Title:  Zugzwang       Part I:  Captive in a Cave

Author:  Shoshana

Synopsis:  A bleak variation on The Empath.  Includes dialogue borrowed/adapted from The Empath, teleplay by Joyce Muskat.  Part II longer than Part I.

Rating:  mild R 

Warnings:  content relating to torture and insanity; nonexplicit references to eliminatory functions, not in a sexual context 

Pairing:  S/Mc

Disclaimer:  I do not own Star Trek.  Not a molecule, atom, quark or vibrating string of it.

Author’s note:  Thanks to Stef and Janet for unintentionally putting the idea in my head.  Thanks also to Janet for the beta.

zugzwang:  German for “necessity to move.”  A position in chess or other game in which a player can move only with loss or to severe disadvantage

The two men talked intently, their voices hushed in the dim cavern.  Nearby, her grave face eloquent with silent concern, the alien called Gem looked on.

Distracted by the cramps assailing his body, the fourth occupant of the subterrane paid little attention to his companions.  He recognized their topic of conversation only when he heard one of them say clearly:  “In any case, you’re the logical one to leave with the Captain.”  The words echoed in his head and across the rockbound room.     

“The decision is mine,” Kirk said heavily.  “If there are any decisions to be made, I’ll make them.  If and when it becomes necessary.”  Clutching his abdomen, he lowered himself onto the T-shaped platform that was the chamber’s sole furnishing.   

McCoy quietly removed a hypo-spray from his medkit.  He approached Kirk and plunged the instrument into the Captain’s shoulder.  

Kirk turned around in surprise and indignation.  “I don't need any –”

“I’m still Chief Medical Officer of the Enterprise,” the physician chided.  “I'll tell you what you need and when you need it. Would you rather have the bends?”  He gently pushed Kirk onto his side.  “That's it. Just lie down and relax.”

Spock approached.  “How long will he be asleep?”

“Between the emotional strain and that attack of bends, he's in pretty bad shape.”

“You have simplified the situation considerably.”

“As we intended.  But shouldn’t we have told him?”

“There was not time enough to do so.  Dr. M’Benga can explain.”

McCoy shook his head.  “I didn’t mean here.  Not now.  Before.”

“No.  The Captain would have been hampered by the knowledge.   The decision was ours to make.  As is this one.” 

“There has to be a way out of this.”  Desperation edged the doctor’s voice.

“We cannot change the laws of biology.  Or of physics.  The effects of the solar flare will continue to be present for at least another thirty-six point seven hours.  The Enterprise cannot rescue us, and it is unlikely the Vians will release us.”

“So she’s our only hope.”  McCoy glanced at the mute alien, who returned his gaze with somber eyes.  McCoy turned back to Spock, his blue eyes full of fear, not for himself, but for the other man.  “She didn’t cure Jim.”

“We cannot count on Gem proving willing to sacrifice herself.  If she should fail, the alternative course might prove easier for you.”  The Vulcan’s voice was calm, but his eyes, too, held fear for his companion.

“I want to do this,” McCoy said, jaw jutting in bravado.  “I’m not changing my mind.”

“I never should have put you in this position.”

“What are you talking about?” the doctor asked angrily.  “I could say the exact same thing to you.  Like you said, Spock, it was our choice.”

“Ashayam, let us not waste the time remaining arguing.”

“You’re right.”  McCoy touched the outstretched fingertips, then grabbed the wrist and roughly pulled the other man to him.  They were still kissing when the Vians returned.

Spock removed his tricorder pack.  As he handed it to the doctor along with the Vians’ energy device, two pairs of fingers brushed.  The First Officer turned to face the Vians.  “The choice has been made.  I shall accompany you.”

Addressing the Vulcan and the grave, silent woman, the taller of the two Vians said, “Come, then.”

                  *    *    *    *    *    *

Title:  Zugzwang    Part II:  A Different Prison

Author:  Shoshana

Synopsis:  A bleak variation on The Empath.  Includes dialogue borrowed/adapted from The Empath, teleplay by Joyce Muskat.  Part II longer than Part I.

Rating:  mild R 

Warnings:  content relating to torture and insanity; nonexplicit references to eliminatory functions, not in a sexual context 

Pairing:  S/Mc

Disclaimer:  I do not own Star Trek.  Not a molecule, atom, quark or vibrating string of it.

Author’s note:  Thanks to Stef and Janet for unintentionally putting the idea in my head.  Thanks to Janet also for the beta.   

zugzwang:  German for “necessity to move.”  A position in chess or other game in which a player can move only with loss or to severe disadvantage

“How are they?” Kirk demanded as soon as he woke in the hyperbaric chamber.  “I want to see them.”  Even as exhausted as the Captain had been from his ordeal, M’Benga had had to sedate him before he had been able to rest.  Kirk’s face was drawn with anxiety rather than pain following his six hours of treatment, and his stomach, now free of the cramps of decompression illness, twisted when Nurse Chapel averted her eyes.

She said, “Dr. M’Benga will talk with you.”  She led the Captain to Dr. McCoy’s office, where M’Benga was sorting through a pile of PADDs. 

“How are Spock and McCoy?” Kirk asked as he entered the office.  M’Benga’s incongruous presence behind McCoy’s desk heightened Kirk’s disquiet, as did the physician’s reddened eyes.  “You let me sleep for an extra hour and a half after my treatment was over.  You should have wakened me.”    

“The extra sleep was part of your treatment,” M’Benga said mildly as he put down a PADD.  “Sit down, Captain.  Their conditions are essentially unchanged.”

“‘Essentially’?  What the hell does that mean?” Kirk asked as M’Benga waved a medical scanner over him.

“We’ll discuss Dr. McCoy and Mr. Spock in a moment,” the physician said, lowering the scanner.  “You’re no longer suffering from decompression illness, and your fever is gone.  Let me see your wrist.” 

“Forget my hand, dammit!  Are they still like they were on the planet?  Have you been able to do anything for them?  Tell me!”

Kirk had woken on Minara II to find McCoy huddled on the floor in a fetal position, seemingly unharmed physically but catatonic – nonverbal, unresponsive, incontinent and nearly immobile.  Spock and Gem had disappeared and presumably were with the Vians. 

Lying discarded next to Kirk on the padded platform had been Spock’s tricorder and the Vians’ energy device.

Heartsick over McCoy’s condition, frantic about Spock, Jim had been infuriated by the Vians’ duplicity.  Not only had the Vians claimed they would be taking only one of the two officers, they had said that McCoy’s life – not sanity – would be imperiled.  Taking what comfort he could that McCoy was alive, Kirk wondered if Gem had made any effort to alleviate the trauma to McCoy’s mind.  He dreaded in what state he would find Spock.  He cursed the Vians for having taken the First Officer after having used McCoy in their barbaric experiment. 

In fear McCoy might harm himself, Kirk took from the doctor his equipment – communicator, medkit and phaser.  McCoy did not resist, nor did he do so when Kirk removed his trousers and shorts, which were wet with urine.  

From his communicator Kirk knew he had been unconscious for more than ninety minutes.  It would be at least another thirty-five hours before radiation from the solar flare would subside to safe levels.  The Enterprise remained out of communicator range.

For more than two hours Kirk struggled to understand the cursory instructions left by Spock on how to operate the Vian instrument.  The notes indicated it was likely the apparatus could be used only once after the recalibrations were completed.  Kirk briefly considered using the device to return to the Enterprise, but rejected the idea.  He could not leave the planet without finding Spock. 

Three times Kirk thought he had completed the adjustments, but the device failed to work.  To the silent companion crouching on the floor he said, “I’m not a mechanic, either, Bones.  Let’s hope I don’t transport the two of us into all this rock.”

Two attempts later, the instrument successfully transported them to the Vians’ laboratory.  “Spock!” 

Kirk saw Spock from the back, head sagging to his chest, hanging in chains by his wrists as Kirk had been.  Jim rushed to lower the rope which held the First Officer suspended. 

As he reached for the rope, Kirk heard a guttural growl and found himself struggling to escape strong legs wrapped around his waist.  Spock, twisting in his restraints, bit Kirk’s raised right hand, then tried to hit his temple with the nearer manacle.  Jim glimpsed the First Officer’s dark eyes, narrowed with rage and hate, glaring at him.  Kirk escaped by going limp, but the price of his freedom was a hunk of flesh torn from his wrist. 

Panting on the floor in pain and fear and exertion, he looked up and to his shock saw McCoy less than meter away, walking, arms outstretched in unmistakable intent to release Spock.  There was no time to pull a phaser.  Kirk lunged, pulling McCoy to the floor with a tackle at the knees.  McCoy scrambled to reach Spock, but made no attempt to harm Kirk.  In his debilitated state, Jim could barely keep hold of McCoy, but he managed to pull out his phaser and stun him.  From behind him he heard Spock still snarling.  The Vulcan was struggling in his restraints.  “Sorry, Bones,” he said as he pulled the unconscious man toward the wall.  “He’d have likely done a lot worse to you.”  

Kirk bound McCoy with their belts and his gold shirt torn into strips, and secured him to a piece of Vian equipment well away from Spock.  He hated restraining McCoy in this manner, but he could not risk the doctor freeing Spock.  Only when Kirk was finished did Spock’s agitation ease.     

Kirk turned his attention back to his First Officer.  Spock did not appear to be in physical distress, but Jim recalled how labored his own breathing had become while suspended for a much shorter time than the First Officer.  Death by crucifixion, he knew, resulted typically from asphyxiation.  He had no idea if Spock’s Vulcan anatomy and physiology could withstand hanging by the arms better than a human.  The position would be at best uncomfortable, at worst dangerous. 

They were going to be in this hell-hole for roughly ten times longer than the three-plus hours Spock had already been hanging.  Reluctantly, he stunned Spock with his phaser and immediately confiscated his communicator and phaser.  As he had done earlier with McCoy, Kirk removed his trousers and underwear and shoes even though Spock, unlike McCoy, had not suffered incontinence.  The First Officer’s hands had to remain secured.     

“This is going to start rumors,” Kirk said as he stripped off the unconscious man’s shorts, “the two of you beaming back to the ship naked below the waist.”  That Spock and McCoy were sleeping together was common knowledge on the Enterprise, but the relationship was, so far as Kirk knew, casual.   

Kirk lowered the rope until Spock’s feet touched the floor, and secured the rope at that length.  Thankfully, the end of the pulley was too distant for Spock to reach.  As an afterthought, he threw Spock’s discarded trousers to McCoy, hoping he might make use of them later as a pillow.  McCoy eagerly clutched the garment to his chest.    

And thus began a day and a half long vigil that was the most miserable of Kirk’s career.  The laboratory lacked food or water, and though Jim established a midden for himself in the warren of surrounding tunnels, the cavern soon stank of excrement and urine.  He searched, unsuccessfully, for buckets or other portable containers that could function as chamber pots.  The dim illumination of the subterrane, the silence of dead rock and his mute companions were oppressive.  Jim yearned for the subtle sounds of life and movement one would hear on the surface of a planet or aboard the Enterprise. 

When McCoy had walked toward Spock, Kirk had been surprised; during the long wait which followed, he was left amazed by the two men’s reaction to each other.  Spock, Jim thought wryly, would surely have found it “fascinating”.

The doctor gazed unceasingly at Spock with a plaintive look which sorrowed their Captain.  Silent no longer, McCoy whimpered when he would make futile attempts to crawl to Spock.  Whether the sounds were made in frustration at his confinement or from pain in the hands and knees he bloodied trying to claw his way to the man suspended a dozen meters away, Kirk had no way of knowing.  

McCoy remained oblivious to Kirk’s presence in the chamber.  Even when Jim sat directly in front of the physician and talked to him, the blue eyes remained vacant in the once expressive face, brightening only when they came to rest on the First Officer.  “You don’t know me anymore, do you?” Kirk asked sadly.  “But you do know him.”  As he spoke, Jim felt rather than saw Spock’s eyes boring into him. 

Cold hostility emanated from Spock whenever he turned his attention to Kirk.  This was especially true when Jim would approach or address either officer.  Looking directly at Spock or touching McCoy proved even great provocations; when Kirk did so, Spock would snarl and growl and struggle in his chains. 

Spock wore neither the blank, vacuous expression of McCoy, nor the impassive mask of a Vulcan.  Keen and alert, calculating even, the First Officer’s demeanor called to Kirk’s mind a highly intelligent animal trying to escape its cage – and attack its keeper.  Spock spent much time testing the strength of his manacles or systematically measuring the tiny circumscribed area in which he could move.  He often tried, sometimes violently but never frantically, to reach the pulley that could release him.  Even knowing Vulcan toes did not have the dexterity to untie the tight knot, Kirk held his breath when Spock tried to swing his body toward where the pulley rope was secured.  To Kirk’s relief, Spock was unable to gather enough momentum to reach it. 

When not trying to escape, Spock observed McCoy, even though to do so he either had to crane his neck or twist his body and upraised arms.  Spock’s expression while looking at the doctor conveyed eager expectation.  It was, unmistakably, a hungry look, yet devoid of the hostile predatory air directed at Kirk.  But eagerness to do what?  Touch the doctor?  Mate with him?  Tear him apart?

Kirk wondered if the odd and unexpected attachment he was observing resulted directly from neurological damage inflicted on the two men by the Vians, or if it reflected the nature of their preexisting relationship.  He had assumed Spock and Bones to be bed buddies, friends with benefits.  He wondered now if they had been lovers. 

Just once Jim had inquired about the personal relationship of his CMO and First Officer, casually broaching the subject with Bones in a private conversation.  McCoy, in curt tones which had made clear the question was unwelcome, had acknowledged he and Spock had been sleeping together for the past eight months.  The doctor asked if the Captain had found his professional functioning or that of Mr. Spock compromised during that period.  Slightly taken aback by the brusqueness of the reply, Kirk had assured McCoy he had no such concerns and he trusted that would remain the case. 

Squatting in front of McCoy, Kirk shivered.  He turned slightly, and saw, obliquely, Spock’s predatory stare.  “And you don’t know me either,” Kirk said, avoiding the Vulcan’s dark eyes.  “I wouldn’t hurt Bones . . . or you, my friend.”  He moved away.   

Yet Jim sensed he was hurting both men, just by keeping them apart.  He could not risk McCoy setting the First Officer free.  Even if Spock would not harm the doctor – and Jim could not be certain of that – his hostility toward Jim was very evident.  Whenever Jim moved around the cavern he made certain he gave Spock wide berth. 

Kirk looked longingly at the medkit.  The bite wound on his wrist had festered and McCoy kept reopening bloody patches on his knees.  Jim wasn’t familiar enough with the medical supplies to treat himself or Bones.  He said to the silent CMO:  “I wish you’d tell me, Doctor, which medications to use.”

The throbbing in his wrist was not the most compelling reason Jim longed to hear Bones give him medical advice.   

The contorted features and unseeing eyes of Linke and Ozaba were less unsettling to Kirk than Spock’s inimical gaze or McCoy’s vacuous stare.  The angular, agonized poses of the two men frozen within the containment pods across the cavern disturbed Kirk less than the sight of one friend with arms upstretched in chains, or the other trying to claw his way to his lover.

Kirk felt the need to keep watch over the two officers lest they free themselves, but exhaustion finally drove him to rest on the raised mattress in the center of the chamber.  He slept fitfully, finding scant respite from the discomfort of bends, the throbbing of his infected wrist, or the ache of a profound grief.  In restless dreams he encountered instead bulbous-headed beings who threatened him with knives, and a pair of men whose obscured faces he strained to see, and a graceful young woman who was weeping for reasons he did not understand.  When he woke, his cheek was wet with tears.

Jim woke and waited – thirsty, hungry, lonely and feverish, but secure in the knowledge that when the star called Minara quieted, rescue would arrive from his ship.

For him.  For his friends he feared help might never come.

“How are they?” Kirk demanded.            

“We’ve cleaned them both up,” M’Benga said as he reached for the Captain’s right hand to examine it.  “The vyano-chlorpromazine I used down on the planet to calm Mr. Spock has worn off.  He remains combative with everyone but Dr. McCoy.  Leonard remains unresponsive to anyone except for him.”  Evidently satisfied with the condition of the healing wound, he released Kirk’s hand.

“Those alien bastards lied.”  Kirk spat out the words.  “They said they were only going to take one of them.”

“It’s understandable you assumed both were taken,” M’Benga said.  “But the Vians likely didn’t touch Dr. McCoy.  The damage to Leonard was inflicted indirectly, the result of him and Mr. Spock having previously formed a Vulcan mating bond.”

Kirk startled.   “A mating bond?  You mean like Spock had with T’Pring?”

“That was a preliminary bond, established in childhood or sometimes during courtship.  This was a full bond.”  M’Benga leaned back in the chair.  “I suspected right away, based on the behavior you described.  I’m certain now.  Levels of certain hormones and neurotransmitters, a specific pattern of changes in Leonard’s amygdala and the corresponding part of Mr. Spock’s brain, all indicate they had established a mating bond.” 

“I knew they were sleeping together, we all did.   I didn’t know they had bonded.  What does that have to do with Bones’ condition?”

M’Benga explained that Spock’s insanity was, as the Vians had predicted, incurable; he had incurred so much physical damage to his hybrid brain that neither Vulcan nor Terran medicine could possibly repair it.  Nor did M’Benga held out much hope for McCoy.

“When a bonded Vulcan incurs brain injury or psychological damage – whether it be from accident, organic illness, or trauma such as torture or rape – the bondmate is at grave risk of suffering concomitant impairment of a similar nature.  Permanent damage to the partner can often be averted by treatment by a Healer. 

“The window in which the partner must receive such treatment is short, though, a few days at most.  Immediate therapy with a Vulcan Healer might have helped Leonard.  There isn’t one in this sector.  Mr. Scott checked with Starfleet.  The damage to Leonard is most likely permanent.  I’m sorry.”

“I still don’t understand.  McCoy is Human, not Vulcan.”

“Leonard isn’t a natural telepath, as are Vulcans.  But he has a high overall esper rating – as high as that of many Vulcans.  And Mr. Spock has a high esper rating for his people.  The strength of a mating bond does not lie in emotional attachment, but in the psi ratings of the mates, and in a . . . consonance . . . of their mental patterns.”  M’Benga smiled wryly.  “They may have argued a lot, but that would have nothing to do with the compatibility I am referring to.  The krilan-vo’ektaya kutz, the Vulcans call it.  Literally, the mind harmony.  The term derives in part from music theory.  For Leonard’s reaction to be so severe, theirs must have been high.”

Kirk nodded.  “Spock mentioned the term after his marriage on Vulcan was terminated.  He said his connection with T’Pring was low.”

Kirk looked down, thinking the thing through.  He raised his head and said, “So McCoy was most likely doomed, one way or the other.  Either to death at the hands of the Vians, or to sharing Spock’s insanity.  I’m amazed, though, he didn’t insist on going with the Vians, even if it meant knocking Spock out like he did me.  From what you’re saying, Spock would have suffered emotional trauma – but not outright insanity.  McCoy wasn’t expected to be left deranged, if he survived.”

MBenga shook his head.  “Mr. Spock was doomed as well.  The sudden and unexpected death of a bondmate is very dangerous for the surviving partner.  Most deaths among Vulcans, like most deaths on Earth, are anticipated, and the healthy bondmate has time beforehand to consult with a Healer – ideally, days or even weeks earlier.  Consulting with a Healer immediately afterwards can alleviate permanent damage, though it’s not the ideal.”

Kirk said, “Spock must have gone with the Vians so they could still be together.  Together in insanity, rather than one dead and the other deranged.”

“I thought the same,” M’Benga said.  “The derangement of surviving partners was a problem through most of Vulcan’s history, part of the reason they almost killed themselves off.  After a battle, masses of widowed females would go insane.  There weren’t enough Healers around to treat them.  The families usually killed the deranged women.”

Kirk was shocked.  “That sounds like something Klingons would do.”

“Or Romulans,” M’Benga said dryly.  “It’s rumored that Romulans, who are descended from Vulcans, still follow that practice.”

“No wonder Spock and McCoy didn’t tell me they had bonded.  I couldn’t have utilized either effectively, knowing that death or mental damage to one would doom the other to insanity.”  Kirk looked sharply at the physician.  “Did you know?”

M’Benga shook his head.  “Routine testing wouldn’t have revealed it.  And they would have known, Leonard especially, that I would have been obligated to breach patient confidentiality in such a case, due to the security issues it posed.  No, they didn’t tell me.”

Kirk hesitated.  “Is a mating bond intentional?  Or something that happens spontaneously?

M’Benga met the Captain’s eyes.  “It’s established deliberately, with the consent and participation of both partners.”

Kirk was silent, discomfited by the anger he was feeling toward his friends for having risked themselves (and, potentially, the Enterprise) in this manner.  One of them could have – would have – survived the encounter with the Vians unharmed, had they not bonded.  He wondered how much of the responsibility was his own, for having turned a blind eye to a relationship between fellow officers which, though not expressly forbidden by regulations, was frowned on in practice throughout Starfleet. 

Guessing the Captain’s thought, M’Benga said, “We’ll never know what prompted them to do it.”  The doctor rooted through the pile of PADDS sitting on the desk.   “At my recommendation, Mr. Scott has contacted Starfleet.  We’re being diverted to Starbase 12.   Authorities there will make arrangements to transport both of them to Vulcan – assuming Dr. McCoy’s daughter makes no objection.”

“I doubt she will.”  The Captain’s voice was curt.  “They’re not close.” 

M’Benga nodded.  “So I understood.  That will simplify arranging his treatment plan.  Starfleet is notifying both families.  Presumably you’ll want to do so also.”

“Simplify, Doctor?” Kirk said, bristling.  “While I’m asleep you move into Dr. McCoy’s office, not to mention you and Mr. Scott make plans behind my back to dump off my CMO and First Officer, and you’re talking about simplifying?” 

Unruffled, M’Benga met Kirk’s glare with a calmness that would have done credit to the Vulcans he had trained with.   

“Captain, like any physician, I have seen terrible things.  Heart-breaking things.  While I was training on Vulcan, a fellow intern, a friend of mine, was airlifted to our hospital after having been attacked by a le-matya.  It’s a venomous felid.  I saw him die in great pain.  But even that . . . .  M’Benga shook his head.  “Seeing these two brilliant men ruined this way . . . on a personal level, it’s the most upsetting medical case I’ve ever dealt with.   

“I wish I did not have occasion to be sitting in this chair.  But until such time as another M.D. is assigned to the Enterprise, I am the ship’s Chief Medical Officer.  As, until you designate someone else, Mr. Scott is your second-in-command.  We did as we saw fit -- and as instructed by Starfleet.”

M’Benga’s demeanor changed, becoming gentler.  “I know this has been difficult for you, Captain.  It is for everyone on the Enterprise.  But treating Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy is beyond my expertise.”

Kirk noticed again the redness rimming the brown eyes regarding him across the desk, and the compassion in them.  “You’re right.  I understand.” 

They were silent then, and Kirk calculated in his head.  At normal cruising speed, Starbase 12 was three days away – Vulcan four weeks.  The Enterprise had been assigned to remain in this sector for an extended time.  Starfleet would never allow the ship to go that far out of its way just to deliver two disabled officers.  

In three days, Spock and Bones would disembark the Enterprise.

“I want to see them.”

As they were about to leave Sickbay Kirk lingered.  Never again in this place would he see McCoy – alternately businesslike, jocular, irascible, but unfailingly skillful – engaged in his avocation as healer.  Bones would never make another unscheduled visit to the bridge . . . .   

The bridge.  Absent, forever, Spock’s calmness and reliability, his expansive knowledge and wry humor.  Kirk dreaded seeing the science station empty, or worse, manned by someone other than the stolid Vulcan.   

Never again would he hear his friends’ voices giving him advice, or arguing with each other.  He would never play another game of chess with Spock, or share a drink with Bones. 

Kirk stepped out into the corridors of a ship that was lonelier than it had ever been. 

“Mr. Spock becomes agitated if looked directly in the eye,” M’Benga warned as they entered the brig.

“I’m well aware of the fact.”

The area on the other side of the force field was furnished with a head, a sink and a pair of sleeping pads next to each other. The prisoners – wearing the blue and black jumpsuits of infirmary patients – were seated on one of the thin mattresses.  Each had an arm draped over the other man’s shoulders, and their free hands were touching.  The restless hands touched, caressed, slid against each other, always in constant movement and continuous contact.

Spock looked toward Kirk and M’Benga, his face coldly impassive.  Heeding M’Benga’s warning, Kirk averted his eyes as he would have with an aggressive dog.  Spock turned his attention back to his mate, who appeared oblivious to the visitors’ presence.

“No security officers on watch?” Kirk asked. “You’re certain Spock doesn’t pose a danger to McCoy?”  Spock could easily dispatch an unarmed, unmindful human.

“They’re being closely monitored via viewscreen,” M’Benga.  “With each other they’ve been gentle, even tender.  Their presence calms each other.  I must warn you – two hours ago they engaged in sexual activity.  We didn’t stop them.”

Kirk sighed.  “It’s a mercy they can’t conceive a child.” 

Spock appeared relaxed, without the edgy, hungry look Kirk remembered from the cavern.  No longer did McCoy’s features compose an unresponsive vacant mask.  Each man’s face was a field of fleeting, subtly changing expression.  They looked . . . almost normal.

“Are they communicating telepathically?” Kirk asked.

“Very likely.  I don’t have the specialized neuroimaging equipment – or the psi skills – to be certain.”

“They look better than when they were beamed up.”  Kirk noticed M’Benga slanting a look at him.  Jim rubbed his stubble.  “I suppose I do, too.”  Still unshaven, he had had a brief shower and quick meal before entering the hyperbaric chamber.

“We got them fed and hydrated,” M’Benga said.  “Mr. Spock showed Dr. McCoy how to use a cup and spoon and plate.  As well as the facilities.”  M’Benga nodded toward the toilet.

The hand on Kirk’s chin traveled to his forehead.  “My God, am I supposed to be glad they won’t be in diapers?”

“It’s something,” M’Benga replied calmly.  Again Kirk was struck by the physician’s cold objectivity.  Was that Vulcan-like dispassion instilled while training with them, or was it part of his natural temperament, perhaps even the reason he had been drawn to Spock’s homeworld?  Kirk knew little of M’Benga beyond his professional credentials; McCoy, as his supervisor, and even Spock, as a patient, had had more extensive contact with the man.  

M’Benga’s next words jarred Kirk from his musings.  “And they are speaking a few words, though only when they aren’t aware they’re being observed.  Their names – ‘Spock,’ and ‘Leonard’ or ‘Len-kam’.  ‘Kam’ is a Vulcan diminutive, a term of affection.  And two additional words.  Leonard calls him ‘darling’.  And Spock addresses him as ‘ashayam’.  It’s Vulcan for ‘beloved’.” 

Kirk stared at M’Benga.  “I knew they were fonder of each other than they admitted.  Publicly, I mean, or even to me.   Kirk’s gaze returned to Spock and McCoy.  “But this . . . devotion to each other . . . I had no idea.”

“As we said earlier, they chose mutual insanity over being parted by death.”

 “Will they be kept together on Vulcan?”

“If they remain as they are now, I would expect so.  Vulcans may be logical and disdainful of emotion, but they are seldom cruel.  The Healers may administer hormones to eliminate the sexual behavior, however . . . until pon farr.  That’s dangerous to shut down.”

“The Vians claimed to value emotion.”  Kirk made a sound of contempt.  “They were searching – scientifically, they claimed – for compassion and self-sacrifice.  They certainly turned out to be cruel.”

“Vulcans don’t like to admit it, but they make room for what they call personal attachments.  A small room, by human standards, but it exists, nonetheless.”

Kirk said, slowly, “Yes.  I’ve met Spock’s parents.”  Sarek, he was sure, would be grieved at his son’s mental state.  And Amanda . . . it was going to be harder writing to Spock’s parents, whom he knew, than to Joanna McCoy.  “What will be Sarek’s reaction to Spock having bonded with a human male?”

“Same-sex relationships are accepted among the Vulcans, either within marriage, or more often, within what we would term an adulterous relationship.”  M’Benga smiled.  “I said they made room for attachments.  Permanent same-sex relationships meet resistance primarily when continuation of the family line is at stake.  Sarek has no other heirs, to my knowledge – but Spock producing an heir is out of the question now, anyway.  Sarek will most likely accept the relationship.  Whether he would have if his son were not disabled is a different matter.”

They fell silent then and Kirk’s thought returned to the Vians – and to the mute empath who had been the focus of their interest.  Grateful still to Gem for having relieved the worst of his own physical symptoms, he had no way of knowing if she had made a similar attempt to help Spock.  To save his friend Kirk gladly would have died, but he did not know if he would have been strong enough to enter the wreck of Spock’s mind, assuming he had had the capability to do so.  He could not find it in himself to condemn Gem for having failed.   

But the Vians surely had passed judgment on her – Gem’s  planet doomed to destruction, her species condemned to extinction, and she, presumably, sentenced to death along with them.  Kirk mourned her, though he wondered if death was not preferable to the fate which had befallen his friends.

For the Vians he felt anger and hatred and a profound contempt.

McCoy shifted on the sleeping pad.  For a moment he looked at – or toward – Kirk.  On the familiar features there was no recognition, no interest.  The blue eyes might as well have been looking at the unseen force field or a bare wall.     

Unable to help himself, Jim took a step forward.  “Bones?”  

McCoy did not respond to the words, but Spock slowly turned his head.  The Vulcan met Kirk’s eyes, his face filled with enmity.  Kirk quickly glanced downward, Spock’s inimical gaze more painful to look at even than the blankness on McCoy’s face.  Obliquely, he saw Spock, in a move of unmistakable possessiveness, reposition his body between McCoy and the two men on the other side of the force field. 

Suddenly Kirk needed to be free of this place.  It pressed upon him, entrapping him like the rocky subterranean walls of Minara II, or like the force field that confined the mute prisoners.  “I’ve seen enough.”  He would visit them at least once more before they left, but he knew it was better to remember his friends as they had been before their encounter with the Vians.

The unwelcome intruders left the area.  Spock stared, his face inscrutable.  When he was certain they were gone, he turned back to his mate.  The Vulcan’s expression softened as the other man nestled against him.  Their fingers entwined.  

“Len-Kam.”

“Spock.”

They were alone again.   

Together.  

As they had planned.