by Jane Carnall
from an idea by Julie Kramer
Mindmatch. For one eternal moment, Spock could think of nothing else.
Then; relief from a dread so encompassing he had not known it. His second pon farr was due in one year; he had expected to die in the plak tow. He would not mate with a chattel. Vulcan should see that even a halfbreed could have pride.
He was free from that. Mindmatch.
But the mind was burning, and with an effort Spock detached himself, seeing for an instant his own face, grim and bearded, out of the other's eyes; and then could see out of his own eyes again. The human looked up at him, afraid and trying not to show it.
Human. Worse than that (for Vulcan could accept a mindmatched alien bondmate) his intrusion into this human's mind had done damage. He would not be able to bond.
Once, when he was four years old, Spock, running heedlessly through the corridors of his family's house, had crashed into his grandmother's bondmate. She had been carrying an ancient porcelain jar, and the jar had fallen and smashed, quite unmendably.
T'Pau, coldly furious, had lectured Spock on decorum, and had presented him with the largest fragment of the old jar, with instructions to keep it close to him for fifty years, so that for one quarter of his life he might remember what he had done.
He still had it -- glazed a perfect deep deep blue, curved like a caressing hand -- but all the regret he had felt in the forty years since then for having broken something beautiful and perfect˙was nothing beside the regret he felt now. Regret, and dread.
Wait. What had he found before he realised the mindmatch?
Kirk, Scott, Uhura, McCoy... had been behaving strangely. He had forced a meld on McCoy.
They came from another universe, a mirror to this one.
The McCoy who belonged in this universe was in theirs. If he could get him back... would they be mindmatched?
It was worth trying.
The transporter flared. The four strangers vanished... ...reappeared.
Kirk stepped off the platform with a snarl. "If I ever find out who is responsible for that, I'll have them in the Agoniser Booth for a week!"
Spock ignored him, his gaze concentrating on McCoy. From the outward feel of the human's mind, identical to the mirror McCoy's, the human and Spock would at least be compatible. One could not discover mindmatch except by a close examination.
Now, he only had to... persuade... McCoy to allow him within his mind willingly. He dare not risk another forced meld.
Patient as his hunter ancestors, Spock's panther eyes followed McCoy, unobtrusively, whenever the doctor came within his field of vision. He found plausible excuses to wander the sickbay, observing McCoy at his work.
The creature being vivisected repelled him. Typically human, to cause such agony to so little purpose. What knowledge acquired could have been as correctly acquired with less cruelty. He left sickbay rapidly the day he saw McCoy adjust the controls that held the creature in torment, and went to the privacy of his cabin, and his meditation stone.
Attempting to contemplate the Infinite, he only succeeded in contemplating McCoy.
His hands, gentle, subtle, strong; surgeon's hands.
His eyes, blue as a Terran sky, clear and candid. His remarkably expressive mouth...
Spock paused, calling back the memory of McCoy standing over the vivisection cabinet, his Healer's hands on the controls. His face had been as expressionless as a Vulcan's. That in itself should have told Spock something. What might he have read in those lowered, truthful blue eyes?
Disgust?
=@=@=
McCoy had noticed the First Officer's unusual attention, with some worry. Spock, it was true, was not as compulsively dangerous as Sulu, but it was a certainty that if he took against you, you were doomed. Fortunately, he was not easily angered; so long as you worked as hard as you were able, made no careless mistakes, allowed no inefficiency of a subordinate to slip past you, and were properly respectful, you were safe. The medical department was technically under the Science Officer, so McCoy was -- technically -- immediately subordinate to Spock, but he had no ambitions and no qualifications towards being Science Officer, and he had hoped that Spock knew that.
This focussed attention -- he had realised it a couple of days before, and suspected that Spock had been observing him for some time before that -- could simply be one of the First Officer's efficiency drives.
Hoping that that was all, he had braced himself for another inspection of the native of G'hasij 4, kept alive and in agony for one of Starfleet's prescribed experiments, which he had been ignoring for some time, hoping wistfully that it would die.
Spock had left. With great relief, McCoy sat down and began to make notes of the changed readings. He had finished, and was fishing in his desk for an official form to send them in on.
"Do you enjoy that work?"
McCoy froze. It was an unexpected question. No-one had asked him if he enjoyed anything since before he enlisted. After a long moment, carefully, he looked up.
Spock stood in front of his desk, his hands behind his back. It was a familiar pose, an aspect of the Vulcan that McCoy liked better than any other; a scientist, not a Starfleet commander or a starship First Officer or even Science Officer. But he was still untrustable.
"That's an odd question for a Vulcan to ask."
Nothing about Spock betrayed impatience, but McCoy sensed the chill. "You will answer the question, Doctor McCoy."
McCoy shrugged, uncertain as to what Spock was getting at. "What do you mean by 'that work'?"
"The vivisection experiment."
"It has been designated an essential experiment by Starfleet Command," McCoy said in a dry voice, fighting for control. "The apparantly dominant lifeform of G'hasij 4 seems to have a wholly different nervous system from any other intelligent lifeform. Since this discovery, Starfleet Command is naturally anxious to find out if it reacts to stimulation differently, and if so, what is the difference."
"Fascinating, Doctor McCoy, but I was already aware of the nature of the experiment. My question, which you have not yet answered, was whether you found enjoyment in the work."
McCoy stared down at his rough notes, the clinical form, the pen he clutched. He felt like a vivisection experiment himself, ordered to dissect out his emotions for the benefit of this emotionless being. He picked up the notes, pretending to scan down them. "Sir, I was not aware that feelings were of any importance to you."
Spock's hand hit his desk with a distinct crack. McCoy's head snapped up, dread clutching at him. His last reply had verged on insolence, and Spock was known to deal harshly with insolent subordinates. His only hope was that since there had been no witnesses, perhaps an apology might suffice, instead of a jolt with the Agoniser Spock was known to carry. Stiffly, he got to his feet. "I apologise. Sir."
"I will not repeat my question again." The Vulcan's face was utterly expressionless.
Taking a deep breath, McCoy prepared to say that of course he enjoyed doing his duty to Starfleet, that he took pleasure in pushing back the frontiers of knowledge... the words stuck in his throat. He threw the crumpled notes at Spock, snarling "I hate the entire damned useless business, you damned prying unemotional computer!"
The Vulcan caught them, his dark eyes frozen, and began carefully to smooth them out. Finishing, he set them down on McCoy's desk. "I believe you have answered my question."
Fear was running cold in McCoy's veins. This meant the Agoniser booth for certain and at least, witnesses or no witnesses, damn his stubborn neck...
"However, you appear to have some misconception about Vulcans." An eyebrow flickered. "We are not computers. You may sit down."
Breathless, McCoy flopped. He could barely believe his ears; a Vulcan, making a joke? No, surely not. Literally correcting McCoy? The Agoniser booth?
"And I too have reasoned that the information obtained will probably be of little value." Spock turned and walked casually over to the vivisection cabinet. With a single sweep of his hand, he flicked all the switches off.
The green life-reading died, and along with it the red pain-readings. McCoy's dazed eyes followed the Science Officer back across the room to his desk.
"I will instruct the computer to inform Starfleet that a malfunction occurred in the equipment," Spock said calmly. "No blame will attach to you."
"Why...?"
"Vulcans do not inflict pain unnecessarily."
Spock turned and left, aware of McCoy's bemused gaze on his back, realising that he had achieved one more step towards his aim, and busily estimating how far, next time, he might achieve.
=@=@=
McCoy was completely nonplussed; still more so, over the next few weeks, as Spock seemed to be continually smoothing obstacles from his path; a quarrel with his opposite over in the research half of the science department, resolved in his favour; a complicated move against him from Sulu brushed aside; all favours which would, from any other member of the crew imply either friendship or an eventual, major favour to be returned.
Since Spock could not mean friendship, he must want something. But what favour could a mere Chief Medical Officer, wholly out of the line of command, possibly grant a First Officer, second-in-command? Anything Spock might want, he only had to demand. Even the Captain would think twice about refusing a request from Spock.
Matters were still in this state when the Enterprise reached the planet Supra Epsilon 3, to be surveyed for colonisation. Asked to arrange medical support for the eight teams to be˙sent down, McCoy picked out seven reliable medics and then, with a little hesitation, added himself to the list. He'd be grateful for the chance to get off the Enterprise and away from Spock's disconcerting notice for a few hours each day. On the second day of the survey, he discovered to his annoyance that Spock had attached himself to the same survey team.
That day, they were scanning down a narrow valley, deep in the mountains. McCoy had set his tricorder to the commonest human allergies, taking on the thankless task of checking all possible lifeforms and minerals for the likelihood of adverse reactions. Hay fever appeared to be the only one so far, and that at negative eleven on the scale that went up to plus twenty.
Using a detailed survey as a mental excuse, McCoy had hung back to the end of the trailing column. Spock was striding on briskly, a few metres ahead and to the right of the next person, as McCoy was a few metres to the right and behind the penultimate person. The column formed a kind of half-moon shape; the person in the middle, a research officer examining mineral formations, furthest to the left. It was she who cried out first, a word in her own tongue, then in Federation Standard, "Miedgarhyf! Avalanche!"
But it was Spock who reacted first, even as the vast rumblings trembled the ground, who whipped round, crying an order, and ran back up the valley, straight for McCoy, seizing his arm and yanking him onwards as he ran, faster than human legs had been intended for. And running, as the valley groaned almost beneath their feet, hearing the snapping of treetrunks like spillikins to their left, the rumble of earth moving.
Stones, shot as though from a catapult, came spinning past them, and McCoy heard from behind him stricken yells as at least two of them made contact. And then an agonising thud and a numbness in his right leg. He collapsed, feeling the pain shoot up his leg. Femur. Maybe knee. I'm finished. Damn.
Spock picked him up and ran on. He did not stop until the rumbling had ceased, and an awful and deadly silence had fallen. Then he set McCoy gently down and sat down beside him. The human was scarcely aware of him, hanging in a white flame of agony that centred on his right thigh. Spock applied pressure to a nerve for the correct length of time, and McCoy's eyes flickered open, blinking away the sweat.
"Thought my... leg... was broken."
"It is. I merely blocked the pain. The bone should be set, however, before we risk transportation."
"Go on," McCoy whispered. "I promise... not to sue." He grinned, though Spock could see nothing remotely amusing.
The jolt of utter agony went through even the nerve-block, and then dulled to a merely grinding pain. Spock touched him again, and the pain went. McCoy found he could sit up, carefully. "Thanks." He looked down the valley. "The others?"
"All dead."
"Why did you save me?"
The Vulcan's eyes were black and impenetrable. "For the moment, it suits me to keep you alive... for my purposes."
McCoy swallowed, pulling out his communicator. "Well, if my leg's set we can beam up now."
Spock pulled McCoy's communicator out of his grasp and twisted it between his hands. Standing, he threw the crumpled remains far down the valley. He sat down again. "Unfortunately, your communicator was damaged."
"So I see." McCoy clenched his hands together, trying to keep his voice level. "Why do you want to keep me alive?"
"Your mind is highly compatible with mine. A bonding between us would be easy to initiate, and, I think, mutually... beneficial."
"A bonding? I've heard... like a permanent mindmeld?"
"Similiar. Do I need to detail the... physical... aspects of such a bond?"
"No," McCoy said gloomily. "You don't."
Despite -- or perhaps because of -- the Vulcan attitude towards sex, there were few things more publicised in human pornoloids. McCoy had discounted about ninety percent of what he'd read, but even the ten percent remaining was terrifying enough (pon farr was real, and really physical and psychic rape) and suppose it was all real (a Vulcan-human bonding, always depicted as essentially master-slave, with the Vulcan controlling not merely the human's body but even the human's thoughts); no surely that wasn't possible -- but Vulcans were telepathic -- "Why should I agree to bond with you?" the human asked, watching his hands tremble in his lap.
"Do so, and I will let you live."
That seemed to settle that. McCoy sighed heavily.
Spock continued. "Furthermore, if you were my bondmate, you would be under my protection, aboard ship and elsewhere. You would be safe from assassination and intrigue. I do not think that you have the slightest idea, Doctor McCoy, how far-reaching and how strong is my family's influence. As far as the Federation's arm can reach, so can my family; and as my bondmate, this power and influence could be yours."
"Vulcan bonding -- is to the death, isn't it?" McCoy interrupted.
"It can be," Spock said impassively. "The bond can only be dissolved by mutual consent. If -- for example -- you were to assassinate me, I would not permit the dissolution of the bond, and you would die with me. Likewise, if I assassinated you -- which I would not. Well, Doctor McCoy?"
"I have to decide -- just like that! -- right now?"
"Yes." There was no room in Spock's tone for argument. "I have given you three reasons for accepting my offer."
"The first one was the most convincing. Yes. All right. I accept."
He was absolutely certain, all the while Spock was calling in the Enterprise, all the while from the transporter unit to sickbay, and as the bone in his leg was being fused, that he had just made a terrible mistake.
=@=@=
"Commander Spock left this for you," added his second, Chapel. The note was sealed, otherwise she would have read it, no doubt. McCoy was still slumped on the diagnostic couch, his leg stretched stiffly out in front of him, and made no move to take the note. Eventually she dropped it on his chest and left.
He spent half an hour hoping it would go away if he ignored it. When it remained obstinately present, he cracked the seal, unfolded the paper, and read it. One line; I will see you in my cabin at change of watch.
McCoy lay for an hour, contemplating the ceiling and wishing that change of watch was already over, together with whatever Spock planned to do to him then. Mentally checking the rosters, he realised that he himself would not be due back on duty for at least fourteen hours afterwards -- more if this leg proved dodgy -- and he had a feeling that Spock was on the same schedule. Suppose he needs fourteen hours to get it done, whatever it is?
It occurred to him -- with a jolt of wry humour -- that this was the first letter he had received for nearly twenty years that might remotely be described as from a lover. It would also, and this did not amuse him at all, very likely be his last.
=@=@=
Spock calculated that events were proceeding as planned. McCoy was afraid, of course; that was to be expected, from a human who knew nothing more about Vulcan sexuality and bonding than could be gained from the disgusting magazines that humans produced and consumed with such avidity.
Nevertheless, on a deeper level, McCoy had become aware of Spock as someone who could be depended upon. The avalanche had provided a useful, if unplanned, opportunity both to save McCoy's life and to speak to him without witnesses. His own cabin on the Enterprise was secure, of course, but it might have caused gossip simply to invite McCoy there before he could be sure of him.
There was a knock on the door. "Come in," Spock called, turning to face the entrance. McCoy stood just inside the door, looking stubborn and annoyed. However, he had changed out of his uniform, into a loose-sleeved thin shirt. This was probably a good sign, Spock thought, and noted that the human was shivering. Not with cold, since he kept his cabin at Vulcan temperature and gravity.
"Well?" McCoy snapped.
"Please sit down, Doctor McCoy." McCoy sat -- on the bed, since there was nowhere else apart from a long granite rock uncomfortably resembling a tombstone. "Would you like something to drink?" The human shook his head. Spock filled himself a glass of fruit-juice and sat down, within reach, but not touching McCoy.
"I do not believe there is any necessity to delay further, Doctor McCoy." The human began edging towards the side of the bed. "If you move any further you will fall off," Spock remarked. McCoy froze. Spock set down his glass of fruit juice, and moved closer, taking the cool human hand in both of his, and lifting it to his face. "Please relax, Doctor McCoy. I cannot harm you. Trust me."
"Said the spider to the fly," McCoy mumbled. He felt a soft touch on the edge of his mind, gently inquisitive.
Doctor McCoy?
Not really seeing any way out of this, McCoy surrendered.
For an instant, he wasn't certain what had happened. He felt hot. The hand on his face was cool. Tendrils of cool flame ran through him. Through both of him.
Both of him? He was within Spock. Or Spock was within him. He couldn't tell which, and it didn't seem to matter. He was perceiving himself through Spock's senses, seeing Spock through his own eyes.
The Vulcan allowed him time to adjust, before unshielding his thoughts. At present we are touching only the outer edges of our minds, Doctor McCoy. I want you to see for yourself, I mean you no harm.
Invitation. Trustingly, McCoy moved further in... or did Spock enter further into him? A moment of communication like nothing McCoy had ever experienced, of utter trust and utter trusting. I never knew you. You're... nothing like what you seem to be...
Neither, Doctor McCoy, are you.
You care. I never thought you cared... His mindvoice was lost in wonderment.
Perhaps 'care' is the wrong word. Spock's mindvoice was stiff.
Spock, I know you... isn't it about time you started calling me Leonard?
Leonard? Spock repeated. Yes, perhaps I shall, in private. Do you wish me to proceed with the bond?
Do you need to ask?
No. But still I ask.
Please. Do it. And it was done.
=@=@=
Spock removed McCoy's hand from his face, letting it fall with his own hand onto the coverlet between them. For a long moment, McCoy could only stare at him. At last, he shook his head. "What now?" he asked quietly.
"We sleep."
"Uh... together?"
"Certainly. Physical proximity is necessary for the bond to stabilise."
"But I thought..."
"I thought as much. You have been reading some of that Vulcan-human pornography that you Terran medical staff are abnormally interested in."
"Only a little," McCoy protested feebly.
"In the first place, for Vulcans sex is a necessity only once every seven years; in the second, the Vulcan male sex organ is neither unusually thick nor unusually long; while it is green, it does not possess tentacles, and in no way does it resemble a towering pillar of green flame. In fact, given our different species, the male sex organs are very much alike, except that in Vulcans the organ is more withdrawn within the body. Now if your curiosity is satisfied, shall we go to bed?" Spock snapped.
Silently, and somewhat subdued, McCoy complied. The bunk was narrow. Impersonally, Spock pulled McCoy closer, arranging them both to lie as comfortably as possible in the space available.
McCoy had known, of course, that the normal Vulcan temperature was two degrees Centigrade above the human norm, but he had never considered exactly what it would feel like to be in bed with one. They were both lying on their sides, nested spoon-fashion; McCoy could feel Spock's beard tickling the back of his neck, and was thankful that the Vulcan could not see his face.
That moment of sheer glory when he had known Spock as clearly as he knew himself had become tenuous; already he was wondering if it had happened. He couldn't sense Spock. The regard and respect which he had seemed to feel before, had vanished. Had it happened?
Leonard.
"Uh?"
It did happen. Concentrate.
There was an odd tug in an unregarded corner of his mind. He found it, found Spock.
I forget, Spock said almost apologetically, that you are not a telepath.
Basking in the sun of Spock's heat, McCoy found himself smiling with fatuous happiness. You're there.
Always, bondmate. They fell asleep.
=@=@=
"The bond has stabilised," Spock said, clinically, some twelve hours later. "It should no longer be necessary for us to share a bed. I will arrange for you to be transferred to the adjoining cabin, however, so that I have easy access to you."
"Won't people wonder -- "
"Naturally, I shall not request the cabin change until after I have officially recorded our bonding. Your status will change considerably; for one thing, you now have a legal right to Vulcan citizenship."
"And suppose I don't want it?" McCoy demanded, his back thoroughly up. He pulled his uniform shirt over his head and glared at Spock, tousled and angry. "Suppose I happen to want to remain a citizen of Georgia, USA?"
"Illogical, Doctor McCoy. I can apply for dual citizenship, but it would be foolish of you to reject the advantages of Vulcan citizenship for purely emotional reasons."
"You can apply? I suppose I'm no longer a legal adult?"
"You are certainly not behaving like one."
"Well, thank you for nothing, Sir!" McCoy turned and shot out of the room.
=@=@=
He discovered, on checking his personal file, that Spock had registered their bonding, and requested room change. That probably explained Chapel's glares; his second didn't like him, he'd never worked out why, and would be furious at any evidence of favouritism. It was almost painful to think about his relationship to Spock in that way; as if he were just a very junior ensign picked up by a superior officer for exchange of favours; it was a fairly standard means of advancement.
His feelings about Spock had begun to split into two; on the one side the cold, logical, controlled and unpleasant officer; on the other... the voice in his head last night and the feel of the Vulcan's hands on him.... This wasn't helping.
His changing status, as Spock had put it, was most in evidence in the rec room where he normally ate lunch. At first meal, everything had been normal; a few friendly enquiries about the leg, a little scuttlebutt exchange. In four hours, evidently, word had spread. No-one sat at his table, despite over-crowding at other tables. McCoy ate fast and left soon.
Miserably, he wandered back down to his office, locked the door, and sat down behind the desk. There was a fair bit of paperwork to do. He just couldn't be bothered. Elbows on the table, face buried in his hands, he contemplated misery.
"Doctor McCoy."
The calm, precise voice of his bondmate came at nearly exactly the wrong moment. McCoy grunted. "What is it?"
"I have brought the necessary papers." Silence. The Vulcan's voice went several degrees colder. "Look at me, Doctor McCoy." Reluctantly, McCoy glanced up. "Because of our relationship," Spock said icily, "I will tolerate a certain degree of informality in private. I will not, however, permit ship's discipline to be impaired. If you in any way imply that your status as my bondmate entitles you to special privileges aboard ship, I will have you removed from Starfleet and shipped back to my family home on Vulcan. I would prefer you to remain aboard the Enterprise, but I will do what is necessary."
"Understood. Sir." McCoy's voice was just as icy. "What are these papers?"
"Applications for dual citizenship."
"I'm quite happy as I am, thank you. Sir."
"You are being ridiculous. It may well be necessary for you to spend some time on Vulcan. If you are not a Vulcan citizen you will have no status and no rights. Besides, the Federation has had to concede certain rights to Vulcan citizens, such as the right not to be tried off Vulcan, or sentenced by a non-Vulcan authority. Furthermore, as a Vulcan citizen Starfleet and the Federation will have to treat our bonding as an accomplished legal fact."
"I thought it was?"
"Under Vulcan law."
McCoy read down the flimsy paper sheets. His mouth twisting, he finally signed them. "Satisfied? Sir?"
"Sarcasm does not become you, Doctor McCoy." Spock picked the papers up and added, "Your cabin has been changed. You will now use the one to the right of mine. Will you require help in moving your possessions?"
McCoy's mouth twitched. He had helped in a couple of cabin moves, and the thought of First Officer Commander Spock carrying cartons around the Enterprise was distinctly entertaining. "No, thanks. I can manage, I don't have much."
=@=@=
He managed to move everything inside an hour, including nearly four cartons of tapes. He hadn't realised he'd collected quite so many. Everyone he passed seemed to have somewhere else to look. This could get depressing. Get? He was depressed already, and he'd had barely eight hours of it.
After confirming that his new room had been registered on all the emergency listings, McCoy lay down on his unmade bunk. A double. Someone had a nasty sense of humour.
He couldn't face unpacking. Or supper, not in the rec room with the entire crew whispering about Spock's bondmate. Gradually, he went to sleep. As the sensors detected his lowered body temperature, the lights dimmed.
=@=@=
Spock had arranged for McCoy's cabin door to be keyed to him, as his was to McCoy. He entered without signalling. The room was dimlit -- for human eyes, in complete darkness. McCoy was asleep on the bunk, still fully dressed. He hadn't made up the bedding. Nor -- unless he habitually lived in a mess -- had he unpacked. Nor, according to the computer, had he yet ordered supper.
Unlike McCoy, Spock had never wondered if bonding with the other man had been a mistake. It was necessity; he would never have found another so compatible. When falling off a cliff, one does not ask a rope for its pedigree. All today, however, he had been trying to surmise the reasons for Doctor McCoy's unpleasing behaviour, both to himself personally and -- from ship's gossip -- to other members of the crew. Might it be best, if he could not be trusted, to confine McCoy to his family estate
"Light," he commanded softly. The dimness brightened. Doctor McCoy shot up, bolt-upright.
"Yes, what is it? I'm awake!"
Spock raised an eyebrow. "I intended to ask you to supper."
"Oh, it's you. For that you woke me up? Sir," he added nastily.
"In private, Leonard, my name is Spock."
"Is that an order? Sir?"
"Go and have a shower. I will make up your bed."
"Is that an order?"
"If you insist."
=@=@=
The human came back from the shower still dripping slightly. a towelling robe wrapped loosely around him. Spock suppressed a slight shudder of distaste; it hadn't occurred to him to ask McCoy to use the sonic shower, not the water shower.
Spock had made the bed up. McCoy looked at it. "Are you staying the night?"
"If you wish it, Leonard."
"If I wish it?" McCoy swung round. "Just how much choice do I have in this relationship, anyway?"
"Your rights and duties as my bondmate would take a good deal of time to detail; if you wish, I will have a hard copy sent to you tomorrow. It is, however, well within your prerogatives to request my presence in your bed; and certainly my duty, if I have none more pressing, to comply."
There was a mellow beep from the outlet niche; a tray, from which appetising smells floated, had appeared in it. McCoy stared. "I didn't know you could do that...?"
"It is not impossible, using the right codes. Given your behaviour, I judged that to take you to the rec room to eat supper might be unwise."
"Given my behaviour?" McCoy asked bitterly. "You threatened me into this, Commander."
"I was referring to your reaction to your new status."
"Some reaction. I haven't been able to speak to anyone since first meal today -- as soon as I enter a room everyone stops talking."
"Lying under these circumstances is illogical."
"Damn you, I'm NOT lying!" McCoy blazed.
He was Spock, and the mind of his bondmate was open to him like a spreading landscape, red and fertile, from a windbird's swooping height... no, he was McCoy, Leonard H. McCoy, dizzy with two-bodiedness... no, he was Spock son of Sarek, seeing suddenly with the eyes of his outward body his treasured human bondmate sway dangerously... no, he was McCoy, and it was Spock moving with inhuman speed to check his fall...
One-bodied again, he was sitting on the bunk, Spock beside him, one arm steadying him. For one instant, McCoy wanted to surrender. To bury his face in Spock's thick black hair that smelt of lemon and honey and cinnamon and warmth, and let Spock take control.
Of his treasured possession. McCoy tried to jerk himself free of Spock's grip. He felt Spock release him, and shifted away to the end of the bunk.
"I owe you two apologies," Spock said, expressionless. "No, three. Firstly, I perceive that you were telling the truth and that I was mistaken. I should not have assumed that my bondmate was lying on the basis of ship gossip. Secondly, for not realising that you were still disorientated by linking and putting you in danger. Thirdly, for not realising that with an atelepathic bondmate the bond would require more work than with another telepath. For all three, I am profoundly sorry, Leonard."
"Why bother?" McCoy snarled. "I saw the way you think of me! I'm a possession -- something you treasure, not something to apologise to!"
Spock's own fury rose, fuelled by McCoy's. He had actually apologised, a Vulcan of the line Dd'issuf'rre, to this insignificant little human who probably couldn't even name all eight of his great-grandparents, and the human had dared -- dared -- to throw it back in his face!
He was completely unaware that his eyes, as he stared at McCoy, would have frozen helium. McCoy stared back at that icy gaze, stubbornly determined not to be the first to break. Surrender to Spock was very frighteningly the easy option.
Spock became aware that his hands were clenched tightly together. He went through the exercises of control, denying anger, denying fear --
Fear. Why fear? He did not fear McCoy, and McCoy could have no possible reason to fear him. He had explained that he could not harm his bondmate. He explored the fear further, delving into the cold dark pool of it, trying to sense the wellsprings without being either drawn in or plunging too far and subjecting McCoy to the fear of two-bodiedness again.
Fear of surrender. McCoy perceived Spock as two in one, one in two. For one Spock, that Leonard perceived as scientist, as lover, warm and dark and tender, Leonard... seemed to feel a strong emotion, an admiration and respect for the scientist, and something warmer, more illogical, for the other... aspects.
This, one half. The other; Spock recognised him. He was largely of Spock's own creation. Part Vulcan logic, Vulcan control, Vulcan emotionlessness. Invulnerable, defended, this Spock would destroy a planet with a mere lifted eyebrow, would watch impassively as, by his order, people were dragged screaming and clutching to the Agoniser booth, would touch his own Agoniser to an offender's neck at the slightest failing. Arrogant, dazzling, icy, cruel; the Spock that blazed with light, that survived easily the Terran Federation, the human Starfleet. Even for this Spock, he saw, McCoy had a tiny rag of respect; that he never used the Agoniser without reason. He found himself curiously relieved by that.
Of the cold Spock, McCoy was afraid, despite reason. But what terrified him most was surrender to the dark Spock, the night Spock; terror of succumbing to temptation, and discovering too late that only the cold Spock was real.
They are both real.
Spock?
They are both real... and both unreal. I do not require your surrender.
I'm not going to.
Somehow, I never thought that you would. Spock stood up, offering McCoy a hand. "Shall we eat, Leonard?"
Dazed, McCoy accepted Spock's hand and was pulled smartly to his feet. Spock, much to McCoy's surprise, did not release his hand immediately, but led him over to the table. Only when McCoy was seated did Spock relinquish his hold, seating himself. He served them both.
"I can think of no remedy for the current gossip," Spock said between mouthfuls.
"Not much you can do about scuttlebutt," McCoy agreed. (Spock quirked an eyebrow at the human idiom.) "They'll find something more interesting, eventually." They finished the meal in silence.
"Now what?" McCoy queried.
"As you wish. Would you care to listen to some music, Leonard?"
"Spock..."
"Yes, Leonard?"
"Uh, are you just beating around the bush... or is sex only going to be part of this bond once every seven years?"
"To what bush are you referring?"
"You have a perfect grasp of human idiom, so spill it!"
"It's not that I can't have sex except once every seven years. Nor that I don't want to have sex, except once every seven years. It's simply that I only need to have sex once every seven years. I thought that we had cleared up this misunderstanding."
"So why didn't you, last night?"
"I thought it best to leave the initiation of sex to the more experienced partner."
"Why assume I'm more experienced than you?"
"You have been married and have produced one child. You can hardly be less."
"You're a virgin?"
Spock looked patient. "I believe that is the technical term."
Suddenly and completely irrationally, McCoy felt considerably happier about the whole situation. "Well. Uh. Shall we... would you like to... come to bed?"
"To have sex?"
"To play chess!"
"Leonard -- "
Doctor McCoy stood up, leant across the table, and kissed Spock with some determination. The beard scratched his cheeks. I wish you'd shave.
That is not one of a bondmate's prerogatives.
McCoy took Spock's hand and pulled him toward the bunk, starting to tug at the velcro strips of his uniform. It would be faster if you would allow me to undress myself, Leonard.
Somewhat dampened, McCoy let go of Spock's hand and watched as the Vulcan shrugged out of his tunic and laid it neatly across a chair. His nipples were green-bronze, almost hidden in thick black hair. His trousers followed; he set his boots down side by side on the floor by the bunk, and sat down on it.
McCoy pulled off his robe, feeling curiously shy, and draped it over the back of the chair. He had seen Spock naked before, once or twice; but exclusively under far more clinical circumstances.
He would have sat down by Spock, but the Vulcan put out a hand and held him there, almost absently. His dark eyes were examining every inch of McCoy's naked skin. At last they met McCoy's blue eyes.
"I am curious," Spock said aloud. "This is the first opportunity I have had of examining a human male naked. Are you cold, Leonard?"
He was shivering. "No. Let me in to the bunk." He lay down, felt Spock's weight shift as the Vulcan lay down beside him. McCoy ordered the lights down, and wrapped the quilt around them both. He felt happier when Spock became only a warm presence and a voice in the dark.
He put his arms around Spock and hugged him cautiously, landing a kiss on Spock's mouth. He traced the invisible outline of Spock's lips with his tongue, kneading the muscles in the other's back with his fingers. "You feel good," he murmured. There was no reply. He wondered if he was doing something wrong. Perhaps Vulcans didn't kiss? Or didn't cuddle? Or didn't talk? "Spock?"
"Yes, Leonard?"
"Is what I'm doing all right?"
"I have no practical experience to judge."
"But does it feel good?"
"It is most stimulating." Spock's voice was cool and precise. He might have been standing in the laboratory commenting on an experiment. In the darkness, McCoy felt his skin burn. An experiment...a human bondmate. Why not? He'll probably write a paper for the Vulcan Academy on me.
You still do not trust me, do you, Leonard?
McCoy jerked away, rolling to the other side of the bed, and curled up, knees to chin. "Why the hell should I?" he said aloud. "For all your talk -- I'm still nothing. An experiment, a possession, a useful tool -- you need me because you're going to go into pon farr sooner or later, and you'll need someone around then to rape. Me. Why the hell should I cooperate in your researches into human sexuality meantime?"
Leonard. Come here.
"Is that an order, Commander?"
"Very well, Doctor McCoy," Spock answered aloud, wearily. "If you persist in being deliberately uncooperative. You are aroused, and it is a bondmate's responsibility to relieve arousal. If you choose to refuse, it is not my privilege to compel you. I am not conducting a research experiment on human sexuality, though I believe that you need to conduct some research into Vulcan sexuality."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean? Come over and suck your cock?" McCoy enquired with deliberate crudeness.
"You appear to think that pon farr is rape. Quite the contrary. Unless the bondmate cooperates completely, pon farr remains unconsummated."
McCoy rolled over. "You've just handed me your death on a plate," he said incredulously. "All I have to do is think uncooperative and you die in pon farr."
"So do you." There was a rustling sound as Spock rolled over. He added, flatly, "Go to sleep, Doctor McCoy."
"You don't even like me, do you?" McCoy was getting an almost savage, painful enjoyment out of this mad quarrel, from dark to dark.
"There is a Vulcan word," Spock said flatly, "h'yuy're. It means a bondmate who would deliberately cause the death in plak tow, the most agonising death possible for a Vulcan. It is not possible to respect a h'yuy're, Doctor McCoy."
McCoy felt a sudden lurch of the heart. He covered it with a jeer; "Will you still respect me in the morning? I thought that was only an Earth clich‚, Spock!"
Silence.
"How do you plan to make me cooperate, Spock? The Agoniser booth? Or do Vulcans have a special technique for recalcitrant bondmates?"
"I had not considered this possibility."
"Illogical, wouldn't you say, Commander?"
"Most illogical, Doctor McCoy. I relied on my judgement of your character, rather than considering all the possible outcomes."
McCoy's heart lurched again. "Spock, you mean.... You don't mean? You trusted me...not to let you die?"
"I believe that is what I said."
Flooded with sudden, softening warmth, McCoy rolled over and grabbed Spock into a hug. Into the Vulcan's neck, he muttered, "I wouldn't let you die, Spock."
Tentatively, Spock hugged him back, rubbing the human's back with his hands as Leonard had done for him earlier. Humans were indeed strange. His bondmate had reacted as though he had made an emotional declaration, instead of merely stating that he had relied on his bondmate's Healer's instincts.
Reciprocation appeared to be a necessary part of human sex; Leonard's arousal was growing again, a deep upswelling of molten warmth in his mind, faster than the time before, higher, more certain. The tempo of his breathing quickened. He lifted his head again and repeated the mouth to mouth caress he found so stimulating.
Spock analysed the pleasure of it; the thinness and delicacy of human skin at that point, the high frequency of sensitive nerve-endings, the nearness of the tongue (less sensitive in humans, but still a delicate sensory organ).... Of course, Vulcan lips were slightly less sensitive to touch, but the tongue was more so; logically, he should be able to take advantage of that fact.
McCoy was startled when Spock's mouth opened under his and the other's tongue began to probe at his lips. They had been kissing (well, no; he had been kissing Spock) almost childishly, Spock's mouth tightly shut; he hadn't expected this sudden invasion.
Leonard's mouth opened under his probing tongue; he hadn't anticipated that. He continued his exploration inside. His bondmate was lying over him like a quilt, though suddenly all his muscles tensed and he moaned. Spock slid into rapport again, hoping that he could risk it. Pleasure burst over him hotly, like diving into a heated plunge-pool, and he felt his own mind overwhelmed by it.
They had reached a deeper level of the mind, where speech was unnecessary, where they became one mind with two bodies....one mind with one body....The physical joining was but a reflection of the mental; the cooler flood of wastful semen as the human spasmed and cried out, and with tenseness suddenly releasing even the Vulcan could not restrain a sound.
...slowly, slowly, the sheer intimacy too great to be borne for long, they drifted apart, not clutching; the experience had simply been too vast for comprehension. They became aware of their separate bodies, wrapped closely round each other, the human breathing hard.
When McCoy could think, he realised his face was wet, and turned his head to rub his head against Spock's shoulder. He didn't want to let go, even though his right foot and his arm up to the elbow had gone completely numb. How long, he wondered, did that go on?
"About twenty-three minutes, Leonard," Spock said quietly, aloud. "I cannot help picking up focussed thoughts of yours -- particularly in this proximity."
McCoy felt for the bond, found it, and thought deliberately Spock, I don't think I'll ever really mind again. Ever. Not after that.
You don't need to shout, Leonard.
McCoy grinned. "Spock, I -- " He hesitated. I like you.
There was no response, not even a stray thought, from Spock. McCoy lifted himself to see Spock's face; he looked shuttered, cut off, his dark eyes open and unblinking.
"Spock, you don't have to say anything. It's okay. I know -- "
"I learned earlier," Spock said very quietly, "that reciprocation is necessary to you. I concede the logic of the situation. Leonard, Vulcans do not like. However... I respect you as a Healer. I find your allegience to an ideal of service, not to a state but to the state of life... most admirable." He closed his eyes, very briefly, and opened them, to stare upward at his bondmate's alien eyes. "Also, I find you aesthetically pleasing."
The corners of McCoy's mouth twitched upwards, uneasily. "I'm not...not by human standards."
"I judge you by my own." Spock's dark eyes looked curiously vulnerable. McCoy lay down on Spock again and kissed his mouth, pale in the dark beard, kissed his thin veined eyelids and steepled brows in a passion of protectiveness.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't understand."
One of Spock's eyebrows flickered, but he made no verbal comment, only "May we go to sleep, then?"
"Oh yes. Sorry, Spock, I wasn't thinking, God, you must be exhausted -- "
Spock rearranged their positions so that Leonard was no longer lying on top of him. He could feel the tingling pains returning to McCoy's limbs that humans, most appropriately, called 'pins and needles', through the bond, and did not wish to incommode Leonard further.
The human's voice died away into a sleepy mumble. Spock flickered an eyebrow, an ironic comment directed at no-one but himself, pulled McCoy uncomfortably closer, and slid into sleep.
End
...continued in next universe...
...and they lived happily ever after.
No, they didn't.
This is not a happy ending. This is the beginning of the most stormy relationship in history. I detest sentiment. (So does Ann.) (Julie likes romance.)
1988
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