Inspired by a quote from 'The Phantom of the Opera'.

My ears heard this; "Those pleading eyes that both threatened and adored…"

And my head thought 'mirror verse angst!'

Issues? Yes I do.

Somewhat dark. But not really, for mirror-verse. Implications of past rape and attempted rape, and murder, but nothing graphic.

Intended as creepy and disturbing friendship, but hey, works with slash goggles as well, if you like.

Can stand on it's own, but may be companion pieces in the future, haven't decided. Anyway, hope you enjoy.

Illogical Possession

Spock of Vulcan was not one for fear, for weakness. He had not lived to his age and position by being weak. There had always been threats. Early in life, attacks for his father and grandmother, politically motivated. Attacks for what he was, what he represented, a half-breed in a human dominated Empire. The humans resented the mixing of their blood, the impurity he represented. Vulcans had resented the blood of the humans who had betrayed them and subjugated them, Vulcans, who before the Terrans had never bowed to another force; and now the heir to their leading clan was one of them, as well. He had been despised by both sides, hunted by both sides; but he had lived.

He had suffered; abused by peers and tutors and colleagues and superiors as he rose in life, first in the unsafe environment of a child's classroom, then on Earth, in Starfleet, fleeing from the Vulcans out for his blood, where he had encountered more hatred. But he had risen, and he had lived.

And he was, for the most, generally content enough. Safe enough, he should say. There were few threats to him on the Enterprise. He was first officer and science officer, yes, but no one would kill him to rise in Science; scientists generally were not the most ambitious, and they were wise enough to not cross him; they would wait for a transfer to become Science Officer of a vessel, or die.

Those going for the rank of first officer, though…

Well. Of course most would first go after the captain, then Spock as he tried to adjust to command, if the Vulcan could even keep the command; Starfleet wasn't fond of aliens in charge of flagships, even half-human ones. But even if they aimed only for his position, and not that of Kirk's, everyone on the Enterprise knew they would die for such an act. Kirk would not see his first officer come to harm.

And that, perhaps, was the most perplexing thing of all.

There were logical reasons for Kirk's actions, of course. While highly emotional and temperamental, Kirk did have a viciously logical mind, a strategic mind. Spock did not want to be captain; he was quite comfortable where he was. Spock had no issues with Kirk. Therefore, Spock would not attempt to assassinate Kirk for the captaincy. This made Kirk much safer than most captains, as generally first officers were the most dangerous threats to them. It was to Kirk's advantage to keep him, and therefore death would be the punishment to any ambitious officer who took that advantage from him.

But this… this theory did not explain too many things. Like, for example, why Kirk seemed to exhibit something… like fondness for him. Not quite fondness, it was something different, but - well, it could be said that Kirk and Spock were willing to protect each other from the always-present danger of attacks, and therefore it was logical to stick together, but still Spock thought there was something more; this theory would not explain Kirk playing chess with him, or inviting him to his quarters - his quarters, and if that wasn't trust nothing was - to speak or drink, didn't explain those proprietary touches and grips on the bridge, planets, in the mess, every time they spoke.

Spock had wondered if Kirk was genuinely fond of him. Spock could say that his loyalty to the man was deep - and, just perhaps, he might have some personal affection for the man as well. Odd, and very rare. It was somewhat disconcerting. But it was there, and they made a good team, a logical team, so he would not deny it.

Except, he been so convinced that Kirk reciprocated these feelings. If he did, though, Spock could not imagine why Kirk had drugged him and now had him restrained in the man's quarters.

Kirk did not speak, staring at them with those blazing eyes that had commanded submission in all his crew. But he did not speak. Spock knew he was waiting, and so he spoke a single word;

"Why?"

It hung in the air between them for a suspenseful moment; finally, a lazy smirk came to the man's countenance. "Not for the reason you think," He said. His eyes did not lose that piercing quality. He shifted to move beside Spock, running a calloused finger along the tip of a pointed ear, rough. "Not for anything you're thinking. You don't truly believe I'd kill you, do you, Spock?"

"The odds, given all variables in this situation, would be 14,009 to one."

A low chuckle. "Is it, now?"

"12,384 to one," Spock amended, feeling his heartbeat quicken. Another chuckle, sincerely amused and fond, but dark nonetheless.

Spock was on the floor, feet bound in front of him, his wrists behind him and chained to a table-leg. The lower half of his body seemed paralyzed; Kirk wanted to be sure he could not fight back to this… whatever this was.

"I'm not going to kill you, Spock."

483,392 to one.

"I'd never kill you." That rough finger caressed the ear again, now with a baffling gentleness. A murmur, quiet and reverent; "So beautiful…"

A bolt of foreign terror flashed through him. No. Surely not. It was not logical - not strategic - Kirk would not threaten so much for lust - what was this? He would almost prefer to die -

"Calm down." The touch was gone, the captain's tone taking on a comfortable, commanding quality that demanded obeisance. "Control yourself."

The rebuke stung, but not so much as the implications that he could not, and he took a deep breath, bringing his feelings under control again. "Sir, please clarify the situation."

His voice sounded weak to his own ears.

The hand came back.

"I brought you here to explain," Kirk informed him.

As an answer was obviously expected;

"Explain what, Sir?"

"What you are."

"Sir - "

A warning pinch on his sensitive ear made him go silent. "Do you know what you are, Spock?"

"I am assuming not."

"You would be assuming rightly," Kirk said. "You are mine. I thought you knew that, that you'd figured it out, but it seems I was mistaken."

"Captain - "

The hands moved down to stroke his neck. "You are mine, commander - and I didn't like how you were responding to those Vulcan's a few days ago."

Four days ago a group of Vulcans had beamed aboard, diplomats. The crew had treated them with hostility; perhaps ruffled by this behaviour, the group had taken out their own resentment on the only one on the ship they dared; the half-breed.

Vulcans were logical, but they could be vicious when provoked.

"They tried to hurt you," a voice murmured in his ear. "And for the sake of diplomacy and safety you defended yourself, and let the matter go. And they ridiculed you after that, tried to assault you again - did they make you feel ashamed, Mr. Spock?"Spock was silent.

"Did they make you afraid?"

He had pushed them away, used his own fighting skills and finally managed to flee, shirt ripped and heart racing -

"Did they make you remember?"

Remember - he remembered himself, as a child, running and runningandrunning while Vulcan youths chased him, but they were not going to kill him, no, they had been curious - they decided his mother must have been a whore, a 'good lay', for his father had to have seen something in her, and they wondered if perhaps there was something genetic to that - and he was beautiful, they had told him, so beautiful he was asking for it, he shouldn't be so lovely if he didn't want it -

"Did they make you hurt again?"

"Yes," he whispered.

There was a silence; then arms were wrapped around him, human-warm and bizarrely, unbelievably comforting. "You foolish Vulcan," he murmured. "Don't you realize that you're mine?"

Spock couldn't answer. "I killed them. And I'll kill them all, anyone else who dares touch what's mine. If you are threatened, you come to me. Do you understand that? Anyone makes you upset or tries to harm you, you will tell me - is that clear?"

And Spock, who had killed and murdered and destroyed the lives of countless beings with calculated, indifferent logic, some deserving and some not, Spock who had lived in defiance of the galaxy saying he should not, was weak to this one man; and he nodded, lips dry. "Yes."

"I needed to keep you here - to make sure you understand." A hand ran along one of the chains behind him. "My beautiful, wonderful Spock - I can't keep you bound on the bridge - but you are always mine. Do you understand that?"

And finally Spock looked at him, really looked at him, at those bright, sharp eyes, predatory and calculating; and he looked behind that, at the obsessive fervor. Kirk was mad, perhaps, but he was passionately sincere. And Spock knew that Kirk was asking for something more; Kirk would protect him, guard him, cherish him, but he would be Kirk's, and he had to accept what he would be sacrificing to this man. He looked at that made gleam, at those burning eyes that both threatened and adored, and he didn't care how unstable or crazy this man was, and he didn't have to think of what he would lose - for what did he have to lose? He knew, with a clear, unshakeable certainty that he could submit his will to this man, remain with him and under him forever, and he would be content. No; he would be happy.

It was not logical, for he read what was under the words. Kirk's personality would demand nothing less than total obedience, total submission, total trust in a universe where Spock's mother had once tried to kill him, where brothers killed brothers and assassination was the way of life in the military protecting the Empire's people; he was asking for Spock to be his, in every way that mattered, to belong to this wild-eyed man. He thought of all he had lived through, all he had done to rise to his place, the strength and independence he knew he possessed, knew he could use to rise further, higher. He thought of all he had once longed to accomplish, and he knew, with certainty, he could do it.

And he thought of chess games and talks and drinks and possessive, lingering touches on the bridge, and he thought of what was to come if he agreed; and he had never felt such a longing in his entire life.

"Captain - I have been, and always shall be yours."