are you going?" McCoy asked tentatively.

"To seclusion."

McCoy felt his heart thud suddenly. Hard as it was to live with Spock at this time, it would be worse to be alone. He got out of bed and approached Spock, saying "Do you have to go tonight?" Spock was trembling, he saw as he came closer, small fine shudders that were more frightening for being so tightly controlled.

Spock's hands lashed out abruptly and caught McCoy by the wrists, hard. "Do not -- " his bondmate said hoarsely. "I have to go -- I thought the morning would be time enough, but I was wrong -- I cannot be near you -- " he stopped as abruptly as he had begun, and looked down at his hands, gripping McCoy's wrists as tightly as manacles of hot steel. Very carefully, one finger at a time, Spock unclamped his hands and stepped back. "I must go." His voice sounded dry as a desert where it had not rained for a thousand years.

McCoy's eyes followed Spock out, and then he looked down at his wrists, which were aching furiously. Livid bruises were beginning to form. He was lucky Spock hadn't broken his wrists, or his hands. Shuddering, McCoy went back to bed, and, wrapped in one of the covers, waited for morning.

Over breakfast -- she came to collect him -- Amanda said "So Spock is in seclusion now. That must be a great relief -- Sarek's always hell to live with the last days before plak tow." She sounded quite matter-of-fact. Not for the first time, McCoy wondered how she bore pon farr; he was reminded by her soothing of mothers telling their daughters, now approaching labour, that childbirth was nothing to be afraid of. Wasn't really painful. Not with a spinal anesthetic, McCoy thought with painful wryness, and wondered if they'd give him one, if he asked for it. If he had the nerve to ask for it. Which he wouldn't.

"Just the same," Amanda added, having waited two minutes for McCoy to say something, anything, "it's depressing sleeping alone when you've got used to company."

McCoy glanced at her. He hadn't slept at all last night since Spock had left; but he did miss him. Not the Spock that had nearly broken his wrists, but the warm comfortable silent presence in the dark. "Yes."

"Of course, you understand that you shouldn't leave the house now Spock is in seclusion?"

The other human's eyes dropped suddenly to his plate. "Yes," he muttered. "Spock told me."

"Normally this is just tradition, but under the circumstances -- Spock's entering the plak tow so much sooner than expected, so that no one can be sure when he'll enter the kee mvar -- it really is a sensible precaution."

"Yes," McCoy agreed flatly, still contemplating his fingers tearing scraps off the piece of bread on his plate, "I'm sure it is."

"Leonard," Amanda said sharply. "Your wrists."

They were ringed with dark bruises. McCoy did not look up from his plate; only shook his sleeves further down.

Amanda let out a breath of pure exasperation. "Why the hell didn't you say something?" she snapped. "Those must be agony."

"It doesn't matter," McCoy said dryly. Agony was overstating the case; he had felt the agoniser, and knew what that was like.

"I'll take you over to the Healers after breakfast." She added, still angry; "That's if you were planning to eat any."

"I'm not hungry."

"Very well." Amanda stood up briskly. "Kyuir should be in her workroom by this time."

=@=@=

"How are you and Leonard getting on?" Kyuir enquired; McCoy's bruises regenerated, he had retreated, mentioning a prior appointment in the creché. "It seems he finds our children easier to deal with than us. Did you?"

"No," Amanda said thoughtfully, "not especially. But then, I wanted to be here; I don't think he does."

"When Spock first sent us word of his bonding, I said we should require him to bring his bondmate home to us."

"Yes, I remember."

"You disagreed."

"I didn't agree. Sarek would not have made things easier."

Kyuir lifted an eyebrow. "Is he making anything easier now?"

"No," Amanda admitted, "but at least he isn't trying to make things difficult. He doesn't want his son to die."

Kyuir didn't reply, only looked at her expectantly; Amanda realised that she was waiting for an answer to her first question. "Leonard said maybe fifteen words to me this morning," she said dryly. "Mostly 'yes'."

"He was agreeing with you?"

"He was doing the simplest thing to avoid communication," Amanda said sharply. "Kyuir, how do I get the man to talk to me?"

The Vulcan's eyebrows went up sharply. "Amanda, I don't even know how to make you talk when you don't want to."

=@=@=

McCoy had found a short-cut. If, when he reached the three-way junction at the foot of the stairs, he went straight ahead instead of turning left, and through the third set of doors on the right-hand wall (where the narrow passage curved sharply to the left and went up) he was at the head of the room with the statuettes. If he cut straight down the hall to the big doors at the other end, he came out on a broader passageway that was only a couple of minutes walk from the creché rooms.

Normally the room was deserted. He was half way down, and slowing as usual to pick out details from the vast mosaic on the floor, when a woman stepped out of the shadows. "What art thou doing here?"

"I -- I'm sorry, ma'am, I was taking a short cut," McCoy said helplessly. "I didn't realise -- " Once again he was confronted by someone whose face looked familiar, but whose name and relation to him he could not remember. "I'm sorry."

The woman's eyebrows flickered. "No need," she said, less formally. "How should you know? But in future, grandson, don't pass through the elders meeting place casually unless you are certain none of the elders are meeting there." She paused. "Where are you needed in such a hurry that you use the Noble Hall of the Illustrious Ancestors as a short cut?"

"Uh, I'm not," McCoy said uncomfortably. "I just like this room."

"Indeed? Why?"

Something about the long, high, pure shape, lit by the perfectly spaced windows, gave McCoy a singular pleasure. He couldn't think of how to say it in Vulcan, and wasn't sure he'd have said it right in Anglic. "Well, the artwork -- the statuettes, that design on the floor -- "

"The illustrious ancestors are, I trust, flattered. I like the picture on the floor myself. Do you know the story?" She shook her head. "No, how should you? The figure in the centre is, in myth, the remotest ancestor of this clan; the ancient God of Battles. Her name means Beautiful Wisdom, though none of her descendants now would worship her under that name, or indeed at all. She is the patron of the trade I followed; ironic, isn't it?"

She had walked over to the design in the centre as she spoke; McCoy followed. It took him a minute to realise what the flowerlike, stylised design was; his untrained eyes hadn't recognised it as figurative at all, but once he saw the god in the pattern, he could see nothing else.

Then he realised what the trails of green that wove through the design represented, and the equally stylised figures that lay, neatly patterned, between them. "Your trade?" he asked, because he didn't want to think about what he was standing on.

"Yes, my trade," the woman said reflectively. "Do you know, Leonard, there have been three untraditional marriages held in this room in three generations; mine, Amanda's, and yours: amd of the three, yours, I believe, will cause least dissension." She looked past him, and something lit in her face, though McCoy could not have said how the expressionless mask had changed.

Another woman moved out from the shadows. There must be a door there, McCoy thought vaguely; more camouflage architecture.

"What is our grandson doing here?"

"This hall is a short-cut to the creché," the other woman answered.

A greying eyebrow went up, but T'Pau said no more than, "Well, grandson, go. One should not keep children waiting." McCoy dismissed, she reached out one hand to touch, fingertip to fingertip, the other woman's hand. "I was looking for you to discuss these coffee requisitions, T'Fon," she began, but McCoy was already in retreat, and having human ears, heard no more.

=@=@=

Yuite wanted to show him her new maze game; Revaes had set it up for her last night and already she was three levels into it and progressing through the rooms on the fourth level. Terran children played games like these as well, but those usually involved more shooting. This seemed to be pure problem-solving. Yuite was kneeling on the chair, leaning forward with her hands resting on the child-sized keyboard, her face set in an frown of concentration. She reminded McCoy, abruptly and unnecessarily, of Spock.

"What does it say about that door?"

"Both doors," Yuite said impatiently. "They talk. One of them always tells the truth and one of them always lies. Only I don't know which one is which, and I only have one question."

McCoy opened his mouth, and shut it again. Yuite had turned her eyes away from the screen and was delivering the most amazing glare. "Don't tell me," she shouted. "Don't tell me!"

"All right, all right!" McCoy lifted his hands up in a gesture of surrender that Yuite couldn't possibly read. "I won't."

Suiarh came quietly through the door. "Yuite, was that you shouting?"

"My fault," McCoy said quickly, getting up. "She thought I was going to tell her the solution to a maze problem. I did a couple of days ago."

Suiarh gave him a quick nod. "Nevertheless, Yuite, it doesn't do any good to shout." Yuite gave him a grin as amazing as the glare had been, and turned back to the screen. "Leonard, I want to talk to you."

"How old is she?" McCoy asked with genuine curiosity, once they were outside the door. The other children were nowhere in sight.

"Three and a half."

"She's very bright." He realised that hadn't translated too well. "I mean, she's very intelligent."

"Also very strong-willed," Suiarh agreed. "You deal with her very well. Of course, she is your bondmate's father's sister's daughter."

"I didn't know." McCoy looked up at him. "What did you want?"

"T'Avori leaves on her Kahs-wan today. She wanted you to be one of her watchers, but of course, since Spock is in seclusion, you will be unable to leave the house."

"I don't understand. What -- kahs-wan?"

Suiarh explained. McCoy stared, horrified. "You just dump a seven year old kid in the middle of the desert and wait for her to find her way back?"

"Would you wish her to remain in the age of irresponsibility all her life?" Suiarh asked crisply, and went on "It would be appropriate for you to explain to her why you cannot accept."

"Where is she?"

"Packing."

"Are you serious about this kahs-wan thing?" McCoy said again, and shook his head, interrupting himself in Standard. "Of course you are. Oh, gods -- " Suiarh was watching with raised eyebrows. "She could be killed."

"She may die," Suiarh said expressionlessly. "But her chances are as good as any child her age; she is experienced in desert hiking. Leonard, be reasonable; all of us survived our Kahs-wan." He waited a moment, and added evenly "In any case, whatever your feelings, if you intend to voice them to T'Avori I must ask you to leave now."

In the sleeping room, T'Avori was pulling a small carisak out of her kist under the bed. She looked up and her face lit. "Leonard! The council met yesterday and the elders said I could go tonight -- will you come and watch me leave?"

"I can't," McCoy said uneasily. "I'm sorry."

"Is it because Spock's in seclusion?" Silxor asked, and when McCoy, taken by surprise, nodded, he shot a glance of triumph at T'Avori. "I told you it was him that was in pon farr, not Leonard."

"Where are Felier and Suerin?" McCoy asked hastily.

"Suerin is down in the communications room," Suiarh said. "He's waiting for a message from his brother. Felier followed him."

T'Avori was packing, a frighteningly small and apparently highly traditional survival kit, watched enviously by Silxor. No food; in answer to McCoy's question, Silxor and T'Avori told him that the elders would give her one day's travelfood when she left.

It was a couple of hours on when the door burst open and a young boy came in, too happy not to look it and hugging himself, which McCoy had never seen a Vulcan do before. "Saiht's pon farr's over and Riern's going to have a baby and they said I could come and stay next year!" he said, all in one breath.

"That's wonderful news," Suiarh said, eyebrows flickering, "but slow down, and tell it logically."

Suerin took a deep breath. "Saiht came out of kee mvar early this morning. Riern decided she wanted to have her first child with his first pon farr, and she's certain she is pregnant. Saiht said Riern told him to be sure to call me first and tell me she was making me an uncle."

"Where is Felier?" Suiarh inquired.

"I thought she was coming with me," Suerin said, glancing behind him.

"When did you think that?" Suiarh asked mildly, but flickered an eyebrow. "Well, well, I've no doubt she'll come back when she's hungry." He added to McCoy "She has wanted to be an electronics engineer ever since she was old enough to join two crystals and make them oscillate. Children aren't supposed to be in the communications room without supervision, but they're used to her down there."

McCoy nodded. T'Avori was standing in front of him again, waiting to be noticed. He dropped down on one knee, as he had done the first time, so that their eyes would be on a level.

"Leonard, what do you say to human children on their Kahs-wan day?"

McCoy cleared his throat. "Good luck," he said finally, and hugged her.

=@=@=

That evening, when the sun was low in the sky, a youth (ten? eleven?) came to McCoy's rooms just as he had finished preparing, and was not looking forward to eating, a solitary meal.

"Whose child are you?" McCoy asked, trying to be formal. These small perfect Vulcans disconcerted him, the more so as he was wondering if T'Avori would become so composed and controlled in four years. If she lived.

"Chaie, Revaes' daughter. Suiarh sent me," the girl said. "If you want to watch T'Avori leave, you are to come with me."

Following the girl through the corridors, they came finally to an open, walled ledge; below the rock fell away steeply to a small circle before the mountain, where McCoy could see clustered many people in blue robes, around an aircar. T'Avori must already have been inside; a few minutes later, as McCoy leant on the rough wall and watched, the cluster scattered and the aircar took off, heading towards the desert.

"How far will they take her?"

"Into the desert, until the sun's down," Chaie answered. "About -- " she hesitated, visibly calculating, the first break McCoy had seen in her composure " -- about a hundred and eighty kilometres."

"Not a hundred and eighty-three point four?" McCoy asked sarcastically. Chaie stared at him, less disturbed by the sarcasm than was McCoy himself. "I'm sorry," he said at last.

"There is no exact distance prescribed for the Kahs-wan," Chaie said precisely, "only it must be three days travel on foot for an adult from the nearest farmland. Have you seen enough, Leonard?" She escorted him back to his room in silence.

=@=@=

It was another four days before Amanda discovered that Leonard hadn't been in the creché at all since the day T'Avori left. Suiarh hadn't thought anything of it; he had assumed that Leonard was now under full instruction, and too preoccupied to have time for the children.

He hadn't been at the family suppers; but he wasn't expected to be. Bondmates of those in seclusion for plak tow were automatically excused.

Cursing herself, Leonard, the size of the clan house, and the Vulcan habit of not gossiping, Amanda went directly to her sons' rooms and let herself in. They were deserted; but checking the kitchen, she realised with relief that Leonard must have been here as recently as this morning. Amanda seated herself on the couch in the conversation room, and waited.

Leonard didn't return for several hours. Vulcan meditation techniques do not work if the one trying to meditate is allowing passion to rule logic. Amanda was completely pissed off.

He stood in the doorway looking as if he would prefer not to be there, but finally shrugged and came in. "What are you doing here?"

"What have you been doing for the past four days? You haven't been in the creché, and you haven't been here most of the time."

"Oh, this and that. Here and there," McCoy said with determined vagueness. He'd spent the past four days wandering around the corridors of this mountain, getting thoroughly lost and finding himself again at least twice a day. This house was as big as a small town. Bigger; most small towns McCoy knew were built in two dimensions, not three. "Coffee?"

"I put the percolator on a couple of hours ago. There's probably enough left for two cups."

There was, just; McCoy poured the last drops into his cup, added milk to both, and brought them back through. Amanda accepted her cup. "Sit down," she said grimly. "If you won't talk to me, then I'll talk to you. Why have you been avoiding everyone?"

Leonard's eyes dropped; he drank, slowly, from his mug. When he spoke, his voice drawled with an accent that blurred all emotion. "Like I said. I've been here and there."

"I'm aware that you have been consistently avoiding talking to me," Amanda said tightly. "I thought that you were learning to come to terms with Vulcan by learning her children; a logical choice. Is it T'Avori's Kahs-wan?" She saw his face change, minutely, but large print to anyone with practice in reading Vulcans; a trace of bitterness, hardening when she said 'a logical choice', more painful when she mentioned T'Avori.

The time for mercy was long gone. "The first time I heard of the Kahs-wan, I was shocked -- I was horrified. They had to keep me away from the creché for days, or I might well have ruined the child's Kahs-wan for him. I might have made him afraid. But by the time I had to send Spock, I understood; it is a logical tradition, though it's older than Surak. In sending a child where only training and endurance can preserve life, the adults acknowledge that the child is responsible for that life, and so for that life's pattern. Before the Kahs-wan, the child's parents are entirely responsible for the life they created; in sending the child out, they make the child a free gift of life. That is the meaning of it; not an endurance or a survival test. And if you're worried about T'Avori, I have been here more than fifty years, and only one child has ever died in his Kahs-wan. Do you understand me, Leonard?"

"Yes," McCoy said bleakly. "Do they know when T'Avori will be back?"

"Tomorrow, probably, or the day after. I hope you will be able to come and greet her." Amanda's eyes fixed on him, she saw him flinch, and the muscles of his neck tense, as if he would have shaken his head but thought better of it. His eyes were still hard and bitter. "You're not," she said slowly, and put her hands involuntarily behind her back in case she would hit him. "Of course, no one will force you. What the hell, Leonard, are you afraid of our children now?"

Not of the children. Though they were capable of surviving at age seven a trial that McCoy knew he would fail; though no doubt, since a Vulcan adult was equal to half a dozen humans in combat, a Vulcan child could probably handle a single human adult; though the older children, minature perfect Vulcans, were appallingly controlled; the emotion that McCoy felt for T'Avori, Silxor, Yuite, and the others, was not fear. It was shame.

It was bad enough knowing every adult in the clan must know what he was here for, to be ceremoniously and formally raped by Spock in his madness. But he had thought that at least the children did not know. And he was having very bad dreams.

"Or is it me?" Amanda was saying. McCoy shook his head, and Amanda repeated impatiently, "Is it because of me? You're Terran human, like me, and I know how prejudiced Terrans are against cross-species heterosexuality."

"It isn't anything," McCoy said hoarsely. "Will you just leave me alone?"

Amanda stood up and for one miraculous moment McCoy believed that she was going to walk out. Instead she began to pace, obviously working off a good deal of angry tension. When she stopped, she looked calmer. "Leonard. I can't leave you alone. I assigned myself to be your teacher, your helper -- and you agreed to it. I have a responsibility towards you, and I've no wish to fail you. I know, it isn't easy being a human on Vulcan, bonded to a Vulcan, and it can't be easy for you, changing cultures and going through your first pon farr practically at the same time. I had the advantage of being in love with this world; you've the advantage that you're in love with Spock."

"If I wasn't I wouldn't be going through with this," McCoy muttered.

"I understand."

"Do you?" McCoy lifted his head and glared at her. "Do you know why I bonded with your son? Is that in the family records?"

"No. You'll find Vulcans tend not to bother with emotional details. They'd reduce the script of Romeo and Juliet to date of wedding, date of death, date of funeral -- "

"I didn't fall in love with Spock. I bonded with him because he told me he'd kill me if I didn't." Why should I? -- Do so, and I will let you live.

Amanda stared at him a long moment. "Spock said he'd kill you? That's ridiculous."

"He's a Starfleet Commander," McCoy snarled. "He's First Officer on a starship! How d'you think he got there, by playing kiss-in-the-corner? He told me I could die or I could bond with him, and I believed him. I still do."

"That was the only motive you had? That was all that would have made you marry him? You're a true Starfleet officer, Leonard -- "

"So is your son." McCoy took a breath and added with pure vitrolic bitterness; "A better one than I am. If you understand what that means."

Amanda hit him. If he had been a Vulcan, the punch would barely have rocked him; if he hadn't rolled with the blow, she might have broken bones.

He lay there on the couch looking up at her, and she looking at her hand, not so much as if she couldn't believe it as if she was all too sure that she did. "Are you all right?" she asked after a moment, not sympathetically. She was still furious.

"I'm fine," McCoy said ferociously, shoving himself back up. "I see -- " He was about to say something completely unforgivable, when Amanda snapped "Kroykah!" and for various reasons, it halted him.

"We're both angry," Amanda said shortly. "It's no use talking to you now. I'm going. I'll ask a couple of the youths in clan-service to watch your door in case you have any idea about just going for a walk. I'll be back tomorrow morning when we should both have calmed down. Try meditating." With that, she was gone.

Meditating. McCoy stood up and wandered back through the rooms to the one at the end, the meditation chamber. He'd never actually been inside; taking it as Spock's private sanctum. It was with a strange feeling of trespass that McCoy pushed the door open and went in.

The fire in the shrine was burning; the room smelt of the incense, which to McCoy was the smell of Spock; cinnamon and honey. Suddenly he missed Spock so much it hurt, and wrapped his arms around himself, holding himself. It was true he'd bonded with Spock because Spock had made it plain that McCoy would not live long if he refused.

It was also true that he loved Spock, and had thought he had made terms with the knowledge that Spock didn't love him; what his bondmate felt for him was not something McCoy could name. It had begun as a marriage of convenience. (It's very inconvenient to be dead.) It was not merely that for either of them now.

But this, now, emphasised the difference between them. McCoy was going through with it because he could not bear Spock to die, and because, short of suicide, there was no way out. And this was why Spock had wanted him. Mentally compatible, and a plenitude of human weaknesses. Other than that, nothing about him mattered. A doll would do as well.

McCoy sat down on the floor, shifting into a more comfortable position on the stone, and looked into the fire. He had never practiced any of the Terran meditation techniques. But he didn't want to go to bed, to go to sleep; lately the dreams had been very bad.

=@=@=

"Kahr-if-farr." The voice jolted him awake; he thought he heard bells, the ancient stone marriage bells of his clan --

He was still in the meditation room, staring into the fire. That was how the worst of the dreams began; with the sound of bells, and a voice speaking High Speech, which he had not been taught, he doubted there was tape for it anywhere in the Federation, and yet he'd understood it --

Himself/not-himself. He was not himself. He didn't even know what High Speech was, and yet he did, he had spoken it fluently by the time he was nine --

The heat of the fire was like the breath of the desert at the Place of Marriage and Challenge. The bells were ringing, as they had rung for him seven years ago --

"Let it begin." His grandmother's voice. Somehow he had not expected her.

He struck the bells, once, and raised the staff to strike again, and then T'Pring cried "Challenge!"

He was tired, weary, worn out with fighting down the effects of the plak tow aboard a human ship where no one understood. He saw the tall youth standing in T'Pring's entourage, another cousin of theirs, but in T'Pring's branch of the clan; Stonn. Stocky for a Vulcan, a wolfish glint in his eyes; Stonn would kill him easily, and he knew an odd peace at that. And then denied it. Stonn would kill him, but he would not let it be an easy victory.

"I choose him," said T'Pring clearly, pointing at the man at his shoulder. He barely heard Stonn's protests, or T'Pau's command for silence; all he heard was the familiar voice answering, acceptance of the challenge. Not him, not him --

"T'Pau," he fought for speech, the rage of plak tow burning him, cauterising thought -- "Forbid, T'Pau... I plead with thee... I beg..." Too late. He would have knelt and pleaded with her, with T'Pring, for this man's life, but it was too late. Challenge had been given and accepted.

He was moving, the weight of the lirpa familiar and well-balanced in his hands, the handle polished with the hands of ancestors beyond ancestors. Although his sight seemed clear, detailed, as in fever-dreams, he could not recognise the armed figure moving across the circle from him, though he knew every move the man would make, as if they had fought together in practice bouts for years.

He struck swiftly, knowing a weakness in the other man's guard, and saw the blood flow. By tradition, the lirpa could only be used until both had drawn blood. He never felt the slice that whipped through his own guard and struck him, only realising when the commanding voice shouted "Be still!"

The thin leather strap was passed into his hands, made of well-cured le-matya skin. Twisting it between his hands, he moved in on his opponent. The plak tow gave faster reflexes, high resistance to pain, which compensated for the physical debility. He barely felt the wound in his side.

The man was evidently no real fighter. He knocked him down, and as the man was struggling to his knees, flung himself down and wrapped the ahn woon about the other's throat. They were close to the firepit; one mis-step would have brought them both near into it.

The other man's hands came up and clutched at his throat, in final, feeble self-defense, but his struggles were growing weaker. The pressure increased, the fierce blue eyes grew dim.

Are you trying to kill me, Spock?

It was as if the man had spoken the words inside his mind.

Is that what you really want?

Dead, at last, and the voice stilled; he let go the strangled corpse and stood up, feeling the cloaking rage fall away from him. He looked at T'Pring without desire, and down at the man lying at his feet, and knew him.

Why had this man accepted the challenge? But he knew why. To have refused it would have meant that he would have had to fight Stonn instead, and Stonn would have killed him. This man had hoped at least for Spock to survive.

"I grieve with thee," T'Pau said quietly.

Grief seemed too short a word. T'Pring stood still and quiet beside the marriage bells, expressionless, flawlessly controlled. "I give you to this man's family," he told her, without waiting to hear her flawlessly logical reasoning. "You will serve there for forty-five years, as long as he lived. Then they may decide what further to do with you."

"Thank you," she said, as she might have responded to a great compliment or to a trivial gift. Stonn, held by the watcher with the axe, said nothing.

"Peace and long life, T'Pau," he said finally. He would not return here. She was the last of his family he would ever see.

"Live long and prosper, Spock," she answered.

"I shall do neither," it was the last time he would ever stand on Vulcan, and he did not care, any longer, what any pureblood Vulcan might think of him, "for I have killed my brother, and my friend."

=@=@=

McCoy jerked up, awake, struck by a feeling of urgency as compelling as a stat call or a red alert. He had gone to sleep in the meditation room, the muscles in his back and legs hurt, and he had pins and needles in his arm where his head had rested. But the urgency pulled him up to his feet and on, stumbling, through the door, down the hall, into the living room.

Two men stood by the doorway, clad in formal ceremonial cloaks, stern and expressionless. "We have come to take you to your bondmate," one of them said, in flawless, arrogantly courteous Standard. They took a pace towards him, ready, evidently, to drag him if he would not walk.

It was the middle of the night, must be; the halls were deserted, apart from himself and his escort. They were taking him to a part of the house where he had never been. The urgency -- Spock's need -- was dragging him there. To the centre, through windowless halls, and at last to a hall where all the doors were made thick and strong, and bolted on the outside; the first time McCoy had seen locks on Vulcan.

For I have killed. For I have. You. McCoy rubbed at his throat; one of his escort was unbolting one of the doors. The other pushed him, not roughly, through; and he heard the door closing, bolting, behind him; and the urgency leapt at him like a storm wind.

The thick walls must perform some kind of telepathic insulation. In the doorway where he stood, they were at least a metre deep, and the door wasn't thin. He stood with his hands pressed against the smooth cold stone and knew he couldn't move. He was here, he wouldn't run away, wouldn't try to fight, but he could not move. Couldn't speak, throat dry and strangled with fear.

Spock must know he was here. He could feel Spock, the centre of the burning storm tearing at him, the force enough to tear flesh from bone. Like a sandstorm, lightless and deadly. And then he knew Spock was aware of him.

Two-bodiedness; he was lying on the bed, propped against the wall; he was standing in the doorway, frozen with fright; he was burning; he was waiting to be seared. He knew when Spock understood that McCoy was too afraid to come to him, because he felt the mind at the centre of the storm turn away, and fall.

It was as if he were falling, head downwards, arms flung out like a doll's below his head, falling away in infinite darkness. Accepting death, choosing to die, throwing himself away.

And blue fire came to him, rain in a sandstorm, blazing angry lightnings. Hands descended on his shoulders, shaking him almost, the weight of the body/his body answering his desperation. You don't die, you don't dare die --

Locked together, they felt the need pulse to a climax that they almost could not bear, each trying to hold the other safe against it. Don't let me go don't let go of me don't let me go don't leave me -- But after that climax it was better than it had been before. The raging need had focussed down to a single point without breadth or duration, and though it seemed inconceivable that it would ever cease, there was no more terror, or need to hold the other. There was no other. There was only himselves, two electrons dancing round a single core, and no way to tell the two of him apart. The second climax that racked themself was marginally more bearable. It grew worse before it grew better, though never as bad as those first few moments.

=@=@=

When McCoy could see again through his eyes, he noticed that Spock looked tired, dehydrated; he could not have eaten or slept for days. Automatically, as if he had been doing it all his life, he thought of the time and knew it had been twenty-three Terran hours, nearly a Vulcan day, since he had entered the chamber. He did not need to turn his head to know that there was a broad doorway on the other side of the chamber that led to the small, austere, kitchen and toilet facilities. The kitchen had not been much used.

It was not finished, but it seemed that they had come to a resting-place. He knew Spock wasn't hungry, nor was he, but they ought to eat something. Or drink something. And he definitely needed to relieve himself. He sat up, and Spock shifted and sat up beside him. They stared at the two metres that separated them from the other room, turned and glanced at each other, and Spock's eyebrows flickered; and for the first time, McCoy knew that his bondmate was sharing a joke with him. He had started to grin, but that made him laugh, and he tightened his arm around Spock's shoulders so that he could lean against his bondmate and laugh harder, and unexpectedly the hard lung-hurting mirth turned to harder, somehow less painful sobs, and Spock was holding him, desperately exhausted but desperately glad to have him here.

He was too tired himself to cry long. Once he had reached the sniffling, jerky stage, they helped each other up and progressed across the room at the pace of an unenergetic snail. By dint of propping each other up and leaning against the wall, they both managed to use the toilet facilities without a truly inconvenient collapse, though when McCoy thought of what they must look like, small helpless giggles, combined with the sniffling, threatened to give him hiccups. They were sufficiently detached for Spock to be unable to see what was funny, but he looked merely peacefully resigned, not coldly disapproving.

McCoy's right arm wrapped around Spock, and Spock clinging to McCoy's right hand with his left, they veered towards the tiny kitchen. There was most of a jar of what looked like a thick cold vegetable soup left, and a bowl of fruits the size of large plums, deep yellow with the faintest blush of green beneath the skin. Neither of them wanted anything to drink but water; Spock reached for a large mug and McCoy filled it.

With care, they managed to get back to the bed without dropping anything and without letting go of each other. The soup turned out to be anything but cold, but the fruit cooled down McCoy's protesting tongue. Oddly enough, he didn't seem to be minding the fierce spices as much as he usually did. They didn't eat much, or drink much, anyway; a few mouthfuls.

They had just enough sense left to be put jar and bowl and mug safely down on the floor before Spock rolled onto his back and McCoy followed to lie on top of him. This was the way they usually made love, and as far as either of them could remember, it seemed to have been how they had climaxed in the hours before. Well, McCoy thought with the scrap of his mind he could spare, old habits die hard.

They had never been very detached, and now they were melting together again, easily, this time, the need becoming focussed, becoming part of himselves, becoming themself. As two halves fit together, becoming one whole, fitting so closely it would seem they had never been separate, so himselves were joined.

=@=@=

You know, I could get used to this, was McCoy's next coherent thought. His next was that he hadn't thought in terms of 'I' or 'you' in quite a while; his third was that it had been almost forty-seven Terran hours, since the beginning; and then Spock's eyes opened and looked at him.

They were both actually conscious of feeling hungry; not very hungry, but it was strange to feel anything beside concentrated need of each other. Spock made a long arm down to the floor and passed the food and the mug up to McCoy. It seemed odd that the water hadn't spilt. Hunger satisfied with a meagre meal, once more, with care, they made the trip across the floor to relieve themselves, and back again.

They could feel the need beginning to focus again, and lay down on the bed, on their sides, touching all down their bodies, to their toes, McCoy's linked with Spock's. The tension, waiting and building, was curiously both like and unlike sex; Spock was erect, hard against McCoy's groin, but that tension was not irrelevant, nor less important, but simply less noticeable, as one tree in a forest, or one star in a clear night sky.

It was not really like waiting. It was happening. Sometimes it was happening less than at others, less enough to be aware that it was happening, because when it was, there seemed to be nothing else. There was nothing else, for their focussed, intent awareness made the whole world, and there was no other.

=@=@=

McCoy was aware he had been asleep when he woke up. He singular; Spock had been awake for some time, but had not moved in case he woke his bondmate. Need had passed into sleep so gently that neither of them had been aware of the passing. He was thirsty, hungry, tired despite having slept for thirteen hours at least, and he felt as if he had been scraped raw in places.

"Spock," he croaked. He knew Spock knew he was awake. He just hadn't spoken in such a long time he wasn't sure he remembered what his voice sounded like.

Wordless, Spock reached for the mug and they shared the last few mouthfuls of water scrupulously. He said nothing.

McCoy had been thinking of this so long as something to be endured, to wait until it was over, that now it was over, he couldn't think what to do next. None of the fairy stories say what happens after you rescue the Vulcan, he thought, and realised he must still be a little hazy.

"Love you," he added, since it appeared to be the only thing he could realise clearly.

"I have been afraid," Spock said quietly, as if summoning up reserves of courage he hadn't known he possessed. "T'hy'la, thou dost not need me... as I need thee."

"I know," McCoy said. He rolled onto his back, grunting a little at his stiffness, his hand still interlaced with Spock's. "I didn't understand. I thought it was just to save your life."

"I regret that I cannot learn how to love you," Spock added, matter-of-factly.

"Don't start regretting yet," McCoy offered. "Maybe you'll learn how when I learn how to need you."

"With all thy body, and all thy mind, and all thy soul?"

"I'm not Vulcan." McCoy heard his voice crack. "I can't help it. But it would break my heart, Spock, if I lost you now."

Spock said a phrase in Vulcan which McCoy did not understand, and added "A saying of Surak... that there are an infinite number of differences in reality-truth, and an infinite number of permutations, and that it is appropriate to take joy in these differences and their permutations, rather than fear." He took McCoy's hand, and fitted his own against it, palm to palm. "I wish that I could share your pon farr. I... take joy... in that you love me."

McCoy felt a hot stinging in his eyes, and swallowed, aware Spock was still watching him gravely. "I wish I could give you that," he said at last, "but I'm... I'm honoured, Spock. And I'm... glad I could be needed by you."

They lay there looking at each other until McCoy stirred uncomfortably. "Thought I never wanted to move again," he admitted, "but I'm hungry, Spock."

Although it was not necessary, they were still holding each other as they had before; holding hands as they put a scratch meal together in the kitchen, and eating one-handed, sitting on the bed. "How long can we stay in here?"

"Until the food runs out," Spock said dryly. "It has been three full days now; certainly no one would be concerned if we were secluded here for another two, or three."

"Would you mind?"

"Leonard, what we do with the rest of our leave is entirely up to you."

McCoy finished the stew, frowning. "I wish you hadn't reminded me." And Spock's promise to leave Starfleet, if McCoy asked it; an impossibly generous gift. Though he must have been thinking of this before, else why would he have wanted so much to just stay in this room, the outside world excluded. "Spock... I just want to say something. You were pure absolute hell to live with, the past couple of months. I was probably just as bad. And it was even worse living without you. Anyway... even when it's like that again, Spock, don't just walk away. Don't let me walk away. Remind me... that you need me."

"If you will remind me that you love me, Leonard, even when I don't wish to remember."

There was a moment, when they were clearing the dishes off the bed (it was an incredible mess by this time, but both of them were too sleepy to care) when they lost touch with each other, their hands slipping apart. They stared, frozen still, but the world didn't end and the other didn't dissolve in smoke; and then, both aware what they had been afraid of, deliberately they lay down face to face, not touching.

"It doesn't change anything, does it," McCoy murmured.

"Never and always touching and touched," Spock answered.

Still, they slept in each other's arms again, long and soundly. When they woke, it was day.

=@=@=

The first day after Leonard had gone to join Spock in seclusion had been spent by Amanda, to Sarek's unvoiced concern, folded in their meditation chamber, thinking in profound stillness, concentration, and pain. That night she had slept in the same bed, but as if miles and years apart; and all the next day she had moved through her usual work without speaking. In the evening she had left and gone to the meeting of the elders.

As she walked down the hall towards the table where the elders sat, it was so like being summoned before them in disgrace that Amanda was conscious of a shameful fear. She quelled it. This time she had summoned herself. They had not turned to look at her, yet, though of course they knew she was here. Their faces were utterly impassive, as rock is, or sand.

"I am here," she said finally, "to tell you that I have failed. I was wrong to demand Leonard's guardianship. I could not make him understand. He went to my son in fear." Amanda folded her hands behind her back and waited.

"You believe that Spock may be dead in the mind's darkness," Saiej said at last, "and his bondmate dead with him, or mindless in the dying. And that if this is so, it is your fault, that your pride in out-thinking your elders out-weighed your judgement?"

Amanda swallowed. It would have to be him, the vulnerable one (she had been long enough on Vulcan, long enough with Sarek, to regard men as the vulnerable sex), to judge her. She kept control, answered steadily. "It may be so. Whether it is so or not, the risk was my fault, and I do not bear the consequences. Say rather that my compassion for a brother human made me misjudge. I do not believe it was my pride."

"It is your pride that makes you come before us now, rather than wait for the doors to the room to be opened."

"No." Searing lack of pride, rather. "Cowardice. I could not bear to wait."

"Nonetheless, you must, as must we all," Saiej answered.

"Specify," Ch'vrei said in her dry voice. "Compassion. What do you mean by it?"

"I was sorry for him. It's not an easy thing, that we both had to do. I wanted to help him. I believed that I could, more than anyone. I was wrong."

There was silence in the hall. "If you have destroyed your son and his bondmate," T'Fon said at last, "that will bring its own consequences with it, far beyond any we could impose."

"Logical," Amanda said under her breath, saluted the council, and turned to go, when Ch'vrei said "Wait."

Amanda waited. Ch'vrei seemed to be looking her over, through and through. "You had compassion for Leonard, you say, as a brother human; you allowed that to influence your judgement. Amanda, art thou Vulcan or art thou human?"

It was the question T'Pau had asked Spock, cruelly logical, seven years ago. Amanda knew it was also a question of Ch'vrei's judgement in asking her to take her place among the elders. They might think the decision had been mistaken; they could not refuse her acceptance. Did she have a right to accept? Had she ever had that right? She had lived more than fifty years on Vulcan, but to a Vulcan that would be less than an age of responsibility. She had been unable to help Leonard because she had not understood that he was terrified.

The elders were silent, waiting for her answer. They would wait for a year if it were necessary, more patient than human. More patient than Amanda. She glanced sideways at the alien statues along the wall, and down at the mosaic where the green blood flowed.

Art thou Vulcan or art thou human?

=@=@=

Discipline and decorum required that they do no more than touch fingertips outside this room. McCoy turned to Spock a moment and hugged him fiercely. Spock hugged him back, a little awkwardly, but definitely a hug, McCoy thought, grinning privately with his face tucked into Spock's shoulder.

There was a way of releasing the bolts on the outside of the door, from the inside; it was complicated, but required no particular manual strength. McCoy had to let Spock do it, but looked at him uneasily. He had always been skinny, but he looked worn down to the bare bones, still exhausted despite the long sleep. It did not occur to McCoy that he looked much the same.

"What do we do now?" he enquired. "Can we at least get cleaned up properly?"

"Of course. First to our rooms, then to the healer. Nothing further today."

"No solemn formal family gatherings?"

"We are supposed to be recovering from our exertions," said Spock tranquilly.

An unexpected and rapidly suppressed hoot of mirth burst out of McCoy. They were walking slowly down the corridor from the cells, and if they weren't on Vulcan, or he could be certain that they weren't observed, he would have put an arm around Spock to make sure he stayed upright.

Oh, what the hell; are you a doctor or what? As impersonally as possible, he put a careful arm around Spock's waist, lending him some support. "Did Vulcans happen to invent lifts?"

"There is one in the next corridor, that will take us to quite near our rooms," Spock said, and added "Doctor, I am quite capable of walking without assistance."

"Sure you are. Indulge me."

They met no one at all on the way to their rooms. Nevertheless, when they went to the healer, after they had both cleaned and changed into fresh clothing, he appeared to be expecting them. At least, he did not show any surprise, though, McCoy thought tiredly, a Vulcan might not. His name was Saioe; he looked solemn as he examined Spock, but that again might be his usual expression.

"You should rest much for at least the next six days," he said finally. "Sleep often, do not attempt to suppress the reflex. Eat high-energy, high-protein foods, little and often. Apart from the usual exhaustion and debilitation, you are in good health." He turned to McCoy, who was leaning unobtrusively against the wall. "And now you, Leonard."

"I'm fine."

Saioe raised an eyebrow. "I surmise that your recent acquisition of the language makes you an uncertain speaker. I know you to be a healer; therefore you cannot mean to say that you are well, when plainly you are, at least, exhausted."

McCoy moved forward stiffly and allowed the healer to pass his hands over him but not touching him, as he had done with Spock. Saioe had relied simply on whatever the gift in his hands had told him with Spock, but after a brief examination the healer picked up a Terran mediscanner from his desk and repeated the examination with that. He looked interested, rather than solemn, as he finished. "You also should rest and eat. You have minor injuries to the skin in places; use this foam before you sleep."

He added, as McCoy picked up the tube of foam and they turned to go; "If you are capable of it, to visit your mother would be more than courtesy. She has been concerned about you both."

He said no more. He didn't need to. As soon as they were inside their rooms, McCoy turned to Spock. "He's right. I ought to go. I was -- well, anyway, she was trying to help me. I was having bad dreams, but I ought to apologise."

Spock sat down. "Can I ask what you were dreaming of?"

McCoy seated himself on the opposite side of the table, elbows planted on knees, chin resting on hands. His eyes, when he looked across at Spock, looked haunted. "You. You and me, only all tangled up in different ways. I -- " he stuck on it. "I think I've got to say this. You killed me, in all my dreams. I was afraid of what was going to happen, humans have sex and death all mixed up."

"No," Spock said. "I do not know what other humans may have in their minds, but I know yours. T'hy'la, I know now that the thing of which I have been most afraid, in seven years, was not that I would die in the pon farr. It was that I would live by killing again. I have been the more afraid of it in the past year, because you have given me some reason to want to live. My life is yours, Leonard, to do with as you will."

"I don't want it!" McCoy leapt to his feet, wincing as the movement hurt him, but he stood there glaring down at Spock, who looked up at him, meeting his bondmate's alien blue eyes with at least a semblance of equanimity. "Damn you, Spock, I won't take it. I won't decide for both of us. Gods, Spock, will you tell me what you want?"

Spock bent his head. After a silent while, he said with difficulty, "The stars. As I have always wanted them. And the only route to them is Starfleet." He looked up then and said, quite steadily, "And yet I could give that up willingly, for you. I give you my word."

"What if we didn't go back?"

"We would be deserters. But this world does not give up its own. My mother has told the story many times, of how two of my father's cousins went to the Terran ambassador and reported finding a sand-scoured human skeleton in the desert."

"They'd lie for us?"

"It was not a lie. They had found such a skeleton. It had been placed there for them to find by two other cousins; its original home was the Academy Museum, where it has since been returned."

McCoy sat down. He felt that he wanted to laugh, and to tell Amanda that the joke had finally found appreciative ears, but remembering, he felt hollow and cold inside. He had remembered again what he had said to her in their last conversation, and what he had nearly spat at her. What he had said had been bad enough.

"Could we leave Vulcan?"

"It would be difficult. It could be arranged. We could not go to Earth, I regret, Leonard, but almost anywhere else in known space would be feasible."

McCoy straightened, feeling the weight come down on him again, and knowing he could stand it. "I'll go back then," he said briskly, and gave Spock -- who was staring at him in expressionless astonishment -- a direct look. "But I've got an idea -- " He recounted it.

Spock's eyebrows slanted upwards in genuine astonishment. "Leonard... have you thought this through?"

"If I had I'd probably not have the nerve," McCoy said grimly. "But maybe the alliance can talk it out. Maybe you can talk the Captain out of it."

"Either that," Spock said glacially, "or I will have to become Captain myself."

Unfrozen, McCoy grinned at him. "Do that, and it's divorce. No -- " he added hastily, "I'll elope instead. With you. You can't be Captain if you're honeymooning on a shuttlecraft."

"I accept your condition," Spock said at last. He reached out and touched McCoy's hand, fingertip to fingertip. "My brother and my friend."

=@=@=

It was the morning of the fourth day when the watcher, Tyuilis, having told the healer Saioe that Spock and his bondmate had left the seclusion chamber, arranged his path back to his own chambers so that he would happen to pass by Amanda and Sarek's chambers. His mother's mother, K'yiru, had asked him to do this. Both Sarek and Amanda took the news impassively; if they lapsed from this decorum once Tyuilis had left, that was no one's concern but their own.

It was evening of that day when their sons came to their chambers. The first thing that Leonard said to her, while Spock and Sarek were facing each other off with cool formality, was "I'm sorry -- "

"You're sorry," Amanda cut him off.

He looked at her, a little oddly. "Yeah. Shouldn't have said what I did."

In a single moment, Amanda rummaged through all the ancient Vulcan curses that she'd ever heard and dismissed them all as inadequate. "Shit," she said explosively, and Sarek's head snapped round to look at her, "I could have got you killed."

Spock was also looking at her, with a very similiar expression to his father's. Ignoring them both, Amanda said sharply, "Leonard, come back through here. I want to talk to you." She looked back at Sarek, at Spock; her look said, plain as print, And I want you both here when I come back.

She led McCoy through to the meditation chamber at the end of the hallway, and said, as soon as the door had been closed behind them, "I didn't realise. I was probably the worst person I could have chosen. I'm sorry."

McCoy nodded, looking as if he were steadying himself. "You weren't," he said slowly. "I was scared out of my mind. But I wasn't afraid of you. I would have been of anyone else you could have picked." He took a long breath, and went on, "And I am sorry for what I said about Spock. He is a good Starfleet officer; but he's," McCoy fumbled with the words, "decent. They respect him. I trust him -- I respected him even before I knew him as well as I do now. He's nothing to be ashamed of, your son." He added, in an effort to lighten Amanda's look, "Even offered to leave, if I asked him to."

Amanda stared at him, frowning. "He did what? -- No, I heard you the first time. Leonard, you can't possibly accept such a gift. It's his whole age of responsibility he's offering you."

"I didn't," McCoy snapped, and frowned in his turn. "I thought you didn't want him in Starfleet?"

"I didn't. Not twenty-two years ago. But he decided on his life's work then, and he can't give it up, as if he were a child."

"It doesn't matter," McCoy said again. "I didn't." He nodded towards the door. "Shouldn't we be getting back?"

"In a minute." Amanda turned to the firepot, watching the leaping flames. She went through a short breathing exercise, and grew calmer. "Leonard, why did you want to leave Starfleet?"

"I don't want to talk about it," McCoy snapped. He could still remember Nic Marlowe, in colours of grey and blotchy-red, and knowing Spock had done that. "There's been a lot of reasons, over the years," he said more quietly. "But I might just as well ask you why you wanted to become a Vulcan."

"I might tell you, one of these days," Amanda answered, "but I take your point." She grinned at him. "I admit, some mornings I used to check my ears in the mirror. But I stopped worrying about that a few years ago. I belong here, whatever I am, and that's what matters." She had spoken decisively, and there was a pause. "That's the only reason I could have for wishing Spock would leave Starfleet now. To let you discover where you belong."

"With Spock," McCoy said colourlessly.

Amanda made an impatient gesture. "Of course with Spock, as he belongs with you. You're bondmates. I mean your world."

"I was born on Earth, but I can't go back. I'm legally a citizen of this world, but it's too heavy and it's too hot and the air tastes odd. I've visited more than a hundred worlds, and I don't belong on any of them."

"You belong here. You may not like it, and you may find somewhere else you want to belong, but this is your home. You've eaten the bread and drunk the water. You're part of this clan forever, even if you never teach or grow food or have a child to this house, as I was before I had done any of that." She wasn't shouting, but speaking forcefully and quickly; she stopped, and grinned a little ruefully. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to say this is your home, and your family, even if you don't want it to be. And I suppose we had better go back now," she added, "though that pair will just have turned their backs on each other and be examining the walls."

=@=@=

That was, as it happened, almost exactly what they were doing; Sarek was reading a piece of framed calligraphy that he must have known by heart, and Spock was studying closely a Terran landscape that he must know almost as well.

"Spock, I'm sorry I haven't said yet how very glad I am to see you well. Sit down. Sarek, do stop looming," she added unfairly. "Leonard, can I ask you to go and pour the coffee? It should be ready by this time."

Spock sat down automatically; Sarek took a seat at an angle facing slightly away from his son. They both looked completely impassive. Amanda glanced at both of them, and grimaced, and sat down on the long couch. In the kitchen there were four cups set out on a tray with a pot of honey, a plate with oatcake-like biscuits, and a small jug of milk set ready. McCoy brought the tray with the coffee through to the room, put it down in front of Amanda, and retreated from Sarek to sit down on her far side.

"I don't want to hear one word," Amanda said, pouring the coffee. Her voice held as much chilly grimness as McCoy had ever heard in Spock's. "Not one word. Sarek, Spock; you will drink and eat together. And afterwards you will hold to this reconciliation in word and deed."

She handed them each a cup of coffee, and passed Sarek the biscuit-plate. He took one of the oatcakes, broke it neatly in two, and stood up to hand the other piece to Spock. Spock sat there holding it with a tiny crease of disbelief between his eyebrows.

"I break bread with you, my son," Sarek said, cold and courteous and formal, and sat down again, taking a bite from the oatcake.

"And I with you, my father," Spock answered. He took a bite, chewed, swallowed.

McCoy found himself wanting to laugh, knowing he mustn't, choking it down. He didn't risk drinking the coffee, aware that it was statistically inevitable that the giggles would get the better of him just as he was about to swallow a mouthful of scalding liquid. On the other hand, he mused a little crazily, maybe having to deal with a choking human was just what this Vulcan kaffeeklatschen needed to liven it up a bit....

He turned to Amanda, and asked almost quite perfectly, "Something I've been meaning to ask you. Have I got this right? T'Fon is Spock's grandmother, so I suppose T'Pau must really be his great-grandmother...?"

"T'Pau is my mother," Sarek said. "T'Fon is her bondmate, and has been since before Spock was born; therefore in courtesy she is addressed as his grandmother, and consequently, yours."

McCoy had already decided not to ask the next obvious question. Sarek answered it. "My father was Suiok. He died one hundred and eight years ago."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Either regret or apology would be illogical. I myself was only a year old at the time. Your parents had not yet been born."

"I just meant I'm sorry you lost your father so young. He must have been quite young, too, I mean for a Vulcan. Still, it was a long time ago." McCoy was aware he was babbling. He shut up. He found Spock's father as intimidating when he was talking as when he was silent. Spock must get it from both sides; maybe it was a defense reaction....

"He went out into the desert to study le-matya," Sarek told him, "unfortunately, his protective force-field failed. He had omitted to bring a back-up. His emergency beacon's generator had broken, and he had not renewed the charge in his stunner. Finally, the flyer in which he had come had run out of fuel. He started to walk back; the le-matya left enough for the body to be identifiable."

"Oh."

"It was a highly unlikely tragic accident," Amanda said.

"How unlikely?" McCoy croaked.

"Quite impossible. Everyone knows T'Pau killed him. More coffee?"

"Mother," Spock said, eyebrows flickering suddenly, "this is not fair. Leonard does not know you."

Amanda gave him a long cool look. "Oh, he has his own defenses, my son."

McCoy looked at Sarek, whose serious mien prohibited laughter, and asked quickly, concentrating on something, anything else, "I've been wondering about Vulcan medicine, since our visit to Saioe this morning. I'd like to talk to a healer. Which one?"

"You are intended to rest," Sarek said. McCoy realised he had been staring, probably impolitely, and quickly averted his eyes. Sarek went on imperturbably, "It would not be logical to resume your studies at a time when you would be unable to concentrate. Amanda would be better able than I to advise you on the appropriate length of time to rest."

"Oh, I usually wait till I can read Terinashu without falling asleep over the footnotes, before I start anything more complicated. Perhaps I should lend you the first volume?"

"I can't read Vulcan," McCoy intervened, before Amanda could get up and start looking for it.

"No, of course not, you've hardly had time," Amanda said, already halfway to her feet. "It took me a couple of years. But I made a translation, about twenty -- twenty-three years ago now." She was out of the door before McCoy could protest again.

"What is Terinashu?"

"The name of a person who died four hundred and seventy-two years ago. The work of his elder age was a participatory epic called A Political Example and Tragedy of the Four Seasons and the Four Elements and the Company of Seven."

"In four volumes," Amanda continued, coming back and dropping a hand-bound book into his lap. "It's called participatory epic because the fifth part is implicit in the first four, to be created by the reader. There are hundreds of fifth volumes of Terinashu, but you really will have to learn to read Vulcan to read them; they've never been translated."

It looked very thick, and the print was rather odd. McCoy thanked Amanda politely and hoped Spock would not remind him unobtrusively to take it with him.

"I know that you two should be resting soon," Amanda said, sitting down again. "But I do have something that I want to say, for the four of us."

Sarek set his cup down and looked at her, raising an eyebrow. Spock's eyebrow had lifted, nearly identical. Amanda looked across at her son, taking him in with a steady gaze. "Spock, seven years ago T'Pau asked you a question; are you Vulcan or are you human? A couple of days ago Ch'vrei asked me the same question." She turned on McCoy suddenly. "You've been asking me that question all the time you've been here. Well, two days ago I found an answer. Yes. Yes, I am Vulcan." She looked at Spock. "Yes, I am human." And finally, at Sarek, meeting his eyes, feeling the bond between them quiet and certain. "And yes, I will accept Ch'vrei's place amongst the elders when she dies."

Sarek stood up with a swiftness and grace that was startling, and held out his hand to her; Amanda reached out, and they touched, fingertip to fingertip. "Amanda," he said without any formality at all, but with a great flash of joy and pride that was all the more striking from being visible only from within, not from any change in his expression. "My bondmate, continue!"

They looked at each other with great content and appreciation. "Are you imagining what the elders will be like when I sit with them, Sarek?"

"Indeed not," Sarek said severely. "I know too well. You will have illogical sympathies with young troublemakers, and you will provide the most logical rationalisations for your most emotional judgements, and I am deeply relieved that I shall never have to sit with you and hear you."

McCoy, watching them, remembered suddenly the two women he had met in the long mosaic-hall; T'Fon, and the other must have been T'Pau. They had touched fingertips, he remembered, as lovers did on this world. That was what the love of more than a hundred years looked like; it glowed in the dark eyes. No. They were both Vulcan. Not love. The mutual and acknowledged need of more than a hundred years was beautiful. He reached out without looking and touched Spock's fingertips with his own. It moved him more than he was ever able to say that after a moment Spock took his hand in a quick, very human clasp.

Spock was almost as shaken as Leonard looked. Parents did not inflict their internal lives on their children; hence, though he had seen his parents often before he left the clan house at the age of fourteen, he had never seen either of them look at each other like that, as a couple long-linked. He might have seen more of them in the year after his formal education was finished, before he left for Starfleet, but he had drawn back into himself all that year, knowing their disapproval of what he wanted. It was not something to be spoken of; but having known all his life that his parents had bonded because otherwise his father would have died and his mother would have been exiled, it was somehow pleasing to know that he had not been only the child of expedience. But his bondmate's Vulcan gesture must be answered appropriately.

"You two really must go now," Amanda said suddenly, looking at them both with intent concern. "You look absolutely worn-out. Are you eating properly?"

"Yes," Spock said, almost simultaneously with McCoy. They got up; Sarek and Amanda followed them over to the door.

"Oh, Leonard, one more thing; T'Avori would like to see you some time when you're free."

Spock frowned, but Leonard turned to her with a grin of delight. "She's back then?"

"Of course."

McCoy hugged her, would have hugged Spock -- would almost have hugged Sarek -- but restrained himself. "Tomorrow. If you see her before I do, tell her it's a date."

"I'll translate that," said Amanda, hugging him back. "I'm sure she'll be pleased."

They walked carefully and slowly down the corridor towards their own chambers. "Leonard," Spock asked, "whose child is T'Avori? Am I correct in supposing that she has just completed her Kahs-wan?"

"Yes. Let me see now... I'm sure she did tell me...." McCoy frowned, but shook his head finally. "No. Sorry, I can't remember. Yes, she left the day after you went into seclusion." A smile kept breaking loose, and finally he gave up and let it free, placidly ignoring the few impassive looks they received from other people who passed them as they strolled. "Gods, I'm glad to hear she's safe."

=@=@=

Suiarh had greeted them both politely and directed them from the creché to the rooms for those in an age of service. Yuite, he added, had been asking after Leonard, and so had Silxor.

"Did you know Yuite's your niece?" McCoy inquired, turning down the corridor after Spock.

"I conclude that my father's sister has had a second child," Spock said with absolute indifference.

The room which T'Avori had been given was somehow familiar, McCoy thought. It was wide and spacious, and the bed was low enough for a child, but apart from that and a low table and chairs, it was bare of furnishings. A few books and other belongings were tidily placed along one of the deep shelves. It was familiar, but he could not think why.

T'Avori's hair had been cut, short and neat. She raised her hand in formal, adult greeting, but her face was alive and happy. "Leonard," she said politely, "live long and prosper."

"I'm glad to see you well," McCoy said, equally formal.

"Cousin T'Avori," Spock said, and echoed her gesture. He had asked Suiarh whose child she was; his great-aunt's eldest daughter's son's daughter's child, according to the geneology that McCoy had barely followed.

"Live long and prosper, Spock."

"I congratulate you on a successful Kahs-wan," Spock went on. "When do you begin your studies?"

"Yesterday," T'Avori said, still polite. Her eyes glanced sideways to McCoy, who coughed.

"T'Avori, could we sit down? I'm a bit tired."

"Please be welcome."

The chairs looked far too small. McCoy sat down on the bed; Spock sat down beside him. He was beginning to wish that Spock hadn't come with him. T'Avori remained standing, a little awkwardly, and then turned and went to a box on the shelf and rummaged in it. Spock raised an eyebrow. She came back with a flat, rounded stone, dark grey mottled with white. Nothing special about it. When she handed it to McCoy, it fitted pleasantly in the hand.

"Thank you," he said gravely.

Spock cut in smoothly. "You honour both of us in gifting my bondmate one of your dreamstones. May I ask what your present studies are?"

"The same as yours at her age, probably," McCoy retorted. "T'Avori, I'm sorry, I don't understand. What's a dreamstone?"

"On the walk back, the stones that seem to mark your path, they're memory stones. If you take some of them with you, then they're dreamstones."

"The Kahs-wan walk is between irresponsibility and responsibility, a time belonging to neither. The dream is an appropriate metaphor for such a time."

"Oh," McCoy and T'Avori said, at the same time.

"What are your studies, T'Avori?"

"Family history with great-aunt T'Pau. Oldest and Anglic with cousin K'yiru. Llaekh-ae'rl with uncle-by-marriage Eywuis. Genetics with T'Erei, and Terran botany and aikido with cousin Amanda," T'Avori said, still very formal with Spock.

McCoy bit his tongue. He didn't want to have a fight with Spock. He should have known that his bondmate wasn't good with children. But it was all he could do not to say "You know, adults always asked me that kind of question when I was your age, and I always wondered why they did it."

Instead he asked "Aikido?"

"It means the tao of martial spiritual harmony, in an old Terran language Amanda says she does not speak well enough to teach me," T'Avori said eagerly. "It is a physical and mental discipline, Amanda says, that will take all of my ages to learn."

"Indeed," Spock agreed.

"Did you study it when you were my age?" T'Avori asked.

"No. It is not considered appropriate for those in an age of service to learn from their parents, and there were no others who were able to teach, then. My mother brought that discipline to this world."

"I didn't know that," McCoy said. "You told me once, Spock, your mother was a teacher?"

"Inevitably," Spock answered. "She was the first Terran human to live on this world as though born to it. She had much to teach. The record will be in the family history files, if you are interested."

"And she translated Terinashu's Political Example," T'Avori told him. "Cousin K'yiru is using that as one of the Anglic books, because I'd read it already."

"Teacher, translator, gardener, fighter, and peacemaker," McCoy said slowly, "Spock, is there anything your mother can't do?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. Leonard, that is not an appropriate question.

McCoy looked back at him, both eyebrows up. Not in front of the children, is that it?

T'Avori shifted a little. "How long are you staying here?"

"Till our leave's finished. Another month -- I mean another forty, forty-two days." McCoy became aware that Spock was looking at him thoughtfully.

They stayed another quarter hour or so; they were both still tired. "I'll come and see you again," McCoy promised. "Or you come and see me."

Once back in their rooms, McCoy asked what he had been avoiding asking all along the corridor. "You don't really like children, do you?"

"I have no preference for their company."

"I believe that's what I said," McCoy parodied. "Then why did you come with me? You're at least twice as tired as I am." Without having to be told, Spock had sat down on the couch as they came in, and McCoy had dropped down beside him.

"It was a formal visit," Spock sounded slightly startled.

"Nobody told me."

"T'Avori is now in an age of responsibility. We were paying our first visit to her after our pon farr and her Kahs-wan. Of course it was formal; it would have been uncustomary for you to go alone."

"Oh, gods," McCoy said in sheer depression. "How long before your entire clan start dropping in to inspect us?"

"Not until we attend formal family meal. Fortunately," Spock said, with a very brief flicker of his eyebrows, "I am still quite exhausted."

"The pity is, you really are." After two long nights of deep deep sleep, McCoy felt ready for some friendly cuddling before he actually dropped off tonight. It would be unfair to pressure Spock right now. "Me too. Want something to eat before we go to bed? Say yes."

"Yes, Doctor," said Spock obediently, and stood up. He did not, though he could have, pull McCoy up with him. Even weakened after plak tow and pon farr, he was stronger than human; but demonstrating this irritated his bondmate. "I believe it is my turn to cook."

"I suppose so," McCoy admitted reluctantly. He followed Spock through to the kitchen, watching him.

Neither of them had actually had to do anything beyond re-heating the stews that were left for them, or preparing a hot drink. Another thing that was apparently customary was for people to walk in to other people's private rooms when they knew they'd be so fast asleep they'd never hear it, as McCoy had taken to muttering to himself in the morning. Both mornings after they had woken up and gone through to prepare a lazy breakfast, there had been more jars and bowls and boxes and platters of prepared food, either on the counter or in the cold-unit, each with a card with Vulcan script tucked in somewhere. It made meals very easy. It made McCoy improbably cross. He wouldn't have minded so much, he realised, if they'd done it the way he would have found customary; dropped in for five minutes with a gift of food in fair trade for a little gossip to pass on. This scrupulous regard for personal privacy combined with an utter lack of regard for private territory was very hard to take.

"What do these cards say?" McCoy asked, fidgeting with one. "Get well soon?"

"An excellent rough translation. Literally, it says 'Live well' -- or 'Live long' -- 'and prosper'. And the name of the person who left the gift." Spock added absently, "You should learn to read."

"When do Vulcan children learn?"

"Age two or three."

"Forget it; I'm not joining a kindergarten."

Spock said nothing. He had heated a thick soup, and poured it steaming into two bowls; now he seemed to be entirely involved in deciding which bread they should have. McCoy moved forward and took hold of Spock's forearm, turning him. His bondmate turned, looking back at him from hollow eyes, impassive.

McCoy put his free hand flat against Spock's chest, and slid his palm upwards, feeling the tiny shifts and stresses in the Vulcan as he said sensibly "Leonard, the soup will get cold."

And waited, for McCoy to do whatever he chose to do. It was not passive acceptance; the human understood this suddenly. Spock needed him in ways McCoy could not begin to comprehend, except when he was within Spock's mind as Spock within his. That need would only become sexual once every seven years; but it was still the same need of him.

Every sexual instinct McCoy possessed objected to what Spock offered, now and so many times in the past; to let McCoy have him, take him, gain sexual release and give none to Spock. But it came together there and then, in that awkward half-passive embrace, in the kitchen with supper half-ready; that Spock's need was simply for himself, and simple as his need for water. He could throw all the words away, having, taking, offering; he was Spock. Simple as life.

McCoy dared to do what he had meant to do, what he had never done before; after only the briefest hesitation, he slid his hand on upwards, over his lover's throat, to rest on the other's face in the position of the mindmeld. Will you sleep linked with me tonight?

Spock did not move. Very quietly, with wondering acceptance, he answered Without you I should die of thirst.

They had supper and went to bed. McCoy pushed Spock's expert but hesitating hand out of the way. "That's not what I want."

"What do you want?"

McCoy rolled over to lie on top of Spock, his hands resting either side of the other's head. "Did you know that there's more that two men can do together than just lie on top of each other and let it happen?"

He knew Spock would answer him seriously; Spock answered all his questions seriously. "Yes, I did know that," Spock said after a pause. "But you have never initiated such practices, and I am less experienced than you."

"How do you feel about trying them?"

"There seems no reason not to do so, if you wish."

"Will you tell me to stop if you don't like what I'm doing?"

"You would not do anything to put me in discomfort."

"Well, I wouldn't intend to," McCoy said sharply, "but I'd like to know if you're not enjoying whatever I'm doing."

"Very well."

McCoy's hands traced lines on Spock's body. He kissed Spock's eyebrows, licking at them, then each eyelid. The tip of Spock's nose. Either corner of Spock's mouth, closed and taut.

Kneeling up, he began to nibble at Spock's throat. The Vulcan tensed, momentarily, and McCoy looked up at him. "You don't want me to do that?"

"I was... irrationally apprehensive for a moment. Please continue."

McCoy frowned. He placed his hand on Spock's throat, and watched as the Vulcan seemed to clench inward, and then, consciously, relax. "You don't like this."

"It is irrational."

"I won't do it again. Tell me if there's anything else I do you don't like."

"Very well." Spock leaned up, and, formally, kissed his bondmate's mouth.

"Why do you think I'm doing this?" McCoy asked.

"For your pleasure," Spock said. "I thought that was understood...?"

"Yes. I do understand. But you understand, I want you to enjoy it, too. OK, I understand, maybe you won't come. But you enjoy it, don't you? Us, being together, touching each other?"

"It is never unpleasant to be touched by you," Spock said, feeling an odd, unfocussed warmth, and wanting to lay his hand against Leonard's face. "It is only that I am accustomed to defending my throat, not to lying back and letting it be bitten."

McCoy saw Spock's eyebrows flicker, and grinned. "Torn out by my fangs?" He moved, shifting Spock's legs apart and kneeling between them. "How will you feel about letting your cock past my teeth?"

"Is that what you want to do?" Spock lay there, looking up at his bondmate. "Or do you want me to do that to you?"

"Tonight I want to do everything I can think of to you." McCoy smiled. "I want you to remember it all and do it to me tomorrow night."

"Very well."

"And my pleasure," McCoy added, as autocratically as he could, "will be lost if you don't tell me what you don't like just because you believe it's irrational not to like it."

Spock's eyebrows flickered again; there was a glint in his eyes, but he said only, "Very well, Leonard."

McCoy knew what Spock tasted like, of course; but he discovered, as he went on, kissing his way slowly but thoroughly down Spock's chest and stomach, that the odd cinnamon-apple flavour grew stronger and stranger in his mouth.

Spock reached out and put his hand against the side of McCoy's face. Now? Their minds meshed so neatly and precisely that it was almost a sensual pleasure. Spock tasted himself in his own mouth; McCoy felt his own mouth on himself; they touched and were touched in the same act.

Before -- long ago, it seemed now -- McCoy had disliked this melding, where each of them felt the other's body as his own; the doubled and redoubled senses made him dizzy and confused. This time was different; balanced, he knelt above himself lying defenselessly on the bed, feeling his hands on his own thighs, coming inwards to stroke gently at his genitals, feeling his own arousal a fierce suppressed heat and a quiet undemanding warmth.

His mouth closed round his cock; mouth cool on hot flesh; his hand slid to the back of his neck, caressing and warm; the palms of his hands were cool on his thighs, fingertips tracing small teasing patterns on his skin; his mouth seemed warmer than before, and his cock hotter; and the two heats of arousal seemed to be merging, becoming one.

Spock --

T'hy'la, thou --

- we -- can do it to us -- you --

One of them came, and that flood of pleasure through both of them sent the other into orgasm. It was almost painful, almost frightening, almost overwhelming; but they held on, and were through together, Leonard lying over Spock and wrapped round him.

I meant to take longer, McCoy said silently. He grinned, then, kissing Spock; If I'd known a blow-job could have that effect on you --

It was your mind.

Yeah.... Leonard was silent for a long time, though several times Spock thought he was about to speak, as he moved to lie beside Spock with one arm over his chest, blue eyes intent and thoughtful. I was afraid to do this, before.

Afraid of me.

I thought, when you proposed -- McCoy grinned -- you meant to rape me. When I found out you didn't know how, even if you wanted to, I was considerably relieved. Even in the mind, his voice sounded dryly ironic.

Spock slid an arm round him. For so long?

I was afraid, McCoy repeated. I didn't know.

Nor did I. So was I. Spock hesitated, unsure of the gesture's appropriateness, but even as he was wondering McCoy raised his head and met Spock's kiss halfway.

Now that's something new... Leonard thought contentedly. You never used to touch me unless I told you to.

I didn't know how, Spock repeated, and met McCoy's questioning look with a raised eyebrow. I do not know what is appropriate between humans -- and your desire for privacy was often very obvious.

It often is. On the ship.

You don't want to go back.

McCoy nearly pulled away, sat up, and detached himself from the mindmeld. Spock could see how near Leonard was to doing it; but his bondmate lay still, remaining within the meld.

It may get easier, Leonard said, obviously not believing it, now I know I can go if I have to. And what I plan to do might work.

I think that our chances of success are slightly higher than you believe at the present time. In any case, we have no real alternatives left; we must act or we must leave. T'hy'la, I cannot say that all will be well; but we will do well.

Very encouraging.

Your plan is at least possible, Leonard.

I don't want to think about it now. Spock, even when I want privacy, I sometimes still want to be touched, and even if you get it wrong I'd still rather you touched me than waited to be asked.

Very well. Do you have more to teach me now, or may we sleep?

I think we can sleep, Leonard said magnanimously, there's more than a month to go.

=@=@=

Towards the end of their leave on Vulcan, people kept dropping in -- if Vulcans ever did anything so unceremonious -- and leaving a small gift. Spock's clan had no traditions of ceremonial farewells.

"I hate long goodbyes," Amanda said briskly, handing McCoy eight volumes -- Terinashu's participatory epic, in the original Vulcan and in Amanda's translation. "We'll see you again, in seven years if not before."

Sarek handed Spock a small stone bottle. Spock looked at the characters carved into the side. "I am honoured, Father."

"May you drink it in good health, my son." He glanced at McCoy. "My sons."

The two men, Shosar and Scelik, who had escorted McCoy to the seclusion chamber the night Spock entered pon farr, spent a formal fifteen minutes with them one afternoon. They left behind, as though absently, a tiny nutshell carved into a box.

Revaes visited with a child's reading primer, and a blunt invitation to McCoy, not Spock, to come to the creché the last afternoon of their stay on Vulcan. Suiarh was more polite (and his gift of five fine-nibbed pens more tactful), but no less insistant.

Silxor, Felier, and Suerin, had collaborated in a ceramic sculpture of McCoy's head; eyes painted richly blue, ears definitely not pointed, and surprisingly (McCoy said, later; Spock disagreed) good to look at. It made McCoy grin every time he looked at it; it was nice to know he'd made such an impression. Yuite had given him her third-favourite maze game.

Kyuir and Saioe gave McCoy a basic anatomy textbook. Spock refused to translate the diagrams, but relented enough to tell his bondmate that there were tapes for written-Vulcan, and yes, he could arrange for McCoy to get one.

T'Avori made a very adult and self-restrained visitor, for the first five minutes; Spock retreated to the kitchen after that, and she and McCoy talked for some time about childhoods on Earth and in the clan house. She might be fourteen before he saw her next. "And you'll be completely logical by then," he added.

Even T'Pau and T'Fon made a brief visit; McCoy stayed quiet even when T'Fon presented him, casually, with a small image of a god enclosed in a curved blood-green shell; Beautiful Wisdom, T'Fon said mildly, and T'Pau raised an iron-grey eyebrow and asked, with steel, "Why are you giving our grandson this?"

"From one unwanted clanmember to another," T'Fon answered, "since we have both become welcomed."

"It should have been the Healer," T'Pau said, "not the Assassin."

"Then it will serve to remind him of me."

They left soon after, their argument becoming telepathic at the doorway, and McCoy turned round and hugged Spock very hard.

=@=@=

"Finished? Are you ready? Got everything?" McCoy said briskly.

"Yes," Spock said, visibly not reminding McCoy that this was the third time McCoy had asked those questions. The shuttle was in on the landing ground; the heat was comfortable.

It was odd seeing the human crew on the shuttle, the humans around the spaceport; McCoy kept absently rubbing at his ears, as if he couldn't quite believe them. His bag was heavy; he had had to leave most of the entirely necessary parting gifts behind, but he had kept the book of anatomy, the tiny nutshell-box, T'Avori's dreamstone, of course, and all eight volumes of Terinashu. He ought to find time to read it in seven years.

The Enterprise would be in transporter range in only an hour, they were told; Spock and McCoy sat in one of the waiting areas, McCoy drinking coffee. Even that tasted strange. They did not look at each other much, or touch at all. There was no need.

=@=@=

The transporter beam took them and Kirk was standing by the transporter console, smiling at Spock. "Welcome back, Mr Spock."

"Captain."

"Did you have a good leave?"

"It was satisfactory," Spock said formally.

"Good. You're both on the watch schedule as from today -- check it as soon as you get to your cabin."

"Affirmative, Captain."

"Yes, sir."

"We had a run-in with the Klingons," Kirk said casually, going out the door at Spock's side, McCoy two or three paces behind them. "We're a little short-handed as a result. We're heading for Earth right now, though, and we're due some new recruits from the next draft."

"Excellent, Captain. Terran recruits are more disciplined."

"Well, we'll soon break them in. I'm glad you're back, Spock; I've several matters I want to talk over with you."

Spock raised an eyebrow. Kirk grinned.

"Yes, and with the rest."

"Tonight?"

"My quarters. The time will be on your schedules. I'll see you on the bridge, Mr Spock."

Inside McCoy's cabin, they reached out, McCoy to touch Spock's fingertips with his own, Spock to clasp McCoy's hand; they went over to the terminal still holding hands. McCoy's schedule was blank until the evening meeting of the alliance; Spock was due on the bridge in twenty minutes.

Spock let go, and started to strip off his uniform; the one he had been wearing when they had left the Enterprise.

"I'll get you some clean," McCoy offered, rubbing his hands together; it felt oddly cold. Spock nodded, and went into the shower. A few minutes later, he paused by McCoy, unpacking, and reached out to touch the back of his bondmate's neck with his fingertips. Leonard, if we are going to Earth in a few days, I would recommend you not carry out your plan until we leave.

McCoy snorted. Any excuse to put it off is welcome, believe me.

Spock nodded, and withdrew his hand, Uniformed and looking chillingly formidable, he left the room. Commander Spock was back on the Enterprise.

=@=@=

That evening, sitting in Kirk's quarters, next to Spock, drinking the blue wine that Kirk had tasted first -- as had become habit, since no one in the alliance seriously thought the Captain intended to assassinate his senior officers; and anyway, if Kirk did, he wouldn't use the wine.

McCoy was, occasionally, included in the conversation; but for the most part, as for the past year, the others in the alliance spoke to Spock. It was rather like formal family supper in the clan house. He watched the others; Kirk speaking with authority on some Klingon custom; Scott quiet and impassive; Flynn quick-moving, fierce-eyed, gesturing widely with her hands to make a point; Chapel, as usual, a model Starfleet officer, sitting precise and upright as Spock beside him; and Uhura, watching Kirk and Spock intently, calm and hidden... with an odd pity in her eyes, when she occasionally glanced at McCoy.

The alliance was practical. None of the seven senior officers aboard the Enterprise needed to fear assassination from each other, nor ambitious junior officers with sharp knives.

The alliance worked; even Kirk wouldn't be fool enough to disrupt something that worked so well only for his own personal gratification. So McCoy thought; and hoped he was right. Nevertheless, he was glad to have a reason not to broach the subject now.

=@=@=

Forty-three new crewmembers joined the Enterprise during the three days it was in Starfleet Space Dock. For all but eight of them, it would be their first cruise. Ensign Shoko Yasuda was one of those fresh from the Academy. She was a small woman, with shining straight dark hair and large brown eyes. She moved with the grace of someone trained in three different forms of martial art.

That is, she did until a few hours after the Enterprise left Spacedock. She came on duty a few minutes late, and when McCoy saw her he winced.

"Ensign."

Yasuda turned, stiffly, and stood waiting. Not for the first time, McCoy wished the Chief Medical Officer's office was still his. "Come in here," he said anyway, and sat down behind the desk that used to be his. "Sit down, unless you'd rather stand."

The ensign sat, carefully, expressionless. McCoy folded his hands on the desk in front of him and said carefully, keeping his anger under tight control, "I don't think you're feeling very well, ensign."

"I'm fine."

"You don't look well. I'd like to give you a quick checkover."

"No." Yasuda stood up again. "No. I am fine."

"I wasn't intending to touch you. Just an electronic scan. And a blood sample to test for -- anything."

The ensign was trembling. She unclenched her jaw long enough to repeat "I am fine," and shut her mouth again.

"Please, sit down," McCoy said. He didn't want to get up; he wanted to keep the desk between them. "I may be entirely wrong, in which case I apologise, but I think you've been injured."

Chapel shoved the door open and came in, looking thunderous. "McCoy, your office is -- " Then she saw Yasuda. "What? What's wrong?"

The ensign had turned as the door opened, and looked as if she wanted either to fade into the background or run. McCoy answered, "I think she was injured last night; I'm trying to persuade her to have a medical scan."

Chapel reached out, surprisingly gently, and put a hand on Yasuda's shoulder. "Sit down. You're... Ensign Yasuda, one of the new medical research personnel? It's very simple, ensign; as chief medical officer, I can order anyone to take a medical scan. I'm ordering you. Was it Kirk?"

"What?" Yasuda looked up at Chapel, startled and afraid.

"There are only four people aboard ship who outrank me, Spock, Scott, Uhura, and Kirk; if it was anyone but those four, you know you can tell me and I can deal with it."

There was silence. Yasuda swallowed. "It didn't happen... he told me it didn't happen."

"I don't suppose it's any consolation," McCoy said, carefully, "but it will never happen again. Not with Kirk, and not with anyone else."

Yasuda shrugged.

"It's true," Chapel said, sitting down on the edge of the desk. "I'm not defending Kirk, he's a bastard fuckwit whose sex drive has an overdeveloped sense of importance, but what he wants is sex. Not rape. If he rapes someone, then it's because his ego got in the way of his sex drive; he can't stand to lose face, to be turned down. I imagine that's what happened last night. He won't do it again."

"Then I shouldn't have turned him down?" Yasuda's voice was very grey.

"He would have raped you whatever you did," Chapel said, bluntly. "The only difference it would have made if you had let him think you liked it, is that it would have happened again for a couple of nights. As it is, he'll have picked out someone else from the new people. Now -- will you let us give you a medical scan?"

About halfway through the scan, Yasuda opened her eyes and looked at Chapel. "How can you say this will not happen again?" she asked, sounding a little more alive.

"You're in my department. If anyone bothers you, anyone at all, you're to come and tell me and I'll deal with it."

"But... I can be transferred. If the head of another department requests transfer..."

"Mm," McCoy agreed. "But out of the five heads of departments, Scott's not interested in anyone but his own engineers, Uhura and Flynn believe in keeping it for shoreleave -- " he shot Chapel a brief, amused look.

"You're not my type," Chapel interrupted, "and Spock is married." She looked at McCoy.

"Well, you're fine... no serious injuries; bruises and abrasions. No infection." McCoy tilted up the mediscanner couch and let the ensign step off unaided. "Neither of us will mention this to anyone."

"No," Chapel agreed. "But you may find that some of your classmates guess. If they do, Yasuda, it's probably because much the same thing has happened to them."

"What if I tell them?" Yasuda said hoarsely. "What if I tell them that the Captain did this to me and he had no right -- "

"He has every right," Chapel said grimly. "He is Captain of this ship. He has the right to do anything he wants to any of us. If you query that, it's mutiny."

"But be angry, Yasuda," McCoy added. "Better be angry than feel guilty for something that someone else did to you." He glanced down at the control panel, tapped a button. "I've wiped that from the memory. Do you have a friend aboard?"

"Michiko Ruiz was in many of the same classes at the Academy," Yasuda said cautiously, after a pause.

Chapel had moved to one of the terminals. "Yes. All right; you and ensign Ruiz have the rest of your shift off. Do whatever you like. Stay together."

"Stay away from the Captain," McCoy offered. "He won't want to see you any more than you want to see him, so you needn't worry about him trying to find you -- but don't try to find him."

"Just try to forget what happened," Chapel said, finally, turning away to go into her office. "If you need to talk about it, talk to someone you can trust. You can trust me. And McCoy."

Ensign Ruiz arrived a few minutes later, and she and Yasuda left sickbay together, Ruiz looking confused and concerned. McCoy went into Chapel's office.

"What is it?"

"Why did you agree to Ruiz? Do you know her?"

"I know of her," Chapel said shortly. "She's Starfleet to her backbone. She won't encourage the girl to do anything stupid, like the other ensign. Was that all?"

McCoy looked back at Chapel's cold eyes. They had worked well together; he knew that Chapel was as revolted by Kirk's sex games as he was. She did not like him, though, and that hadn't changed. She might support him, she might not; it was safest to say nothing for now.

"Yes," he said. "I'm sorry I used your office; I didn't want to waste time taking ensign Yasuda to mine."

"Under the circumstances," Chapel said levelly, "I think you were right."

"Thanks. We're meeting tonight?"

"Yes. I have a lot of work to do."

"Me too," McCoy lied, and left.

=@=@=

Once again they met in the Captain's quarters; Spock, McCoy knew, had been there already that evening, though he had met McCoy in his own office and they had gone to the meeting of the alliance together. Flynn was already there; Uhura and Chapel arrived a few moments after them. Scott was the last.

They were talking over the new recruits; efficiency, ambition, ruthlessness, and which of them were likely to be internal security. Chapel, McCoy noticed, left ensign Shoko Yasuda to the last, and dealt with her as briefly as possible. Kirk reacted no more to her name than to any of the other recruits.

"Well, is that it?" the Captain asked, sipping his wine.

"There's something I'd like to mention," McCoy said.

Kirk glanced at Spock, looking mildly surprised. "Go on, Doctor."

"Ensign Marlowe died just before Spock and I went on leave." McCoy's voice was dry, almost impersonal. "Ensign Yasuda was damaged last night. Other junior officers have been mistreated, in the five years I've been aboard this ship. This is a waste of the ship's human resources, and I want it to stop."

"Nic Marlowe was arrested for mutiny," Kirk said. "I'm not aware of any other injuries. If you were, Doctor, it was your responsibility or Doctor Chapel's to report it to me. Should I have you cited for dereliction of duty?"

McCoy swallowed. He was terrified, as much of losing his temper as of Kirk's quiet even voice. "Captain, the mistreatment I mentioned consists of senior officers abusing their position of authority over juniors. This abuse has been considered by some senior officers to be a privilege of rank. I would like the alliance to decide that on this ship it must stop."

"Doctor, since you're not even a head of department, I think you're going beyond your authority in saying what senior officers should and shouldn't do. You happen to have a privileged position -- " Kirk glanced at Spock " -- don't abuse it."

Spock didn't even raise an eyebrow. McCoy could feel him, a solid warm support at the back of McCoy's mind, but Spock had promised he wouldn't intervene until he had to.

"Perhaps I am going beyond my authority," McCoy agreed, drawling to cover anger. "I shouldn't interfere with another department's way of running things. What I object to, Captain, is someone interfering with any ensign that takes his fancy, never mind if they fancy him or not."

Kirk could still have responded blandly, but perhaps Yasuda's revulsion last night had struck a nerve. "Mr Spock, would you remove Doctor McCoy from the room? Confine him to your quarters."

"I beg your pardon, Captain?" Spock did not move.

"We agreed," Kirk said with a gesture that took in the other four officers, "that you should deal with any problem caused by McCoy. Very well; deal with him, now, or I will."

"It's not me that's causing the problem," McCoy said sharply, standing. He was prepared to walk out rather than leave Spock the choice between arresting his bondmate or defying the Captain there and then. "Senior officers are getting away with rape on this ship, and the medical staff have to clean up after them. I'm sick of it."

Kirk was on his feet, fury barely contained. "You're insolent, Doctor. I'm beginning to think you don't know your job. Flynn. Take McCoy to Mr Spock's quarters, and put him in restraints. Mr Spock, I'll expect you to keep McCoy under better control in future."

Flynn put down her glass and stood up. "Very well, Captain. Let's go, Doctor McCoy."

Spock was still seated. The humans in the room seemed all to be moving in slow motion. Flynn's hands were coming out, reaching for McCoy's arms, not brutally, but with practiced authority. McCoy had stepped back, not far, just flinching away.

"Flynn," Spock said. "If you lay hands on my bondmate, I shall break your neck."

Her hands jerked back, but Flynn's voice was as steady and impassive as her face. "Mr Spock, I've been ordered by the Captain to arrest the doctor."

"You weren't ordered to lay hands on him," Kirk said roughly. "Just get him out of here."

"This is impossible," Uhura said quietly, but with emphasis.

Kirk turned to glare at her. "Commander, your opinion was not called for."

"Captain, you have just given the head of Security an impossible order. Flynn can't remove McCoy from the room without laying hands on him, and Spock knows it."

Kirk stared at her, at Flynn, at McCoy. "What?" he said, in a voice of chilled steel. "All my senior officers turning against me?"

"No, of course not," Chapel said crisply. She hadn't moved. "Captain, Doctor McCoy made a valuable point earlier. As the Chief Medical Officer, I don't think it's going beyond my authority to report than ensign Yasuda will be unfit for normal duty for two days, and will never be as psychologically healthy as she was before an unnamed person raped her. It is a medical offcer's duty to maintain the health of the crew, and Doctor McCoy is a Starfleet medical officer showing a proper concern for the health of certain members of the crew who have been abused. Naturally he should have gone through the proper channels."

An unnamed person. McCoy drew in a deep breath. Chapel's precise words were not an accusation. Of course not. Chapel was a Starfleet officer, and Kirk was her Captain, and sex now and then was by long custom, the Captain's privilege with ensigns or crew.

And Kirk was half-smiling, acknowledging, one Starfleet officer to another, the ridiculousness of 'proper channels'. "Well, Doctor Chapel, what do you suggest? All right, Flynn, you can let McCoy sit down." He was grinning, now.

"Avoid rape," McCoy said coldly. "There are a good many ensigns ready to be seduced. Avoid lying to them."

"Shut up!"

Kirk's fist landed hard against his face; McCoy went down hard, and stayed down, seeing stars. He heard Kirk hard and breathless with rage, standing almost on top of him, "Ensign Marlowe was a fool, and has paid the penalty for his folly."

Spock, as their agreement, had not moved. He had felt the blow land, and it had taken all his self-control not to react.

"Nic Marlowe was no more a mutineer than I am, but you made Spock torture him half to death!" McCoy heard the words come out of his mouth and was startled at the anger which shook his voice.

Kirk slammed his foot into McCoy's side, and he yelped. Scott stood up. "Captain -- Mr Spock, are ye going to just sit there?"

"Captain," Spock said icily, "Doctor McCoy made me agree that I would not move to defend him from you until you had reached the limit of what he could endure. You have nowhere near reached his limits, Captain, but you are rapidly approaching mine."

"Mr Spock, I told you to remove him from the room and confine him to your quarters when he began to make this disturbance," Kirk rasped.

"That I will not do."

"Are you disobeying a direct order?"

"You are refusing to listen to him."

"I am the Captain." Kirk was glaring at Spock, who felt oddly uncertain, as if he were missing some vital component of the situation. It hurt McCoy to breathe, Kirk had cracked a rib when he kicked him, and Spock was fighting to control the fury that should be unleashed at a bondmate's injury.

"I am the Captain, and you will obey me."

Kirk was standing in the middle of a ring of his own officers, outnumbered and unarmed. None of them, except Flynn, had brought a phaser to this meeting, and Flynn's lay by the door. Kirk stood with absolute confidence, his own will clearly his own defense; watching him, Spock thought of a le-matya of the Vulcan deserts, fierce and indomitable.

"Doctor McCoy is suspended from duty until further orders. You will confine him to your cabin. Those are my orders," Kirk was smiling, smug and confident, and then his eyes widened, with sudden realisation. "McCoy said you tortured Marlowe half to death. But he died in sickbay. If you weren't responsible, Spock -- who was?"

Kirk reached down to grab McCoy's shoulder and yank him to his feet. Spock barely heard the sound of pain McCoy made aloud; he could feel the sharp twist of sheer agony as Kirk's hand bit into his shoulder and jerked the cracked rib.

"Captain -- " Chapel said abruptly, and Kirk glanced round at her, but Spock's hand moved faster than the human eye or human reflexes could follow.

And then suddenly everyone, except Kirk, and McCoy who was kneeling over him, was on their feet.

"And now what?" Uhura said sharply, cutting through the babble. "Is he dead, Doctor?"

"Yes," Spock answered for him. McCoy was in no state to talk.

"I don't blame you for killing him." Scott rubbed a hand over the back of his head. "But what the devil are we to do?"

"Dispose of the body," Flynn said shortly. "It'll start to stink in a minute." She grinned suddenly, unamused, at Spock. "I suppose I'm lucky it wasn't me."

"You were acting under orders," Spock said. He did not look at Kirk. He would remember this murder for the rest of his life, but he did not dare take his eyes from the faces of the other officers. "I have warned you all from the beginning, that who harms my bondmate dies."

"Yes, but Kirk would never have thought that applied to him," Uhura said dryly. "Flynn's right. Chapel, can you get some sealant foam?"

Chapel went over to the panel in the corner of the room. As in Spock's cabin, it would allow the user to order virtually anything required, and since they were all being so practical, she would not attempt to leave the room. The sealant foam settled over Kirk's face, blurring the features, hardening in seconds; he had to be rolled onto his side to be sprayed completely. While Flynn and Chapel were doing this, Spock put a hand on McCoy's shoulder, his fingers just brushing his bondmate's neck. McCoy was still sitting on the floor. Leonard, can you move?

If I have to. I'm sorry, Spock.

"Yes, so now you're Captain," Uhura said grimly. "When do we tell Starfleet?"

Spock straightened, folding his hands behind his back. "I will not, and I cannot, be Captain. That is final. In any case, Starfleet Command would not be pleased at a Vulcan commanding a starship."

"True but irrelevant. We're heading into the Klingon Neutral Zone, by the time we get back, you'll have covered the ship with glory or we'll all be dead."

"I will not be Captain," Spock repeated. "Mr Scott is technically next in the line of command -- "

"But I'm not doing the job either," Scott said. "I'm an engineer, I've all the ship I want."

Uhura, Flynn, and Chapel looked swiftly at each other. Chapel nodded. "Uhura, then."

"Yes," Flynn agreed.

Uhura looked, for a moment, as if she had been struck. "If I do," she said carefully, after that moment, "what am I to do with you, Spock? Everyone aboard has expected you to be the Captain's -- to be Kirk's successor. And you are prepared to be my First Officer, as you were Kirk's?" She glanced down at McCoy. "Exactly as you were Kirk's?"

"I am a scientist," Spock said clearly. "I do not wish to be Captain. You have my word."

"You see," Uhura said, just as clearly, and just as carefully, "we all thought, including Kirk, that your loyalty to him was a constant. Evidently it's not. Where are your loyalties, Spock?"

"To my bondmate," Spock answered, "to my job, and to the wellbeing of the ship. Kirk was a good Captain, but for one thing."

"It seems that the First Officer will run the ship, no matter who is Captain."

"Certainly, but at your orders."

"As you obeyed Kirk?"

"Until he expected me to countenance harm to my bondmate, yes."

Uhura stared at him a long moment. Then she turned from him, glancing round at the others, the set of her shoulders oddly different, and when she spoke, her voice had changed slightly. "Very well. Captain Kirk being dead, I take command. Doctor Chapel, you will assist Doctor McCoy to sickbay. Spock, Flynn, I want a detailed and believable explanation of how Captain Kirk came to die, on my terminal within six hours. Scott, you and I will go to the bridge. We will meet here in my cabin in six hours. Captain Kirk is asleep; no other answer is to be given until Spock and Flynn provide us with one."

"Affirmative, Captain," Spock said, and helped McCoy to his feet.

Spock, this easy?

Possibly not. Be ready.

=@=@=

Officially, of course, no officer was ever assassinated aboard an Imperial vessel. The usual wording on official reports was either suicide or accident. The assassin took the victim's place, and providing there was no lessening of efficiency, neither Starfleet nor the Captain of the vessel would care.

But Starfleet was inclined to look askance at the assassination of a Captain who had proved efficient; and Kirk had been Captain of the Enterprise for more than five years, during which he had more than proved himself.

"Murder," Flynn said thoughtfully, sitting down at the terminal in her tiny office. She looked up at Spock. "It's the only thing they'll believe. I don't think they'd be convinced by an accident."

"I agree," Spock said precisely. "Since that is what happened, it may well convince them."

"Yeah, but Uhura -- but the Captain didn't mean us to put the blame on you. Pick one of the new recruits -- the one Kirk had last night would probably be best, that's a motive Starfleet will believe."

"No." Spock raised an eyebrow at Flynn's inquiring look. "It will be expected -- such is my loyalty to my Captain -- that I will conduct a thorough investigation into Captain Kirk's death. Interrogations conducted in the Agoniser booth are locked under a high-security seal against tampering. I do not think that the ensign would confess immediately to a murder she did not commit."

Flynn shrugged. "Make it clear to her before she goes in the booth that the sooner she confesses, the quicker she dies."

"Too great a risk," Spock said coldly. "Better to accuse someone already dead."

"Ah," Flynn said slowly. "I think I see. Send a message to Starfleet saying that Kirk is dead, killed by some unknown person -- "

"By top security channels, but with a low-priority rating," Spock added. "The message will perhaps take an extra two or three days to clear, and by that time we will be in the Klingon Neutral Zone, and all communication with Starfleet confined to absolute necessities."

"Of course. We're highly unlikely to get out of the Klingon Neutral Zone with no casualties, we simply blame the most likely."

"It will require a certain amount of fabrication," Spock agreed, "but uncomplicated by any actual records of interrogation and confession."

=@=@=

Two ribs were cracked; McCoy endured the examination, setting, and fusing of the bones. Chapel worked neatly and precisely, causing McCoy no more pain than necessary, but did not speak to him; McCoy had time enough to think. He should not have challenged Kirk. No matter that he hadn't meant it as a challenge, he should have known Kirk would see it so.

He hadn't known till then that Kirk was jealous. Kirk had maybe never known. Spock hadn't understood. For five years, Kirk had possessed the best and least ambitious First Officer in Starfleet -- loyal, intelligent, able. Kirk had been able to tolerate McCoy as Spock's bedmate, but never someone who stood between himself and Spock in any way that mattered.

"You'd better rest for two hours," Chapel said briskly, finishing. "Just go to your cabin -- "

"No thank you," McCoy said, politely. Be ready, Spock had warned him. Better not be alone. He sat down to work at the terminal in the main sickbay, in full view of half a dozen medical officers and any crew that might be coming in and out with minor injuries. Chapel was working in her office. It was a quiet time in the ship's day.

A couple of hours later, McCoy glanced up, aware that Spock was near but not in sight -- and began to save his work. Five minutes later, Spock walked into sickbay, Flynn at his side.

Chapel came out of her office. "Can I help you, Mr Spock?"

"The Captain has had an unfortunate accident," Spock said precisely. "The Chief Medical Officer should attend him. Doctor McCoy, Commander Uhura would appreciate your presence."

As they left sickbay, Spock's hand brushed McCoy's; Events are proceeding smoothly. Are you well?

Yes. Spock, I'm sorry.

So am I.

Their hands fell apart, a moment before Flynn glanced back at them. They reached the Captain's quarters without a word being spoken between the four of them. Uhura and Scott were already waiting; Kirk's body was still a white lump on the floor. The decanter was still half-full of blue wine, and the stained glasses still stood by the chairs about the room.

They all returned to their seats; Uhura picked up her own glass and took Kirk's place, deliberately, sitting down and sipping at the wine. "We have told the crew, informally, that Kirk has had an accident," she began. "Doctor Chapel, you will announce that the accident was fatal, before the beginning of the next watch. I rely upon you all to keep disturbance down to a minimum. We will enter the Klingon Neutral Zone at 1800 hours tomorrow. Mr Spock, you will arrange a suitable hour before then to drop out of warp briefly and give Kirk a star-burial, as is requested in his will. The funeral will be broadcast throughout the ship."

Uhura paused. "Mr Spock and Ms Flynn have suggested that it will be more efficient, and more secure, if we wait for someone to be killed who had some kind of motive for murdering Kirk. I have agreed; there will be no use of the Agoniser booth to extort false confessions." She looked round the circle. "I will not tolerate the misuse of human resources for a senior officer's gratification. I will not allow anyone aboard this ship, no matter what their rank, to abuse their privileges. I should like you all to make this clear to your subordinates." She looked straight at Spock, who raised an eyebrow.

"Affirmative, Captain."

In the middle of Flynn and Chapel agreeing whole-heartedly, and Scott formally but with no unwillingness, McCoy reached out and touched Spock's hand, fingertip to fingertip. Spock's hand clasped his briefly, hard. Into the brief silence, McCoy said, "Thank you, Captain."

=@=@=

They went to Spock's cabin after the funeral. It was the first time they had risked being alone together since Kirk's death. McCoy turned to face Spock as soon as the door was closed, and reached to put his hand against Spock's face.

I'm sorry.

It was hardly your fault.

You don't understand --

Perhaps I do not. Tell me, Leonard.

Kirk was jealous. So was I. I wanted to prove I matter more to you than he did. I set it up, and you killed him.

Spock's eyebrows lifted. It seems unlikely. I killed Kirk because I saw no alternative.

If I hadn't challenged him like that -- he wouldn't have reacted the way he did. And you wouldn't have had to kill him.

You did not want him dead.

McCoy swallowed. He had been going over that scene again and again, trying to convince himself that he hadn't known he was provoking Kirk into a death sentence. His hand fell away from Spock's face.

Spock took hold of McCoy's hand, raising his own hand to touch the side of McCoy's face. You did not want him dead.

"And that makes it all right?" McCoy snapped.

Spock hesitated. No. I killed my Captain. But you did not want him dead -- you only wanted him to change. I do not think he ever would.

"I -- " McCoy shut his mouth and went on, silently, I knew he couldn't back down in front of the others. I should have gone to him alone.

Not without me.

Yes. If I really wanted to give him a chance. If I didn't want him dead.

He might have killed you. Leonard, your choice was not between Kirk alive and Kirk dead, but between your death and his. I killed him because I could not endure your pain. Do you think less of me for that, when your pain is mine? Have I no right to defend myself?

You were defending me.

I need you.

McCoy stared at Spock, and Spock back at him. Their hands fell away from touching each other. There was silence between them for a long time.

Remind me... they had promised each other, promised to remember their mutual and acknowledged need.

"I need you," McCoy whispered at last. He put his arms round Spock, pulling him close, feeling his bondmate's arms close round him. Kirk was still murdered, nothing was solved, nothing was changed; but they were certain of each other and of themselves together, and while this endured, mutual and acknowledged, they two could endure.

=@=@=

end

41 750 words

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