What remained of the man's will propelled McCoy down the halls, into the turbo-lift and towards Spock's quarters. Since he had been marooned in this nightmare of a place, the Vulcan's quarters had been his home, and though it had been the place of much agony, he was staggering towards it now as his only refuge.
He wasn't foolish enough to expect any compassion or help from Spock, but he did hope that he would at least be allowed a chance to rest before the next trial. He leaned against the bulkhead by the door after signaling his request to enter on the data pad. He jabbed the button over and over until it opened, at which point, his relief was exhausting in itself, as if his body knew it could give up now. If Spock hadn't been right there, he would have made it to the bed, but since he was, McCoy stumbled into his waiting arms and let himself be brought deeper inside.
He was silent and passive as he was lain down and the bundle he had been clutching pried from his hands. Spock sat on the bed beside him and ran his fingers down the human's face, ghosting just over the edges of the fresh wound. "I assume you told him I had cut you," he said, his tone even and calm. He got up to retrieve a small box from his closet and came back with it. McCoy just lay there and watched him with lazy indifference. It didn't seem to matter at this point if the Vulcan intended on alleviating the pain or inflicting even more. It would even be a mercy if whatever Spock brought over might ensure he would not wake up again.
Getting no answer from McCoy, Spock said roughly, "A logical decision."
McCoy snapped his gaze to Spock but didn't otherwise move. He flinched a bit as Spock applied a moist cloth to the wound he had inflicted upon himself earlier. "Yet by doing so," he argued back. "I risked angering you. Hardly the logical choice."
Spock finished cleaning the wound and then worked on setting the synthetic skin patches over it. His hands worked with quick efficiency, and yet were gentle. McCoy could hardly feel him working at all. "Given the choice between myself and the captain, you chose to risk my wrath rather than his. That is always the sensible choice."
"So you forgive me?" McCoy sneered, indulging in bitter sarcasm for a moment, until Spock's harsh glare made him glance away. He lay still as Spock finished healing the self-inflicted wound and took hold of his broken arm. McCoy cringed and weakly tried to pull back, but Spock's grip was effortlessly secure.
As he watched Spock treat him, he realized it was much easier staring at his hands. From this angle this man could have been his own. As long as he didn't look up, he could pretend for a second that he was back home, being cared for by his friend.
But his more rational side despaired. Suddenly that energy that had fueled him during his encounter with this universe's Kirk faded. He felt he might be able to deal with the threats of everyone else, if only he could sense the slightest semblance of his own Spock in this one. And more than just appearance or personal habits, but if he could see they were essentially the same man, however deep underneath, that might give the human a little hope.
But when he glanced up, he saw a stranger. Even worse, a monster in the guise of a treasured friend. A constant reminder of what he'd never see again.
His glare had been stronger than he'd realized; Spock glanced over and seemed to flinch at it. He gripped McCoy's just healed arm in a threatening hold, as if threatening to snap it again, just after setting it. He locked eyes with McCoy, who did not glance away. In fact he only grew more defiant with every passing moment. His hatred was so strong, Spock did not need to have his fingers at the man's temples to feel it vibrating, like a living, seething being in the room with them.
"It is foolish to blame me for what the captain did to you," Spock said, giving McCoy a thrill of triumph, because he only spoke to ease the tension. Spock had backed down first. "As I told you, his attention span-"
"Of course I blame you for it!' McCoy snapped and jerked his hand back towards himself. Since Spock had not let go, it sent a jolt of pain up through his shoulder, but the action caught Spock off guard, making him lurch forward. That moment was worth the pain. "I blame you for everything! You were the one who kept me here. Amazing that you're unable to see that logic."
"You'll never survive here if you can't let go of what you can't change, Doctor."
McCoy forced his spent body into a sitting position, closer to Spock. With his free hand he gripped Spock's arm, fingers digging hard enough to cause the Vulcan to wince, however briefly. "But you can change it."
"Send you back, you mean?"
"Yes, damn you!"
Spock slipped his fingers off the human's arm and flashed a smug sneer. "Even I can't do that. I don't even know how your fellows made the switch in the first place."
McCoy felt his heart race and very nearly lost whatever shred of control he had left. Especially without tactile contact, he could not tell if Spock were lying, but he had a sneaking suspicion he was not. "There has to be a way! Your counterpart could figure out, why can't you?"
"Doctor, even if I somehow ascertain how to manipulate two parallel universes, which do not exist in the same reality, may I remind you, I would not be surprised if such a task were time sensitive. We had experienced an ion storm just before the switch, which may have have been the essential power source."
McCoy's jaw tightened. "Would you send me back if you knew how?"
Spock answered easily, gladly. "Of course not."
McCoy turned the encroaching panic into rage. He'd stand no chance against the Vulcan, and he knew it, but he threw himself at him anyway. And whether it was his own desperate strength catching Spock off guard, or Spock was just playing along, but he fell on his back on the bed, with McCoy kneeling over him, trying to claw at him. Spock caught his hands easily, but still had to struggle to keep the human from writhing free.
"I'll kill you!" McCoy howled. "If it kills me too, I'll fucking tear you apart! You're not Spock, you're no Vulcan! You're a monster!" With a well aimed kneeing, McCoy was able to distract Spock long enough to yank his hands free.
He might have had the chance to get up and try to flee, but all he wanted to do now was throttle the man beneath him. Fueled by miserable hate, he squeezed Spock's neck hard enough to genuinely threaten his life. Spock's face drained of color, and for a moment, he slowed, two sets of eyelids drooping down. With deliberate effort, Spock forced his eyes open and met McCoy's gaze. This was enough to startle McCoy just enough to weaken his grip. Though he redoubled his efforts to close off the other's airway, the distraction was enough to give Spock the upper hand.
Spock knocked McCoy off, and with a bit of struggling, got on top of the human and pinned him down. His face was greenish as the blood rushed back, making his tight, just barely restrained fury all the more frightening. "It would seem you're finally starting to adjust to this world," he snarled. "Why, in less than a week, I won't be able to tell you apart from the one I left behind."
"Then what was the point, Spock?" McCoy demanded. His strength was sagging along with his body. He lay his head back and closed his eyes as he panted from the exertion. He wondered briefly if he would have actually murdered this man, or if he would have backed off just before it was too late. A few minutes ago, he might have, while the adrenaline rushed. But now? He wasn't so sure.
"I do not regret this. Despite my comments, I am still confident you'll be far easier to train," Spock declared coldly.
When he put one of his hands to McCoy's face, fingers sliding along the temple, McCoy fought it, but in vain. He gripped Spock's forearm with both hands but more as something to cling to rather than to pry it off. McCoy felt himself relax, and though he knew that was being forced on him, he let it happen. It felt good, anyway. He felt his hands slip onto his chest as the other mind eased its way in. Soon his physical sensations faded into a surreal ghost of what they were before. He didn't fear the linking this time, and even felt a bit of relief from it. Spock was usually far more gentle during these times, more focused on McCoy's mind rather than his body.
/You can see for yourself that I've given up. If you won't send me back where I belong, you should just kill me/
/You underestimate yourself. You have the strength to accept your fate and thrive in it. You could even be happy if you let yourself./
/How could I possibly be happy like this?/
/To continue to hold on to this stubborn self-pity is illogical and self-defeating. Besides, this way you are getting what you want/
McCoy winced and tensed as this Spock forced upon him pleasant memories of his own Spock. "No, no!" he groaned aloud, tears brimming at his tightly shut eyes. He struggled weakly.
/You should dispose of this superficial differentiation between our two selves. That universe does not exist in this reality. It is no more real than a dream or a fantasy, ergo, that man is equally unreal. I am Spock, the only Spock. You have desired him for years, and now you have him./
/Then I've fallen out of love! I can only feel hatred for you./
/We both know that's not quite true, Leonard./
Spock slid his hands down from McCoy's face, as gently as he could breaking the psychic link, though McCoy still shuddered from the break. He slipped one arm beneath McCoy's back and held up him, while his other hand sought one of McCoy's. He gently opened McCoy's hand and pressed his first two fingers against McCoy's. McCoy inhaled sharply as a feeling of tingly calm washed over him. He could feel Spock's presence in his mind, but it was more of a suggestion this time. This touch was more of a caress, more subtle. And this time he could convince himself that he wasn't being forced to relax.
With that hold still in place, Spock brought McCoy closer to his chest. The human stretched his free arm around Spock's back and clung weakly. He pressed his face against Spock's upper chest and closed his eyes. He was far too tired to try to analyze his feelings right now or feel guilty for deriving comfort from this embrace. It would be the only comfort he could hope to find in this place, anyway.
"I have loved you for a long time, Leonard," Spock said in a low, gravelly voice. "As far as I'm concerned you and the other are the same man, just with different histories. It would be the same if I were to have traveled into the past and met you some years back. Before the Enterprise left you twisted inside."
McCoy understood what Spock meant, even though he was meshing two different men into one. And truth be told, McCoy was finding it hard to assert his independence from this universe anymore. As far as anyone else was concerned, he was the McCoy that belonged here. And if he may never return, then would he not, in his way, belong here too?
"You kidnapped me," McCoy said, but all the fight had left his voice. He continued to hug Spock back, if only for the comfort of another warm body that was not currently causing him pain. "You're keeping me here as a prisoner and you've done nothing but hurt me."
Spock rubbed his hand across McCoy's back gently. "I've already explained how that was necessary," he said. "It has been that way between us ever since you reported on board: constant violence against each other."
"That doesn't sound too romantic," McCoy said. As soothing as Spock's arms were, McCoy would never truly relax.
"Indeed. It seemed the entire ship was just waiting for one of us to finally kill the other. No one ever interfered, because as long as we focused on each other, we would have little energy to attack anyone else." Even as Spock recalled this, there was a hint of nostalgia in his voice, and his hand was caressing McCoy's back.
McCoy pulled back to look Spock in the eye. The Vulcan loosened his grip just enough to allow this. "And you're trying to tell me you loved him? Even with all this madness going on? It's obvious he never loved you back."
"Yes, you did," Spock argued back firmly. It became clear that Spock would continue to blur the line between the two McCoys until there was only one. And McCoy feared he would soon be forced to follow suit. "I never had to force you to couple with me, nor did you do so just to try to win my favor. The only man you willingly submitted to without fight was the captain, though only a suicidal fool would not. You never let me claim you, and sometimes I wondered if you really would have murdered me if you could, but Leonard, I know how you felt for me."
McCoy was shaking his head in pure amazement as he listened. Spock seemed so genuine, so heart-felt, McCoy felt a twinge of pity for him. He couldn't be sure what the facts were, but it was clear now what Spock felt the truth was.
"You can't expect me to ever forgive you," he said, even as he pressed the side of his face against Spock's neck. He felt his eyes sting, and he clawed his fingers hard into the other man's back.
"Forgiveness is irrelevant," Spock said softly. If he felt pain from McCoy's digging fingers, he made no effort to stop it. He only clung to the human with equal urgency. "All I've ever wanted was your submission."
"Dammit, Spock! You know you'll never get that, either-"
"Just enough to allow yourself to love me," Spock interrupted. McCoy was speechless, and wasn't even sure how to feel. Pity was at the forefront, but in a very non-flattering manner. How pathetic was this man, so high in rank, in possession of so much power and resources, with few others to fear as so many feared him, to be so desperate for someone to love him? His Spock had never shown such a longing...or had he, and was just better at hiding it? Or perhaps he'd been deluding himself all this time.
"I love Commander Spock, of the U.S.S. Enterprise," McCoy said, growling slightly. "And I always will."
Spock gripped McCoy's shoulders and violently jerked him off himself. "That vessel does not exist! There is no other Spock, no other you, there is only you and I! Only this universe, no other!"
McCoy glared back, chest heaving, expression belligerent and hateful. He was afraid of the Vulcan's temper, but would not back down that easily. By now he felt he had nothing left to lose, but whatever was left of his dignity.
"Perhaps I can make it easier for you to accept reality," Spock snarled, grabbing hold of McCoy's head with both hands. McCoy struggled. He wasn't sure what Spock had planned, but knew it couldn't be good. Spock placed his fingers at the temples and around the cranium, and McCoy could feel, almost like a physical, sharp presence, stabbing its way in.
At first, McCoy was immobilized, but his panic mounted as he realized Spock was sifting his mind for his memories of his own universe, particularly of his own Spock. "No..." he groaned, realizing Spock intended to erase them from his mind. He focused his mind, using the very training Spock had given him to resist him. "It's not gonna be that easy..."
McCoy was fighting so hard his heart was pounding dangerously hard. He knew that a psychic battle between himself and Spock would be no contest; he had to take whatever advantage he could. He sent as many chaotic, distressing emotions against Spock as he could muster to distract him and reached around Spock's waist into his belt. He was aiming for the agonizer, and didn't realize until too late that he had grabbed his knife instead. Still thinking it was the agonizer, McCoy jabbed the blade into Spock's side.
He slumped when the link was abruptly severed, and tumbled off the bed and out of the way as Spock lurched back in shock and pain. He stared at the wound for a moment in astonishment, and the look he threw to McCoy was more pained than angry. Even considering the circumstances, McCoy was truly sorry. He had only wanted to defend himself in a way that merely caused momentary pain to Spock.
He jumped to his feet and rushed to the closet, where he had seen Spock get some first aid for him. "Hold on!" he shouted. "Don't try to pull it out!" He brought a small medkit over, but didn't get too close to Spock, who was panting and staring at him like a wounded animal. A very dangerous one.
McCoy trembled, afraid to get close enough to administer aid, but he was not about to flee, even though he certainly had the chance. "I was going for your agonizer, damn you! Look, it doesn't matter. You gonna let me treat you, or would you rather bleed out?"
Spock broke off his intense glare to struggle with his uniform. The knife had gone through two layers of clothing, effectively pinning them to Spock's body. "I have to pull this out," McCoy said as he crept onto the bed. "Don't try to do anything. Let me handle it! Lie down." Spock obeyed, and McCoy knelt over him. He slid the knife out and tossed it aside. Hot, green blood gushed and stained his clothes and bedsheets, not to mention McCoy's hands, but he worked quickly, his mind wholly focused on this task.
Quickly he ripped the outer tunic apart and ripped the hole in the undershirt larger so he had better access to the wound. He patched the wound with synthetic skin and began sealing the molecular bonds with a device much like one in his own universe, except a bit more advanced.
"Don't get up," he barked in command. "You're still in danger of going into shock. You've got such low blood pressure as it is, it'll take you longer to recover. A stab like that would have killed you."
"Did you have a crisis of conscience, Doctor?" Spock hissed, his breathing labored. His face was ashen, but he was recovering.
"I told you, I was going for your agonizer."
Spock smirked cruelly. "In your inexperienced hands, that could have been even worse. Since you just missed my heart with that knife, and you treated me immediately, I can hope for a full recovery in a week at the most. But I don't think you realize just how much internal damage that innocuous little device you were reaching for can do. Damage that is hard to detect, and therefore never treated. Many have died from that terrible thing. Are you sure you didn't think of that when you invented it?"
McCoy scowled at him and then got up to stow the medkit, not bothering to clean it. "Next time I should just let you die," he snarled. "Is that what you want?"
Spock watched him with cold eyes, his grin shallow and icy. "You are becoming more yourself every second."
McCoy recoiled as if punched and tore out of the room, if only to escape that gloating expression. But even relatively alone in the hall way, he could not stop thinking about how it felt to stab Spock. What a rush that had been. He was still jittery from it, more alive and invigorated now since he was first stranded here.
He had loved it.
And when he really tried to remember, he realized something else that was as exciting as it was terrifying: he had reached for the agnoizer, that was true. But when his hand fell upon the knife hilt, he knew that's what it was when he grabbed it. He had intended to stab Spock. To merely hurt, or to kill? He was afraid to try to imagine which, because he suspected he already knew the answer.
###
Admiral Dorek sat alone in one of the ship's conference rooms, staring into a video screen on the table. He had Romulan guards posted just outside, but he knew no one would dare attempt to interrupt him. He had personally swept the room for bugs, even after his entourage had done the same before he'd entered. He had found a tiny device nestled within the leaves of a decorative plant on one corner of the room. Right now his little crew were waiting outside, most likely fearfully wondering what would happen to them as punishment for their failure. Probably they were debating among themselves as to which of them deserved the most blame. It amused Dorek to imagine them ready to tear each other apart out of fear of him.
But right now he was engaged with someone who did not fear him. Not as much as she should, Dorek always thought. That person was the Grand Admiral Shiarrael Dorek. "I must have more to go on besides your personal dislike of the man," she was scolding. "It is no crime to be Vulcan."
"Especially not when he has such an important father, isn't that right, Grand Admiral?" Dorek sneered.
"Sarek converted long ago, and has presented no problems for us. It was under his guidance that his son entered Star Fleet. Just imagine if Spock had been allowed to remain on T'Khasi-"
"With that insurgent mentoring him," Dorek interrupted savagely. He slammed his fist on the table with the rage of his plans in finding this and other such rebels still unrealized.
"Yes, exactly. Sarek did the right thing in sending him away to serve the Empire. And so far, Spock has served Star Fleet well. If only we had more officers like him," Shiarrael argued.
"There are two types of Vulcans, Mother," Dorek lectured. "Those born and those self-created. The ones born are getting old. Their ilk will die out soon enough, and their spirits have died long ago anyway. They are of little consequence, which is the only reason, I assure you, I allow Sarek the dignity of what little freedom he has." he leaned in closer to the vid screen, his green eyes narrowing beneath severe, up-swept brows. "And then there are those who seize upon this dusty old philosophy, with fire in their bellies and rebellion in their foolish minds. You forget that the Vulcans abhor violence and force of any kind, and they will use any means, even violence itself to topple the Empire. Before T'Khasi was colonized, the Vulcan mind could not conceive of conquest, it had been so long since anything like that had ever happened to them. You can imagine how they must resent us for it now."
"You are transferring your own feelings onto them, Dorek," Shiarrael pleaded. "I am not disagreeing with your basic assumptions, but I believe you are overreacting. This is a fad, nothing more. Just wait till this current generation gives way to the next-"
"By then it will be too late, don't you see? I have been keeping tabs on everyone who identifies as Vulcan, but I have yet to locate those insurgents. You do agree that Vulcans such as those, who smuggle themselves to other worlds, including our own, trying to convert others are dangerous?"
She sighed, "Yes, of course. I am not questioning the Tal-Shiar, my son. But I am asking you to at least gather actual, incriminating evidence against Commander Spock before acting against him. If nothing else, you must think of the political ramifications if you are not protected by such evidence. His father will fight you."
Dorek leaned back and grinned. "Don't worry yourself, Mother. I have played this game many times before."
Shiarrael nodded, glancing down. She then asked, "Have you had a chance to investigate Captain Kirk yet?"
Dorek frowned slightly. "I have been spending much time with him, yes. Is there something I should I be looking for?"
"In fact, there is, and I would prefer you to focus your attentions on him rather than Spock, at least until you get to the bottom of it. I'm sure you've heard the rumors of Kirk's ability to make his enemies...disappear?"
Dorek hissed dismissively. "Of course I have. Everyone has."
"Well? Have you searched his quarters?" she urged.
"On what grounds? So far the captain has shown himself to be an exemplary officer in every way. His brutality has obviously inspired fantastical rumors. Pure exaggerations, nothing more."
"You have the authority to search his quarters."
"And what would I be looking for, Mother?" Dorek asked with a derisive laugh. "A crystal ball? What foolishness. And anyway, I would not like to jeopardize my rapport with him. While he believes me to be a friend and admirer, he is a very useful tool. I believe he will be great help in incriminating Spock, if the suggestion is put to him just right." He cackled to himself.
"Your father would have been more cautious," she said coldly.
Dorek swiveled half-lidded cold eyes to the Grand Admiral. "And it was that meekness that cost him his life."
The Grand Admiral fought to withhold her outrage, but could not hide the hateful look on her face. Dorek merely sneered at her and her hatred, so used to it by now it amused him. She may have outranked him legally, but they both knew who held the real power. "The Enterprise shall rendezvous with Star Base Titus within a week, Grand Admiral," he droned. "You shall have my reports then. Admiral Dorek out." He snapped off the feed before his mother could respond.
The young Romulan stood up and made his leisurely way to the replicator, laughing to himself at his mother's ideas. He did intend to keep his eye on Kirk, now that the seed of doubt, however ridiculous it might be, had been planted, but he doubted he'd find any reason to act against him. In fact it seemed the only threat was the human's ambition, but that could easily be controlled. Let Kirk believe himself to be favored, and he'd be eating out of Dorek's hand in no time. Dorek had seen greater stumble over themselves for the favor of the Tal-Shiar.
As he sipped on a glass of wine he had ordered, his thoughts returned to Spock once again. No one else may see it, but Spock was hiding something, Dorek was convinced. There was a flame in those dark eyes, and if allowed to spread, it would promise trouble for the Empire. As much as he hated to admit, his mother was correct: without actual evidence, he couldn't touch Spock. And he might not be be able to gather enough by the time they reached Titus. It would look too suspicious if Dorek remained on board afterward.
He thought about this as he left the conference room and headed for his quarters, dismissing his anxious entourage for the time being. This wasn't just a personal vendetta, he believed, but a matter of State, far beyond himself, his mother, anyone. The very Empire was at stake.
He was so immersed in his fierce thoughts, he almost didn't notice someone try to rush past him in the hall way. Snapping to alertness, he turned around and called for the person who had so rudely passed without saluting. He was a little surprised to see it was Spock's human slave, and he was covered in green blood.
"What's all this?" he asked, gesturing to the mess. When the human could only stare stupidly back, he snapped, "Explain yourself, human!"
"I-I've just come from Sick Bay," McCoy stammered, then added hastily, "Sir."
"Indeed," Dorek said, eyes narrowing. "Who's hurt?"
"I'm not at liberty to say, Sir," McCoy said boldly, but he backed up when Dorek came closer to him.
"I am the admiral of this fleet, Doctor," Dorek growled. "There is no higher authority than mine here, now tell me!"
"Actually, there is," McCoy argued back. He looked terrified and ready to bolt, but still would not give up this pointless argument. "And that's doctor-patient confidentiality. No one can force me to break that confidence." His upper lip twitched upward in a barely suppressed sneer. "Not even you, Admiral."
Dorek's molars were grinding with fury. How dare this insolent little creature defy him! "Your agonizer, Doctor," he barked.
The way the human's face drained of color was satisfying, but McCoy didn't produce the device. Instead, he stammered, "I don't have one."
"What?" Dorek exclaimed. "I hope for your sake you're merely hiding it, Doctor! Vastly preferable to what would happen to you if-"
"Doctor McCoy!" a low pitched voice called out from behind them, down the hall. Both men turned their startled gazes towards the source. It was Spock, jogging down the hall towards them. His face was flushed green with the effort of running with a still healing wound. "There you are," he said, driving his body between McCoy's and Dorek's. In one motion he slipped an arm around McCoy's waist. His body hid this from Dorek, but McCoy could feel Spock's hand slip into his sash before he turned back around to face the admiral.
Spock saluted the admiral and then bowed his head in submission. Dorek wasn't exactly convinced, but he did calm down. "What exactly is going on here, Commander?" he demanded.
"I had an accident in my quarters, Admiral," Spock explained. "Doctor McCoy treated me. He was returning to Sick Bay just now."
"He just said he was coming from Sick Bay."
"To protect my privacy, Sir. I instructed him to tell that to anyone who might ask. It would not do for the crew to learn that I am indeed able to bleed."
Dorek snorted. "Be that as it may, I do believe I gave your slave a direct order." He flashed his eyes to McCoy. "And I'm still waiting for it to be obeyed."
Dorek watched the human glance to Spock. He could not discern any communication passing between them, or any change in the blank expression on Spock's face at all. He took the agonizer when McCoy handed it to him and turned a vicious glare to Spock. "I had ordered him to give this to me and he refused. Your slave needs to be trained in obedience, Commander!"
"Most likely he was still rattled by my accident, Sir. But I will of course instruct him."
Dorek sneered. "You are just as responsible for the mistakes of this slave as for your own, Spock."
"I understand, Sir-"
"You're lucky I'm a compassionate man, or I'd have both your skins for this. If the admiral of this fleet can't rely on absolute obedience, then I fear for the future of the Empire."
"Yes, Sir. I apologize-"
Dorek scoffed, "Noted. I won't be so merciful next time. Now, you." He beckoned McCoy closer with a finger.
"Sir, I assure you, I will discipline him-"
"Are you defying me too, Spock?" Dorek challenged. He noticed the hateful way Spock glared at him, even as he bowed his head and muttered another servile apology. "Don't make me repeat myself, human." No sooner did McCoy take a step towards him, did he take a rough hold of his shoulder and yanked him close. He gripped the collar of McCoy's robe, noting that he had nothing on underneath, and pressed the device against the human's chest, beneath the robe flap. His grip only tightened as McCoy started writhing as soon as the device was turned on.
When McCoy tried to wrench free, Dorek quickly slipped his hand on the base of his neck, gripping flesh rather than cloth this time. McCoy clutched at his arm, but more for support than to try to stop him. He must have known that would have been impossible in his condition.
While McCoy broke down into tortured screams as the pain increased more and more, Dorek stole a glance at Spock. He was a little startled, frightened, even, to see Spock was staring directly at him. He didn't lower his gaze or even temper the hatred in it when Dorek caught him. If Dorek were any less of the man he believed himself to be, he would have been intimidated. But he remembered who he was, and who Spock was not.
He grinned and allowed Spock to enjoy this blatant display of anger. Spock had just tipped his hand.
Finally Dorek released McCoy, shoving him into Spock's open arms. He tossed the agonizer to Spock and looked down on them both. Then, as if nothing happened, he broke into his usual charming smile. "Will I be graced with your company for dinner this evening, Commander?"
"I'd be delighted, Sir," Spock said in a low growl.
"Wonderful. I will give you the honor of preparing our meal tonight, in your quarters."
"My quarters?" Then, to cover his mistake for questioning the admiral's orders, he added, "Sir, may I suggest the formal reception room on Deck-"
"I have a certain craving for Vulcan hospitality, Mr. Spock," Dorek said, his menace thinly veiled. "You may expect me in two hours."
"Aye, Sir."
Satisfied, Dorek grinned and left them. Two hours should be enough time to crack some secrets out of Spock's Vulcan lackeys. Amazing the results an agony booth could produce.