He came to a few minutes later, and by that time, they were in a turbo lift. Spock had hold of him by the upper arm, holding him close to himself. Spock looked down at him when he felt him rouse and asked, "Did you give him any trouble?"

McCoy stared up for a moment in shock. "Did I give him trouble?" he demanded. "You let him try to rape me, and you're asking me if I--"

Spock's lips tightened and he yanked McCoy in front of him to stare him down. "What do you mean 'try'?"

The doctor's knees weakened as he stared helplessly into that cold face. "You-you knew what he was going to do, you-you--"

Grinding his teeth, Spock dragged McCoy out of the turbo lift when it stopped and walked much faster than McCoy could handle. When he stumbled, Spock just jerked him onwards. McCoy clutched at Spock's arm and cried out, just to be ignored.

Instead of going to Sickbay, as McCoy expected, they went to Spock's state room. Only once had McCoy ever been in Spock's quarters before, and that was in his own universe. It was not that much different; uncomfortably hot, sparse, with adequate but somehow strange lighting. Spock hit controls on the pad by the door and shoved McCoy inside.

The doctor knew he did not have the strength to defend himself against a furious Vulcan, not even close. His body ached, and his arm burned with a pulsing, sharp pain, and it was all he could do to not collapse in a heap when he backpedaled into the foot of the bed. Grabbing for a handhold, McCoy cringed and yelled, "Spock! For God's sake, I didn't--"

Spock grabbed him by the throat and forced him up on the bed, climbing on after him. "What happened?" he growled. He took his hand off the doctor's throat, but took a grip of his shirt collar and pulled him up by it.

McCoy felt the tears in his eyes and couldn't stop them. He couldn't remember when he'd felt fear quite as immediate as this; he was fully expecting Spock to rip him apart with his bare hands any second. "I-I fought him," he forced out. Spock kept his hands from McCoy's bare skin. "I-h-he tried to-to force it-I fought him off!"

"Fool!" Spock snapped, slapping him. McCoy's ears rang and his jaw ached.

"What was I supposed to do?" he shouted, wincing as Spock leaned closer. "You expect me to just blindly let whatever that devil wants to me?"

A corner of Spock's mouth twitched, and for a frightful second he seemed close to losing control. But then he relaxed, his face draining of expression. This scared McCoy even more. The Vulcan's voice was an icy hiss. "You will serve the captain of this ship in every way unless you are prepared to assassinate him." Spock's other hand slid across McCoy's forehead, latching onto the meld spots, his fingernails digging even deeper than before. McCoy hissed at the biting pain and tensed.

"He had no right to--"

"He is the captain; his power is absolute." Spock let go of McCoy's shirt to press his thumb down on the human's jugular, releasing pressure or applying it irregularly. "You could be accused of treason just for refusing his advances."

As Spock's voice droned, McCoy began to feel his presence in his mind. It started as a vague, shadow of a feeling, of feeling that Spock was aware of his immediate thoughts. When the pressure on his jugular grew too much, he felt Spock's awareness of this, and his decision to hold on a little longer before releasing.

His own thoughts started to fade, becoming more like vague emotions or ideas that were hard to hold on to, like trying to remember a dream. Just like before, McCoy also became highly aware of his own breathing and heartbeat, with the rest of the world fading into the background.

//I will be forced to punish you//

The words were clear in his mind, but McCoy hardly noticed that Spock was not moving his lips. His voice was so much purer this way. As he became more aware of the pain in his body, McCoy latched onto that voice.

"I was just defending myself," McCoy grunted.

//Speak to me properly//

"...can't..." he whined, writhing on the bed. Once again he had that unsettling feeling that Spock was controlling the functions of his body. This could have just been the illusion that Spock wanted to forced into his mind, or it could have been exactly what was happening; there was no way to tell.

//You can. Speak//

He became aware of the pain in his arm, and then it was gone. McCoy gasped frantically, that sudden absence of pain in his entire body like a draining of his energy. Spock was then demanding him, with wordless, abstract suggestions as well as thought words, to communicate telepathically. McCoy's thoughts drifted to the memory of his mental assualt on Spock earlier; he realized that both minds were thinking of this as one.

"I can't do it, Godamn you!" he whined. By now he was clutching Spock's shirt, eyes squeezed shut. He couldn't see or hear Spock, but he was more aware of the Vulcan and the more obvious of his feelings than ever before. He did make a half hearted attempt to send a mental message, but just doing that exhausted him.

//Stop fighting me//

"Spock, please! I can't do it now!" The pressure of Spock's commands overtook his mind. For the moment his mind was ignorant to the pains of his body, but McCoy would have gladly taken it all back for some peace. He tugged Spock's shirt with one hand, clawed his arm with the other.

//Focus//

"I'm not a fuckin' Vulcan!"

//I only ask what I know you can do, Leonard//

McCoy groaned loudly. He was starting to focus his thoughts, but he knew Spock was "helping" him. He cried out as it felt that something was being torn from him, and then he sagged. His hands dropped from Spock's arms, and he would have fallen asleep had his mind not still been alive with activity from both of them.

Spock helped drag out a rudimentary thought from McCoy's mind. When McCoy had assaulted him, that had been voluntary and in the heat of the moment, therefore easy. It was only so difficult now simply because he didn't want to be forced into it. He could feel Spock's triumph as clearly as if it were his own.

//I hate you//

McCoy felt a tenseness after that, but the feelings that followed were hard to understand. As long as they were connected like this, McCoy was able, in a crude and basic way, to experience Spock's thoughts and emotions as if through a mirror. At times it was impossible to tell from whose mind a certain feeling originated.

//That is of no consequence//

//You will never make me love you//

//I do not require your love, only obedience//

McCoy had felt flickers of something, some pain that hurt him when he tried to pursue it, but he didn't want to let it go. It drifted away as he tried to follow it, and left McCoy trying to draw from an empty well. Suddenly he felt that he was alone; he could not even feel Spock touching him.

//Spock?//

He could not open his eyes or make a movement as this quiet raged on. At the very edges of his consciousness, he thought he could feel Spock's presence, but just barely.

"Spock!" he screamed as soon as he was able. He felt his eyelids open, and for a while he was blind. Very slowly he felt the presence of Spock's mind return, although it never came back as close as it had been. McCoy realized he was trying to reach for him. He was powerless as Spock removed himself and then closed the link.

His body was leaden and sluggish; he couldn't move away from Spock even if he wanted to. He barely had the mental energy to try. He felt a sad sort of loneliness right after the severance of the mental link, but that faded in a few seconds.

Spock took hold of McCoy's chin, pulling him forward. McCoy leaned forward awkwardly to keep balance, and his back ached from the strain. "Your primitive emotions are no concern of mine, slave," he said in a low voice. "You are weak, soft, malleable. I have taken you as I would any object that could provide a use to me." He pulled McCoy even closer and put his other hand behind McCoy's nape. They were pressed together cheek to cheek. Spock whispered as McCoy clutched his arm, "You have always belonged to me. Even before I found you, you were mine. I will settle for no less than complete devotion."

"I hate you," McCoy whimpered back. He was far too tired to say anything further. Spock's words were severe and binding, as if Spock was also somehow making McCoy believe him as well.

"Once again, that is not important," Spock said flatly. "I do not expect you to have anything less than hatred for the captain, but I still expect you to obey him." He sighed and lifted McCoy from the bed. As he was taken to the other side of the room, McCoy stumbled against him, hardly able to walk on his own.

His head was spinning as he vaguely noticed Spock attaching something to his arm. As he fought to keep his head up, he saw that he'd been tied to a handle bar in the shower, with just enough room to lie down on the bath math.

"Don't leave me here," he pleaded, leaning his head against the tub when Spock let go of him. His heart thudded in his ears, and soon that was the only sound he was aware of. When he called out again, there was no answer. It took him a while to realize Spock had already left.

////

His guess had been correct. After an hour of wandering the passageways, Spock returned to his quarters and found McCoy to be asleep. In the bright light of the bathroom, he saw the human's fingers stained dark green, and his face pale. Only when he noticed the blood did Spock realize that McCoy must have dug into him harder than he realized during the meld. His first concern was that he had been seen by lessers with obvious injuries. It was dangerous to show such weakness.

But he spent no more than a few seconds on that thought as he leaned against the doorway, watching McCoy sleep. His eyes were narrowed, his breath deep and deliberate. Never had one person or thing caused such an emotional turmoil for him, and bringing this other one here did not change that.

He knelt by McCoy and brought his fingertips to the man's face, but did not touch him. Instead he slowly moved his hand down, over the chest, over his legs, and then back to himself. As much as he wanted to touch him, he feared he'd wake him, and Spock was not ready for McCoy to awaken yet.

There were many things he wanted to do, but knew he had to approach these things in logical, orderly steps. Take it all now and risk destroying it. It brought savage, hateful feelings to look at him. The anger he felt was childish and embarrassing, so he forced himself to remain, to train himself. Every one of these painful emotions could be reasoned away, he knew. They could be unlearned.

Tracing his thumb just barely on the surface of McCoy's chin, Spock reminded himself that everything can be transformed into something else, if he could only find the patience.

Spock took one last look and left. Already the feelings were beginning to drain as he removed himself from the source. While he had tormented himself earlier by remembering certain things McCoy had said, now that he was alone in the passageways he could focus on the doubt that McCoy had felt when saying them.

He had considerable time before his next shift, and he'd already planned everything he'd do. In a while he'd awaken McCoy, but he would need a chance of distraction before then. A few crew members passed him and saluted him, and Spock walked by without even looking at them. In fact, Spock did pay very close attention to anyone that approached him, but without making it seem that he was. By now he was not a common target for assassination, and the most obvious reason for this was he had numerous allies on board ship, most of them Vulcan. But a far more effective deterrent was that anyone who tried to attack him was left alive as a warning to others.

A few decks down, he came to Nurse Chapel's quarters and entered without warning. He caught her arm just as he lunged from the corner at him. A hoarse scream ripped from her as Spock twisted her arm. He had her completely disarmed and unable to move with only a few fingers lodged in pressure points. Her knife dropped to the floor by her feet.

"Kill me or let me go, Spock!" she growled, shaking.

Spock held her throat and lead her back against the wall. "Lift your sleeve," he said in a flat, even voice.

With a fierce glare, she obeyed. There was a pale scar where the wound had been, and her eyes blazed with defiance.

"As I expected," Spock said. The nurse's throat still in his hand, Spock retrieved the knife from the floor. For the few seconds it took, he reevaluated Chapel's use on board. So far, her use outweighed her risk, so he maintained his decision not to kill her.

"Nurse," he said, holding the knife point at her neck to keep her still. "Killing McCoy will not allow you to advance to Chief Medical Officer. You could slaughter the entire medical staff, and that would not change anything."

"There are female CMOs," she hissed. "There's no regulation against a woman reaching that kind of position. A woman held your position before you came here."

"Your ambition is obviously clouding your judgment," Spock replied flatly. "As I have said, your orders for advancement must be approved, not only by me, but by the captain. Do you truly believe the captain would give you such a position?"

Her dark glower was answer enough for them both. "I will be more than a man's servant," she growled.

"Probable. But you will not waste your time by harming McCoy in the attempt. It will not matter then if the captain approves your promotion or not, because I will kill you if you attack him again." He took hold of her wrist.

"What are you doing?"

Without a word he dug the knife point into her arm at exactly the edge of where the wound was. He sliced her arm as he did before, and with the calm of slicing a vegetable in two. When he was finished, he gripped the injured arm and placed the dripping blade on one of Chapel's cabinets.

Her shoulders shook as she tried to hold back tears, but Spock did get the satisfaction of them very soon. Her savage curses under her trembling breath sounded sweet and pleasing to him. All in all, this excessive had been most calming, as well as useful.

"You may clean and dress your wound to the extent of saving yourself from bleeding out or infection." As he talked, the human's moans turned to soft, muted whines. She stared at the fresh, glittering gash surrounded by Spock's fingers. "But this will remain unhealed to remind you of our conversation today. I will periodically inspect and adjust it."

"How do you expect me to work?" she half-sneered, half-whimpered.

"As long as your arm is properly dressed you will be fit for duty."

"I can't work with—"

"Then you will learn to work one-handed."

////

He already felt better having gotten that chore out of the way. Having suffered the defiance of one human, it was refreshing to cow another. But this triumph was short lived. The blind devotion of a hundred souls would mean nothing if McCoy still refused to submit. The human was his slave in title only; Spock had claimed him, but the human would not surrender. Just as with the other one.

//It has only been two days// he told himself firmly, already exhausted of such doubts. //He cannot last for long//

With yet another decision cemented in his mind, Spock felt calm enough to visit the library, where he planned to enjoy the rest of his time off. He felt the presence of another man heading for him, but he did not make any sign of it.

"Commander!"

Gritting his teeth, Spock stopped and greeted the man that called him, only because he recognized the voice. "Admiral," he greeted with strained politeness. "I trust everything is to your satisfaction so far."

Dorek laughed as easily as he if he were with an old friend. "I'm not doing the inspections, Spock. I won't know if this ship is up standards till next week, and until then, I don't care!"

"Then I have nothing to report to you," Spock retorted. He was not rude enough to walk away, however.

"Is that another one of your Vulcan ways?" Dorek asked, eyes narrowed slightly. He looked as if he could not decide on a smirk or a glare.

"Sir?" Spock knew the admiral could hold him up for as long as he wanted. As a superior officer, the Romulan had him under complete control, and his orders would even supersede the captain's. It was almost expected that a man of such a high rank would abuse his power now and then, but Spock was not intimidated by this man. Spock had served under a great many dictators, but he had never allowed any of them rob him of his dignity. This young and overly friendly Romulan would not be any different.

"Never mind," Dorek sighed. "Apparently humor is beyond you as well. Are there many others like you on board?"

Spock considered telling him a far greater number than what was the case, but knew that by the end of the inspections, Dorek would learn the truth. "There are eight of us, Admiral."

"It must be difficult to be so outnumbered by your old fashioned brethren," Dorek clucked. "Let me see, there are--"

"One hundred fifty-three Romulans, Sir. Are you not aware that at any time you may review the ship's computer--"

Dorek clapped a gloved hand on Spock's shoulder. The Vulcan's jaw tightened, but he made no move to remove himself from the Romulan's presence. "Of course I could, cousin," he said, and once again Spock fought to control his rage at that simple title. "Just as I could sit in my office and wait for the inspection reports. But what kind of leader would I be if I were not immersed in the lives of those I command? Why have a computer tell me about the Vulcans on one of my ships when I could go straight to the source?"

"Whatever pleases you, Admiral," Spock said coldly.

"It pleases me to have the chance to speak with a brother," Dorek said with a smile. "And especially one of such rank. It reflects highly on our race."

Spock allowed his face to display pride he didn't feel. Seemingly satisfied, Dorek dismissed him. Spock gave him a sharp salute and left before he had the chance to betray his disgust.