"Awaken!"

Rough, long fingers dug into his shoulders and shook. McCoy had a sour, dry taste in his mouth and a fierce swelling in his ankle when the shaking finally brought him around. Once again he'd slept in this office, only on the floor this time. Spock brought him to his feet as if lifting a load of laundry and helped him stand. When Spock stepped away, the doctor almost fell from the pain in his ankle.

Spock grit his teeth and threw a hypo at him. "Hurry up!"

Leaning on the desk, McCoy injected his ankle with a chemical that soothed his pain on contact. It worked rather better and quicker than the medicines he was used to.

Spock had left the office and returned while McCoy had tended to himself, and he had a pile of clothes in his arms. He shut the door and dumped the clothes on the desk. "Get changed, quickly."

McCoy knew better than to argue, but he couldn't help feeling awkward changing in front the other. It really wasn't the fact of being exposed, but the demand for obedience that disturbed him. What other demands could Spock have for him, at this or any other time? And would it always be this easy to just obey?

Soon he was dressed, and didn't even know what he was wearing. It didn't matter anyway. However, a quick check showed that it was the same uniform as before, only a cleaner, less wrinkled version. "Time for work already?" he grunted sarcastically.

Next to the expansive, wall-sized liquor cabinet was a small, cracked mirror that Spock inspected himself in. He was of course immaculate, every hair in his beard and on his head in perfect place, even the wrinkles in his shirt pressed and flattened into submission. Giving his pins one last, compulsive fiddle, he said, "We are receiving Admiral Dorek within the hour. His ship is already alongside ours."

"Believe it or not," McCoy snarled under his breath. "We had protocol in my universe, too."

Spock took McCoy by the shoulder and pulled him off the desk. McCoy cringed against him, and found that he was already trying to dampen his emotions. Spock grabbed the uncuffed wrist and pulled him close, but he didn't say anything for a while. McCoy felt Spock's other hand at the base of his neck, and he closed his eyes, waiting.

"There can be no forgiveness if you do not act appropriately amongst our passengers, Leonard," Spock said softly, but with warning very clear in his voice.

"I damn well know that, I'm not stup--" Spock drove one of his fingers in a pressure point at McCoy's jaw.

"You have no right to speak to me like that."

The fierce pain of Spock's fingers and his extremely close proximity cowed McCoy. His head down, he whined, "Sorry, ahhh...fuck!" Spock released him, and without another word they left Sickbay and headed for the shuttle bay to receive the passengers.

Kirk was standing inside the shuttle bay, the first to greet those that the ship had received. There were faces McCoy recognized in the ranks in the row facing his. He was nearly face to face with Uhura, for example. But of course he would not expect anyone to be the way he knew them.

As much as his curiosity burned, he forced himself to stand still and look straight ahead instead of peer into the shuttle bay to get a look at this Admiral and his cohorts, fearing that anything less than perfect military behavior would mean trouble for him.

For what seemed like an hour they stood there, waiting. Just as he felt himself begin to fall asleep on his feet, the admiral passed by, and McCoy's heart froze. The man was dressed in a similar uniform as the rest of the crew, but of course with far more elaborate pins, and a sash that went across the waist and over one shoulder. The fabric of his tunic was a deep maroon. The man had passed too quickly for him to really study, but McCoy did not miss the pointed ears. Vulcan? That would make sense.

Then a group of lower ranking officers passed, some of them dressed similarly to the admiral, but the rest, the grunts carrying the phaser rifles, sported golden, close fitting helmets that had leaf-like coverings for their ears and forehead.

Those weren't Vulcans.

////

It was eerie, the similarities. They were all assembled in the very same room, with the very same (just about) presentation as when he had met Spock's parents. It was a far less festive occasion, and the visitors were considerably more dangerous than the multi-racial collection of ambassadors he'd met, but he couldn't help but indulge in a little nostalgia.

Only the higher ranking officers and a detail of sentries, were allowed in the room, McCoy being included. He hung by Spock's side not just because he was expected to. He tapped a finger on Spock's arm, not letting his finger remain any longer than necessary to get his attention. "I need to talk to you, Sp--" he stopped before he could say that name.

"Go on," Spock said.

"Commander," he said instead.

Spock tightened his lips, but he didn't press it. He removed himself to a quieter corner of the room and McCoy followed. "Please tell me we do not have Romulans on this ship."

Spock raised an eyebrow and turned to gaze at the passengers, who were chatting amiably with Kirk and a selection of females. "Is this reason for concern?"

Spock's attitude was frustrating, but he controlled himself. "What's going on here, have they defected?" he asked as quietly as he could, gesturing to the admiral.

"The Romulans were your enemies?" Spock asked. McCoy felt Spock's attention as a powerful, almost painful thing. A part of him relished it. "I am amazed you had survived long enough."

//Long enough for you to find me, you mean// McCoy thought, but pushed that thought away and refocused. "Mortal enemies, yes. Are they allies here?"

One eyebrow raised in time with a corner of Spock's lips. McCoy knew this look, from his own past with his own Spock, to be a very mischievous one indeed. He braced himself. "A dry history lecture would hardly substitute for the real thing, would you not agree, Doctor?"

"The Hell are you talking about?"

"Come," Spock simply said, taking hold of McCoy's arm as he headed towards the Admiral.

McCoy slowed but didn't stop. "Wait, you don't expect me to talk to them--" It took effort, but McCoy controlled his anxiety as they approached the Romulan dignitaries. Spock saluted the admiral in that brusque way of that universe and nodded to Kirk, all while still holding McCoy's arm with his left hand. McCoy wasn't sure if he should salute or not, but the others didn't seem to expect him to.

Thankfully the eyes of the admiral and the two officers standing by him ignored McCoy. The Romulans were far more interested in empty greetings and small talk with Spock and Kirk. However, McCoy did notice Kirk's eyes on him. The captain was not staring, necessarily, nor did his looks linger, but each brief glance was like a stab. Suddenly Spock's grip on him seemed almost comforting.

Dorek was a young man, or at least that's how appeared. Oddly young to be an admiral, in any case. He spoke with a self important air, but he was also charming in his way. The others in his company seemed genuinely entertained by his presence.

"So," he said grandly, turning his attention to Spock. "The captain tells me that we have a genuine Vulcan on board." He smiled and took a drink from a tray someone handed him without looking back. The server was a small, thin woman in flimsy dress, and had managed to squeeze her way past McCoy to serve the admiral without him even noticing. She was gone to cater to other officers without a sound. McCoy didn't get a chance for a good look, but she looked vaguely familiar.

"Yes, Sir," Spock answered, and when McCoy turned his attention from the girl, he was just in time to catch Spock nearly puffing with pride.

"A follower of that old fool himself," the admiral chuckled, and Spock's jaw tightened.

"Be careful, Admiral," Kirk joked. "Spock here is quite passionate about his beliefs." He raised his drink to his lips and passed a twinkling, half lidded look to Spock. "As obscure as they might be."

"Tell me, Spock," Dorek cooed. "Is it true that you Vulcans purge yourselves of all emotion? I heard that was some sort of rite of passage or the like."

"I assure you, Admiral, that we are just as subject to emotion and primal thoughts as you, only it is our discipline to master them." Spock's fingers tightened on McCoy's arm. The doctor had to grit his teeth to keep from making a sound.

Dorek chuckled, but his eyes were dark, threatening in a vague way. "What a way to go through life!" he exclaimed. "Where's the fun in that, Commander?"

Spock's eyebrow raised. "Fun, Admiral? That is a subjective term, an abstract concept. Surak's way is in the pursuit of logic in all things. Anything else is trivial."

For a moment the men stared at each other. While Kirk seemed to be enjoying this immensely, McCoy tensed. The hostility was but blatantly obvious to him, as much as the two tried to hide it. Dorek cleared the tension by finally giving in to a laugh and patted Spock on the shoulder. Only then did McCoy notice the admiral was wearing gloves.

"You Vulcans are incredibly funny," he said, while Spock took in a breath, but otherwise revealed nothing. "Such strange, contradicting ways. But, as long as it's in the service of the Empire, right?"

"Indeed," Spock said dryly.

Dorek's return grunt was obscured by the drink to his lips. When he turned his gaze to McCoy, the human tensed. It was a strange feeling to suddenly be allowed back into their circle with just an acknowledging look. "In any case, it is comforting to see that the followers of Surak are still not so different from their shamelessly hedonistic brethren." He smirked and gazed at McCoy in a way that felt like he was sizing up a piece of furniture. "At least in ways that really count."

Another server came to collect his and Kirk's glasses and left. "Gentlemen," Dorek beamed. "It was a pleasure. I am looking forward to sharing this voyage with you. I expect to spend significant time catching up with you, cousin." He patted Spock's shoulder and let his hand linger for a moment longer, his eyes dark. His companions saluted in their general direction and left with the admiral.

Spock glared after him and muttered something under his breath that McCoy couldn't catch. His fingers even tighter, he started to lead McCoy back to the refreshment table, with Kirk following. He looked McCoy over and said to Spock, "Hold the fort for a while, I'm off for some relaxation before things get too interesting around here." By now Kirk had hold of McCoy's arm.

If Spock felt anything about this, he was doing a spectacular job hiding it, even better than when he thought to impress the Romulan. Of course, McCoy considered with a sinking feeling, maybe Spock really didn't care that the captain was about to take him away. "How long should I set the timer for, Captain?" he asked, taking McCoy's cuffed arm.

Kirk shrugged and swept his gaze around the room with a sigh. "Let's go with half an hour," he said, and Spock began entering data into the cuff. "That's about all the time I have, unfortunately." Spock gave McCoy's hand a squeeze as he let go, but he would not meet the doctor's eyes.

He was pretty sure he knew what this was about, but McCoy made no sound. Panic roiled inside, but there'd be no point to ask Spock anything now. He followed the captain in a daze, not even sure how he managed to find the focus to even walk. Thankfully, Kirk did not find it necessary to hold him as they left the assembly room.

McCoy weighed his options as they headed down the passageway. Right now Kirk was not touching him, but he was still within reach. McCoy could try to take off running, but even if he could outrun Kirk, where would he go?

He had a sudden thought. He already knew it was impossible, and he cast it away as soon as it surfaced, revolted at himself for thinking it.

He actually considered killing the captain.

"I have to say your behavior's been amazing these last few days," Kirk said, interrupting his thoughts. His eyes were dark as they sized the other up. "You know, I really didn't think it'd be a good idea for Spock to finally make it official, but it's really changed you."

They were about to reach the turbo lift when Kirk took hold of his arms. "It's like you're a whole new man," he said with a toothy, mirthless grin. "I like it." He chuckled and lead McCoy into the turbo lift by the arm, while the doctor tried to hold in a scream. With Kirk's eyes openly on him, McCoy could only look straight ahead. When the captain traced a finger along the ridge of his ear, McCoy flinched, his entire body giving off a quick spasm.

"Well!" Kirk said with mild surprise. "I'm glad you still have a little fight left in you."

This brought a sting to McCoy's throat that made him nearly choke. His eyes were stinging; it was hard to keep his composure. Was he capable of fighting? he demanded of himself. Would this heavy, dejected feeling interfere?

Kirk gave him an extra large grin as he pulled him out of the turbo lift when it stopped. McCoy was wooden and silent beside him, appearing in every way a meek victim, but his mind was racing. The cuff had been programmed to go off in thirty minutes, so that basically meant he had that much time to stall Kirk. If he could only hold on that long until Spock came for him...

The captain's state room was staggering. It took McCoy off guard for a moment to take in the vulgar decor, or so it seemed to him. A huge Imperial symbol covering one wall, gold flecks sparkling with the far too bright overhead light, silken sheets on the bed, a mirror by the cabinet bigger than he'd ever seen. Somehow his quarters were much larger than his counterpart's, as if this Kirk had knocked down bulkheads to expand his living space.

Kirk wrapped his arms around McCoy's waist from behind and dipped the startled man low in a dramatic move. Lowered off his feet, the doctor grabbed Kirk's arms and grit his teeth. For a moment there was something warm in Kirk's expression; for a moment McCoy almost felt safe in his arms. The feel of the captain's bare arms, more muscular than he was used to, the warmth of his waist, made it hard for McCoy to breathe.

McCoy would be a liar if he'd never admit to having feelings for Kirk, but they'd always been fleeting, mindless crushes. He'd never wanted his friend in that way, and mostly never told him because he didn't want Kirk to get a big head over it.

But those innocent, hidden feelings paled in comparison with how McCoy felt now, lying on his back on the huge bed, with Kirk over him, staring hungrily. He was petrified, and his skin crawled where Kirk touched him. The breath stopped in his throat when Kirk yanked his head back by the hair, and he clutched the bedsheets, white knuckled, when he was bitten on the neck.

As he felt Kirk's knee slip between his legs and brush his lips up from his throat, McCoy forced himself out of that lust-filled trance. Whatever dark thrill he was getting from this was not enough for him to allow this to happen. He knew he was hard, his body was shaking with need that Kirk had inspired, but behind it all, he was repulsed. The Kirk he knew was his friend, and someone who would never do anything like this. Somehow it was easier to imagine such a violation from Spock than from Kirk.

Without a second thought McCoy slammed his cuffed wrist into Kirk's face. Kirk was shoved to his side, but quickly recovered, grabbing McCoy's arm before he could get anywhere. For a while the two struggled. McCoy thrust his knees into Kirk's gut, missing him nearly every time. Leaning over the top of him, his knees steady on the bed, Kirk had a significant advantage, but while Kirk easily overpowered him, McCoy dragged it out. He twisted and writhed beneath him, managing to punch Kirk in the face several times before his wrists were pinned down. Then he pulled an arm free and kicked Kirk's leg.

Panting, Kirk removed one hand from McCoy's wrist, and McCoy seized this opportunity to punch him in the nose. A broken scream ripped from Kirk as he lost his grip. While he threw his hand to his bleeding nose, McCoy scrambled off the bed, falling to his knees before he got to the door. He pounded at the control pad by the door, eventually smashing the heel of his hand against it uselessly, then resorted to screaming through the door. No one came, of course.

Kirk laughed behind him. His hand numb and sore, McCoy finally stopped, but he couldn't turn to face the other man just yet. "Let me out," he said, his voice coming out smaller than he intended. Another hearty laugh.

"Guess you haven't changed much after all," Kirk said. McCoy heard him get up from the bed, and he tensed, head pressed against the locked door. He peered behind him—Kirk was pouring himself a drink. "Or maybe you're just playing hard to get," he smirked.

"You might as well let me go now," McCoy said. "I won't let you touch me." If Kirk did come for him again, though, he knew he wouldn't get away a second time. There was nothing stopping Kirk but his own whimsy.

"O, really?" Kirk laughed. He took a long drink and smacked his lips. "Well, your antics have eaten up most of the time Spock's allowed you, so we'll have to postpone this for another time anyway."

"Lemme out, then." McCoy turned with his back against the door as Kirk sauntered over to him, the reek of some powerful liquor unfamiliar of him on the captain's lips. Kirk put one hand to the control panel, but he didn't press anything. Instead he leaned closer to McCoy and took another swig from his bottle. "Dammit, Jim," he pleaded in a soft whine, crumpling against the door. His chest was heaving, he was light headed and exhausted.

Kirk made a face. "'Jim'?" he said. "No one but my brother calls me that." Then he smirked and ran his fingers through McCoy's hair, scratching. "Ahh but you're just trying to annoy me, now," he growled. "Such a sneaky little fuck." He ruffled McCoy's hair, but roughly, and then grabbed his cuffed wrist. "You know, this would look so much better if it had come from me."

McCoy shivered and his hand clenched. There were many tiny lights flashing on the display screen, and he thought he could decipher some of it. In fact, he found he could, and the screen warned he had less than two minutes left.

"C-Captain," he struggled to speak as Kirk brushed fingers across his throat. "I have to go."

"You'll go when I tell you to go," Kirk half-snarled, half-purred, and pressed himself against McCoy, who nearly passed out from the sudden, intense sensation. "How much longer?"

McCoy brought his shaking wrist into view. "One minute...twent-twenty three..." Kirk closed his mouth over McCoy's, forcing his tongue in, then pulled off him. Shaking, McCoy clung to the doorway with one hand as Kirk stood just out of arm's length before him, a grin on his face.

"Open the door!" McCoy hissed. Thirty seconds now.

Kirk chuckled softly and put his drink away. He leaned on the cabinet while McCoy remained glued to the door, waiting desperately.

Five seconds.

"Jim!"

There was a loud, screeching beep and McCoy's arm burst with a sudden shock. He hissed and looked down at his arm. The pain was startling and unpleasant, but it wasn't so bad, actually. He could certainly survive...

Another shock a few seconds later, harsher this time. McCoy felt his wrist practically vibrate within the cuff, his entire arm going numb for half a second. That one definitely hurt. He looked up to Kirk, who was clearly enjoying himself.

"Godammit, lemme out!" he howled when another shock lanced up his arm. He could feel it all the way to the shoulder, this time, and his head was pounding. He started pushing random buttons on the door, but it still would not open, even when he tried to transfer the electricity from the cuff to the protected panel.

By the next shock, McCoy was on his knees. His body spasmed and then sagged with exhaustion between each attack. "Jim, for God's sake!" he yelled. "Please!"

Kirk went to stand just out of reach. "What makes you think I'd want to do a thing for you, after the trouble you gave me?" he chided with a laugh.

"Please!" McCoy called out. The shocks' intensity had leveled off, but the constant, repetitive jolts were driving McCoy mad with pain. He started clawing at the cuff, doubled over by the door. "Captain, please! Can't—aahhh!!--can't take it--!"

Kirk yawned loudly and stepped past McCoy, still careful not to get too close. With a hand by the controls, he gazed down at the writhing, moaning man. "You know, Doctor, I do enjoy a good tussle now and then, but I don't expect it to last too long."

McCoy tried to say something, but couldn't. He could only make desperate sounds through hot tears.

Finally Kirk deactivated the door lock, and stepped back when the door opened. McCoy started to crawl out, and grabbed the doorway to help him to his feet. Every shock from the cuff almost knocked him back down, but soon he was making his way down the passageway.

His arm felt on fire, and his heart was about to explode. His own will power carried him to the turbo lift, but he was knocked to the ground before he could reach it. Somewhere through his fading vision he saw shapes approach him, and was vaguely aware of someone taking hold of his hand. Soon after the shocks stopped, and the world around him seemed so very empty. He slumped in Spock's arms and passed out.