Disclaimer: same old song and dance. Don't sue.

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In Jim's opinion, Bones was the best kept secret on Enterprise. If the rest of the ship knew what he did about Leonard McCoy, the good doctor would never get a moment's peace; because under his abrasive exterior, razor-sharp tongue and love for needle-related sadism, that man knew people. It wasn't a developed skill, but an innate insight that never failed to leave Jim stunned. In fact, a large part of McCoy's cynical world view was because he understood human nature all too well. Most of the endless, annoying masses had the outright inability to hold themselves up to a mirror and accept the honest reflection; Leonard McCoy was both baffled and disgusted by such false illusions and had no tolerance for people who indulged in them.

If Jim wanted to gently awaken into a greater understanding of himself, he'd see Bonnie. But when life demanded nothing less than a harsh reality check that'd kick him straight in the ass, Bones would always be his first stop. And right now, he was in desperate need of his friend's unique brand of advice.

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It was a quiet day in sickbay, with nothing urgent requiring McCoy's presence. Instead, he was working on one of his many pet projects. At this moment, it was a cure for the Lorentian Plague. It was the kind of work that consumed him in the most satisfying way, which is why he scowled when he heard the doors to sickbay open. McCoy looked up from the eyepiece of the electron microscope with a glare and his eyes came to rest on Jim. The glowering look was immediately replaced by a pensive, slightly concerned expression. He'd only seen this look on Jim's face a handful of times, but each instance stuck in his mind like a marker of time. Four years ago: Jim's first serious girlfriend cheated on him. Two and a half years ago: his mother got remarried. Two years ago: he took the Kobayashi-Maru and got his first taste of failure. One year ago: Bonnie was taken. Without a word, the doctor abandoned his work and walked toward his office, Jim following quietly behind him.

McCoy stood by the door of his office, closing it behind Jim and then moving around his desk.

"Let me guess." he started, lowering himself into his chair. "This is about your lady friend."

Jim didn't answer right away and just paced the length of the small office. In an instant, though, he stopped in his tracks and faced McCoy. "Women are crazy."

"What a stunning pearl of wisdom." McCoy deadpanned.

"No, seriously." Jim insisted, his voice rife with frustration. He resumed his pacing. "No woman, in the history of the universe, can go from point A to point B without stopping at Q, W, and G along the way! There we were in the armory, making out and having a good time. Everything's fine, right? Wrong! She starts yelling at me out of nowhere! Something about, 'where was this all going' and 'I'm not going to be just another lay'. Where the hell was all that coming from, anyway? Maybe I shouldn't even try! It's not like we're good for each other. You had it right from the start; she's crazy! Violent, devious, dangerous, mysterious, and emotionally retarded…Bonnie would have a field day with this one! We've been playing this cat and mouse game for weeks and she's got me so twisted up, I'm not even sure which one of us is the cat anymore! Am I the cat? Are we both cats? Dammit, Bones, is there even a cat? And the only time we're real with each other is when we're in character as Malak and Delilah! That's not normal! Sometimes I'm not even sure if I actually like her, but I can't override the instinct to have her! I just keep chasing her against my better judgment! She's making me crazy!"

After Jim's rant, the room was silent apart from his own heavy breathing. McCoy was just staring at him like he was the crazy one. The silence stretched on, making Jim squirm under his friend's eerily neutral gaze.

"Let me get this straight." McCoy started, speaking very slowly. "You're – surprised? – that you're in a messed up relationship."

"Um…yeah?" Jim answered uncertainly.

"Jim…" McCoy shook his head in disbelief. "You're in this relationship. How can it be anything but messed up?"

Jim opened his mouth to argue, but McCoy cut him off. "Don't get me wrong. I agree with everything you said about Crazy. She's not really even human – more like a walking, talking collection of psychological pathologies – but still, you're not in a position to cast stones here."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jim asked defensively.

McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose, saying 'wow' under his breath. "Look, Jim, I love you like a brother. You know that, right? But you're so fucked up, I'm amazed you can dress yourself in the morning. Your mommy issues could fill up this entire ship and your daddy issues aren't far behind. You rebel against all forms of authority, yet you've become the highest authority on this ship. You haven't accomplished a single thing in this life unless it was posed to you as a challenge. You have the world's longest running case of survivor's guilt; nearly every stupid, suicidal thing you do is an attempt to alleviate some of that guilt and prove that you're worthy of the life your father died to give you. And, on top of it all, you have this irrational belief in the core of your being that tells you you're going to die alone. You are massively, undeniably messed up, my friend. And Crazy? She's a total whack-job. But together, you might be crazy enough to actually make something real out of all this. Believe me, the conventional way isn't all its cracked up to be. I did things the conventional way and what has it gotten me? Nothing but Satan herself as an ex-wife and a daughter I've never seen."

It was a very surreal experience, having his deep-seated issues brought to his conscious attention and broken down so quickly. Jim felt like he was floating outside of his body. The voice that came out of his mouth didn't even sound like his."Am I…am I really that messed up?"

To McCoy, he sounded like a little boy looking for approval and the next words out of his mouth could either crush or encourage him. So he did what had always worked for him: he told the truth. "Yeah, Jim. You are. And if you weren't, I probably wouldn't be friends with you. Better crazy than boring, I always say. Normal is overrated. So, you're a disaster area. So am I, but do you see me giving two shits about it? No. At least you've got what counts. You have character and depth, common sense and courage, and a staunch refusal to just blindly accept whatever life gives you. You've got life by the short ones and you make the world conform to you, not the other way around. You've got baggage that would cripple most people and yet you make it work for you, not against you. And you know what? It's made you the best Captain in Star Fleet history. At 25, no less. Embrace your imperfections, kid. They're as much you as the good stuff."

Throughout McCoy's speech, Jim's smile grew. This is why he came to Bones. The doctor had the natural ability to make a person feel at home in their own skin and make them accept things they'd been running from their whole life. And McCoy was right. Everything he'd accomplished was due just as much to his flaws as the rest of him. He wouldn't be him without his flaws! Wouldn't it be easier just to accept that fact, rather than deny it? As soon as the thought entered his head, he felt lighter, freer.

"Thanks, Bones."

"Anytime, kid." he smiled. "So what are you going to do about Lana?"

Jim smiled and shrugged. "I don't know. But everything will work out."

"Glad to hear it. Now get out of here, I've got work to do." Bones said, making a beeline for the electron microscope.

Jim grinned at his friend's retreating back and walked out of sickbay, repressing the absurd desire to skip down the halls. He could barely remember what he was so worried about in the first place. It would all be fine in the end. Jim walked into his room and stripped off his uniform, settling into the bed. His head hit the pillow and he drifted into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jim started the next day with renewed determination and energy. Slipping on his uniform shirt, he asked the computer, "Location of Commander Andre?"

"E Deck, Section 27: Gymnasium." The computer responded.

"Right. Defense classes." he muttered to himself. Checking the clock, he realized the class didn't start for another half hour. Plenty of time.

Walking determinedly down the corridors, he didn't have a plan of seduction in mind this time. After all, that blew up in his face pretty badly. No, he would do what he did best: he'd wing it. But first things first. Business would have to take precedent today. The Klingons represented a genuine tactical threat and, with the destruction of at least one Federation ship, they were making a new kind of play here. Klingons employed a strange mix of stealth and brute force in their attacks, but never shied away from a fight. Pike had sent him reports of the recent events and he'd read them thoroughly. Whoever was attacking their ships wasn't declaring war, challenging the Federation or even taking credit for their work. No; they came, attacked quietly and efficiently, then disappeared without a trace.

It was enough to have any captain on a hair-trigger.

When he reached the doors to the gymnasium, he heard quiet strains of music from beyond the steel entrance. Straightening his shirt, he entered and the music saturated and vibrated through the large room. Jim got three steps into the door before his feet stopped working. Lana stood on the far side of the gym and Jim's eyes travelled up her body. She had on black work-out pants that looked as though they'd been painted onto her body; they drew absolute attention to her long, shapely legs. Her toned stomach was left entirely exposed and she wore only a black bra-top. He hadn't seen this much of her exposed skin since they were naked on his bed. Forcing his eyes past her chest, he saw that her curly hair was up in a pony-tail and she had a blindfold tied around her eyes.

She turned her body so her back was to him and he noticed a large tattoo covering her left shoulder. Tattoos had been out of style for centuries, but the dark ink held his rapt fascination. It was a phoenix rising up from a bright flame, but the bird was unlike any phoenix from myth. It was dark and grotesque. Its beak was parted, exposing razor-sharp teeth and Jim could imagine a jarring screech coming from the animal. Its talons were crusted with brown-red blood and its wings were still on fire. The artist somehow made its red eyes hold rage and pain. And scrawled in the fire, the words looking like they were about to turn to ash, was the question, 'But what will rise from the ashes?' How had he never seen it before? Then again, the only time he'd seen her without a shirt, her back was always pressed against something. A moment later, her body shifted again and the tattoo was hidden from his sight.

As intriguing as the tattoo was, there was no time to dwell on the ink; as soon as she turned, he noticed the sword.

Her body was moving gracefully in time with the music, each step measured and purposeful, each swing of the sword fluid and deadly. The music began to speed up, the drums and bass pounding in his ears. The refined dance of danger progressed to a display of power and control. The sharp metal parted the air with a dangerous sound as the sword's arcs became wider and more lethal with every pass. She looked like a conductor of some hazardous symphony, her sword keeping perfect time with the beat. The music swelled even louder, her voice joining the tempo of her body. Grunts started to sound at every thrust of the sword and yells accompanied the sound of the blade as she sliced at the air. His heart hammered in his chest as he heard a crescendo grow and felt the intensity flowing from Lana like sweat. The last chord and a scream sounded through the room as Lana's weapon tore through the air at the point where an invisible opponent's head might be.

"God-damn, she's gorgeous." he whispered to himself.

Lana threw her sword on the metal floor with a loud clatter and ripped off her blindfold. Breathing heavily, her hands on her hips, she rested her forehead against the mirror that ran the length of the back wall.

Jim started clapping and she spun around. "That was pretty impressive."

"Thanks." she panted, still catching her breath. She glanced at the clock. "You're early. Class doesn't start for another twenty minutes."

"We need to talk." he said. Lana got a look in her eyes like a cornered animal and he hastily added, "Not about that! Pike called to warn me about a developing Klingon threat and I wanted to run it by you."

Her body sagged in relief; give her Klingons, give her Romulans, but don't make her have the 'us' conversation with Jim Kirk. She walked over to the weight station and sat down on the work out bench. Jim followed and sat beside her, giving her the details of Pike's report. She nodded every once in a while, but mostly listened. This new situation had her worried for two reasons: one, their defenses were comparable to those of the U.S.S. Resolute. If they were attacked in the same, unknown method, they could meet the same fate. And two…Kirk. Since arriving on Enterprise, she'd read over countless mission reports from Enterprise's first year in service. She'd noticed a disturbing pattern: Kirk had risked his own life (stupidly, in her opinion) dozens of times. That would not fly on her watch. The captain stays on the bridge; he doesn't go on suicidal away missions, not while she's tactical officer anyway. She would need a plan to address both issues.

After Jim was done briefing her on the situation, she nodded seriously. "I'll inform my security teams and have them running constant drills. We should also stay at Yellow Alert until further notice."

"My thoughts exactly." Jim agreed. There was silence between them and just when both were starting to get antsy, the door to the gym opened again. Sulu, Chekov, Uhura and Scotty entered together. If they thought it was odd for the Captain and tactical officer to be sitting hip-to-hip alone in the gym, they didn't say anything. Instead, everyone just chatted lightly until Spock and McCoy showed up. When all the senior staff was present and lined up (excluding Bonnie), Lana stood in front of them.

"Welcome to Defense 101, everybody. In this class, you'll learn defense techniques from several different martial art forms, including Kenjutsu, Suus Mahna and Sambo. Now-"

"Sambo!" Pavel cried excitedly. "Zat is a Russian martial art! My Papa vas wery skilled at Sambo."

Lana squeezed her eyes shut and tried to control her breathing. It was bad enough being around Pavel, but now he was bringing up Papa, too. Struggling to regain her composure, she said tightly, "That's great. Maybe you have a natural talent for it. Now, moving on, I've decided to pair you up based on experience. Chekov and Uhura, neither of you have experience, so you'll be working together. Don't worry, we'll build your skills from the ground up and soon, you'll be ready for anything that gets thrown your way. Scotty and McCoy, same to you. Sulu, you'll be paired with Captain Kirk. Both of you are quite advanced and working together will keep your skills honed. And Mr. Spock, you'll be paired with me."

"Pardon me, Commander, but that is unwise." Spock stated, noticing Lana's eyes narrow. "Vulcans possess superior strength to humans. It would not be a fair test of either of our skills."

"Thank you for trying to protect my fragile sensibilities, but I'll manage." she said through gritted teeth. "Who knows, maybe I'll even challenge you."

"That is doubtful." Spock argued. "Perhaps I should be paired with Captain Kirk."

Sulu was shaking his head, muttering 'bad, very bad' as Lana walked slowly toward Spock. "You are paired with me." she said unyieldingly.

"Commander-" Spock's voice was cut off as Lana brought her hand to Spock's shoulder and pinched the trapezius nerve bundle. It took a few seconds to take effect, but Spock slumped to the floor. The room was deadly silent. Lana walked back to the front of the room like nothing happened.

"Many martial arts teach that physical strength is subject to the concentration of energy. This principle allows human beings to punch through two inches of solid wood, break cinderblocks with only a head-butt and perform amazing feats of super-human strength. It even allows humans to employ the Vulcan Neck Pinch, with enough study and practice devoted to the art of Suus Mahna. Someday you may find yourself fighting Klingons, the strongest warriors in our quadrant. Or Romulans, with strength equal to a Vulcan's. But if you pay attention in this class, you will be able to use their size and strength against them. Now…are we ready to begin?"

"Is he going to be okay?" Uhura asked, glancing at Spock.

"I didn't do it very hard. He should be up and about it a couple of minutes." Lana answered dismissively. "Alright, first we're going to learn the basics of defense: blocking."

The class was hard at work by the time Spock woke up. He gave Lana a subtle glare, which she returned. After straightening out Uhura's elbow for the proper positioning, she approached Spock.

"You can't be too mad at me, Spock." she said quietly, so that only he could hear. "I read an interesting report recently. Seems you did the same to Kirk after he started arguing too much. Just be glad I didn't maroon you, too."

Spock could not argue with her logic and repressed his pride enough to be impressed with her technique. He was about to ask who had taught her Suus Mahna, but noticed her attention was focused intently on Chekov.

"My father vas a champion fighter in Russia! He taught students from all over ze vorld how to fight vith ze grace and power only a Russian can possess!" he said excitedly, practicing over exaggerated fighting moves in the mirror. Lana felt the veins in her neck tense and tried without success to suppress her anger and annoyance. Pavel was barely over a year old when Papa died. Every word out of his mouth was just a regurgitation of the stories she'd told him. What right did he have to repeat her stories and share her memories with strangers? He was stealing her memories, claiming them as his own and leaving her completely out of the picture.

"Once, Papa fought a man who vas flirting vith my mother. He knocked out ze other man viz a single punch! Maybe I vill be zat good someday…" Lana could feel her blood pressure rise as he continued to babble about things he didn't understand. Her patience was wearing thin and she could feel her insides shake with fury. How dare he mention their father with such familiarity? How could he talk about Papa without even mentioning her? She was his only connection to their father; she was the one who made him feel connected to a man he never knew!

Finally, Lana had had enough. If she had to endure one more minute of this, then God help her, she would not be responsible for the body count. Her self-control snapped and she marched up to where the two beginners were practicing. Uhura was concentrating on her own image as she practiced the blocks in the mirror, but Chekov was chatting idly next to her and only half-heartedly mimicking her movements. Lana got between them and clapped her hands in front of Chekov's face.

"Pay attention, Pasha!" she snapped. "This could save your life someday!"

The movement of their fellow officers slowed and then stopped as they took in her words. Lana went to walk away, but felt a light, restraining touch on her arm. Her eyes travelled slowly up the arm holding her to Chekov's questioning face and she scowled. She was just about to really lay into him, when he spoke.

"Did you just call me Pasha?" he asked in astonishment.

Her entire body went still and her thoughts played out on her face for all to see. Did she? Could she really have been so careless? She searched her memory and her eyes fell shut in realization. She did call him Pasha. Anger made her face flush and she cursed under her breath. She'd been so worried about someone else exposing her, she never thought she'd be stupid enough to do this to herself! But if she acted quickly, maybe the situation could be salvaged.

She wrenched herself from his grip and walked back in front of the class. "Just a slip of the tongue, Ensign. Get back to work, everyone!"

But no one moved. Then, mustering his courage, Chekov stepped forward and came to stand in front of Lana. Her jaw was clenching and unclenching and she refused to look Pavel in the eye. He studied her face for a long time, what seemed like hours to Lana, and finally her eyes met his for a split second.

The moment his green eyes locked on her gray ones, Pavel gasped and he said something that sounded like, "Sees-tra."

Uhura gasped too. Scotty looked at her and whispered, "What did he say?"

"He said…sister." Uhura whispered back, loud enough for all the men to hear. They turned their undivided attention to Pavel and Lana.

"Ilana?" Pavel whispered brokenly. "Ilana, is that really you?"

"Don't call me that." she snarled, jerking away from him.

A beautiful, teary smile came on Pavel's face. "It is you!" He approached her and tried to hug her; she pushed him back, making him stumble slightly and causing hurt to flash over his face.

"I'm part of a past you want nothing to do with, Pavel." she growled. "You've made that quite clear. I say we just go on ignoring each other. Seems to have worked well for the past six years, don't you think?"

"But…but Ilana…I missed you." he admitted, sounding so small.

"You don't get to miss me!" she yelled. "Not when you did this to both of us!"

He stared at her, crushed and horror-stricken, before collapsing on the ground in tears. Sobs racked his small frame, but Lana stood unmoved. She'd been in that same position so many times after what he'd done. Still, it wasn't a sight she wanted to see and she turned away. Looking at her crew, what she saw in their eyes made her want to join Pavel on the floor. The anger and accusation in their eyes pierced her body like daggars. Of course they'd be mad at her. From their perspective, she'd hurt their precious Pavel. If only they knew…

She snorted humorlessly, the sound echoing like a scream across the room. She sat down next to Pavel and he stared up at her with watery eyes. But she wasn't looking at him; she was looking at the crew and he moved to look at them too.

"Isn't this familiar?" she asked him tonelessly. "They look at me with disgust and you with sympathy. You'll always be innocent in their eyes." Her voice hardened slightly. "But not in mine. I know what you can do to the people who love you most. I can only hope you care enough about this crew not to do to them what you did to me."

"I could never." Pavel whispered.

"Why don't I believe you?" she shook her head sadly. Standing up, she looked down on her brother and spoke flatly. "There is no Pavel and Ilana and there hasn't been for a long time. We're not family. We're not friends. We're not anything to each other, not anymore. We're just two strangers serving on the same ship. I want nothing to do with you, Pavel. Stay out of my way."

Lana walked out of the room and Pavel curled into himself on the unforgiving metal floor and cried in horrible, heart-wrenching sobs. The crew was frozen in place, still in shock. Then Sulu moved forward a couple of steps before stopping again. He kept looking between Pavel and the doors to the gym. Jim saw his dilemma and stepped next to the helmsman.

"Stay with Pavel; he needs you. I'll talk to Lana." Sulu nodded, sinking to the floor next to his friend and letting the young man cry into his shirt.

Jim stared at the scene for a moment before barking, "Dismissed!"

The rest of the crew scattered from the room, not needing to be told twice. As for Jim, he stalked through the doors toward Lana's quarters. He knew he should be more concerned about Pavel, but he was in good hands with Sulu. Besides, he and Lana were more alike than either cared to admit; he could tell from the flatness of her voice and dullness of her eyes that she wasn't as unaffected as she pretended to be. She was forcing everything down until she could deal with it in private; after all, that's what he would do. But she didn't get to have privacy, not after what he'd just seen. She'd made Pavel cry. All the senior staff had a soft spot for the kid and it was almost inconceivable that he'd done anything to make Lana hate him so much. But he also knew, as harsh as Lana could be, she wouldn't react so strongly to him unless there was a damn good reason. Jim, for one, was very interested to know what that reason was.

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Next Chapter: we find out what happened between Pavel and Lana six years ago while Jim and Lana get a little closer.

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