| Chapter 11 - "Precious Pearls" "Mother, I do not wish to criticize, but this is the same material you presented to me yesterday." "What? Are you sure?" Amanda stood up and looked at the computer screen. "Oh, yes, you're right. I don't know what's wrong with me this morning." She turned to the stack of computer chips and began to rifle through them. "Mother, if you are ill, we do not have to continue." Spock's forehead furrowed with concern. "I'm fine, Spock. Yes, here's the new material. It covers the principles of the Terran philosophers, post-reform Vulcan history, the doctrine of the Orion cultures, and the remaining sections in quantum physics." "This is significantly less material than you have presented to me in recent days." "Is it? I'm sorry. I'll try to have more prepared for you tomorrow. I couldn't seem to concentrate earlier." She ran one hand over the skin of her opposing forearm. She felt as if the sand of the desert was becoming ingrained under her skin. But she was familiar with the Vulcan desert and knew very well that the sand particles were much too large to cause the reaction she was having. "It's like my skin is tingling. It must be the dry air. It seems dryer here than in the city, don't you think?" "I have not ventured into the city since my return, and my recollection of the sensation of the atmosphere in the city versus that found in the desert is not complete. Perhaps I am making too great of a demand on you. We can forgo the study session this evening, and tomorrow as well, if you like." Walking toward the window, she looked outside and surveyed the never changing view. "Maybe that would be a good idea. I'm sure I've been taking you away from your studies with the Brothers." Spock inserted one of the chips into the unit in front of him and briefly scanned the information. "My studies are exceeding their expectations. They, too, are in need of additional time to prepare. Therefore, except for the meeting I have scheduled with Saavik this afternoon, the next days will hold few demands. I have decided to use that time to contact those who brought me back to Vulcan, specifically the man I recognized as Jim, and the one who carried my katra, I believe his name is McCoy." "Spock! When?" she turned and gasped. Looking up from the terminal, he arched his eyebrows at her highly emotional response. "I have decided to seek them out on the day before the Great Fasting. I feel it is something that I need to do." Amanda felt a shiver run throughout her body, like a cold wind had just washed over her. "Whatever for? They are trying to get their lives settled, and I don't know if your presence will be good for them right now. Besides, just four days ago you stated that you no longer wished to remember that part of your life." She knew that above all else, she wished to keep Spock away from anyone who could spoil her plan, especially James, and that slut, Leonard McCoy! Standing up from the desk, Spock walked toward her. "Mother, I do not intend to create turmoil for any one. However, there are flashes of memory that come to me at odd times, and I must pursue the reason for these. I had hoped to rid myself of these images through increased meditation, however, I find that I have been unable to do so. I must determine if what I am remembering is fact. I have become convinced that during the fal-tor-pan, some of the memories of the carrier were transferred to me." Memories from McCoy? Amanda felt panic begin to rise within her like a hot bile. "What kind of memories are you having? Perhaps I will be able to assist you in identifying them," she offered, hoping she could stop his quest right here. Spock turned and took a few steps, as if attempting to carefully reconstruct the images. Turning back, he said, "In one, I seem to be standing at a station of some type. It seems as if it is onboard a ship, possibly the one I found myself speaking of on the day of the refusion. I can get a quick image of controls and some type of a viewing device; it seems different from the one I remember from when I was serving with Captain Pike. I turn and see a railing and a man seated in the center of the room at the commander's position, there is another, a darker figure, standing just behind him. The seated man seems to be speaking, and although I am unable to understand his words, I am having a most illogical reaction to this image." Amanda's breath quickened. He was beginning to remember more, and it scared her. "What kind of reaction, Spock?" "An emotional one, Mother. It is as though I discern something akin to fear, but when I turn, see them there, and hear the seated man speak, even though I can not decipher his words, I feel...safe. As I said, it is a most illogical reaction. Fear is found only in those things that are unfamiliar, and safety is found only in knowledge and understanding. Security can not be found in the presence of other individuals, but only within one's self." Safe? How could the presence of Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy make Spock feel safe? Time after time, their lives had been in danger. "As far as the emotional reaction is concerned, I can't explain that. However, since you did serve on a ship for a period of time the image itself does make sense." "That does not explain the emotions that I have associated with these images. I have mastered all the steps of meditation, but even deep meditation does not stop the reactions when this, and other images, flash into my mind." "What other images are you seeing, Spock?" Amanda felt her pulse quicken. "Some are of scenery, but not on Vulcan. I remember one in particular. I am high above a city in some type of dwelling, and it is night because I can see the lights spread out below me." "Do you feel any emotions with this memory, Spock?" "Yes. With that image I seem to find comfort and reassurance. The relaxation that I find with this image is so profound that I have begun to rely on it for the purpose of meditation. Do you know what place this could be, Mother?" She knew exactly where he was remembering, but she couldn't bring herself to tell him it was the apartment in San Francisco that he had shared with *those* men. "The description is quite indicative of many cities that you may have traveled to during your service to Starfleet. I'm not sure it would be possible to narrow it down to just one." Hoping to flush out all memories, and therefore quash his increasing curiosity, she asked, "Are there any other recollections?" Turning away once more, his voice grew softer. "There are others, but I have discounted those as being errant memories that have spilled over from the man who carried my kata. He was evidently a most illogical being." "Errant, memories, Spock?" she asked, her heartbeat now throbbing in her throat. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Yes. These images seem to be quite intimate--quite sexual--in nature, and certainly have to be his memories and not mine." Now the panic she was feeling created a shiver that seemed to run through her whole body. "With who, Spock?" "I cannot be certain. They are decidedly homosexual, involving two males, one dark and the other fair. Not unlike those who I see in the images onboard the ship." "And the emotions you feel with these images, Spock?" she asked, her voice growing almost quiet. He seemed to flush, slightly. "There has been a pleasant, highly-agitated biological reaction associated with these flashes." A 'biological reaction', Amanda thought. She had hoped that those feelings would be lost with the refusion, but evidently they were a part of him. It was problematic, but could be dealt with in the same way her husband had dealt with such desires over the years. Even this did not have to signal an end for the plans she had for her son. "Spock, if it's sexual excitability you are experiencing, there are ways to..." Looking up, Spock's tone became more insistent. "Mother, you do not fully understand. Yes, there have been periods of arousal, however, it seems to extend much further than a mere physical response. I believe it may be akin to a term found in the literature that you have had me read, something called, 'being in love.' If this is that particular sentiment, then it is certainly not my own memory, being that it is a most illogical sensation. It seems to accomplish little other than a sensation of internal suffering, much like the effects of various viral illnesses that I have studied." Amanda found her way to one of the armchairs and sat down, stunned. Even now, they were calling to him. In time, maybe he could put these feeling behind him and assume they were simply left over memories from McCoy. But he would need time away from them. Time to come to terms with the destiny that should have been his. But he could not find this if he remembered more. She had to find a way to keep him from seeking out those that belonged in the past. "Spock, wait a while before you pursue this, until you are more yourself. Wait until you have made decisions regarding your future before you come under their influence." "Mother, how can you not understand the Vulcan way? It is only logical to confront these disconcerting images. If, as I believe, these images belong to the host who carried my katra, then a healer will have to be sought to restore these memories to their rightful owner." Amanda felt that everything she had worked for was crumbling around her. Her mind was spinning. She wondered if there was any way to have these images erased without Spock realizing they were his own, but quickly understood the futility of such a consideration. His memories were returning, bit-by-bit. He may remember nothing more, or he may, over time, remember everything. He was going to see them. Was there a way to get to them, preclude them from telling Spock everything? If she could convince them of the danger to Spock, she was certain they would go along with her deception. Yes, that would work, she realized. He wouldn't be going to them for another two days. This gave her time to devise a plan and meet with them. If he was determined to find them, there seemed little she could do about it. But, even if he did speak with them, she could see to it that he found none of his answers. She took a calming breath. Yes, this would work. If they believed it was for Spock's welfare, they would say anything she wanted them to because...they loved him. That thought hit her with the same impact of a volcanic eruption. Kirk and McCoy would do anything for Spock...because they loved him. She remembered a time when the love Spock had felt for them had been equally as strong. These last weeks had been all she could have ever hoped for. She couldn't allow it to end, not yet. It was too soon to have to give him up. But there was something quite different about her son this morning. It was as if there had developed a fortitude within his character almost overnight. Looking at the man standing before her, she began to realize that this was not the same young child who had sat at her knee all those many years ago, absorbing all she had to teach him. She listened to his words, so like the words he had spoken to her once before, so many years ago, on a ship as it traveled between the stars. 'Mother,' he had asked her, 'how could you have lived these years on Vulcan, married a Vulcan, raised a child on Vulcan, and still not understand what it means to be a Vulcan?' That was the day she had slapped him for not relinquishing command and being there to help when Sarek was dying. She had forgotten how much love she had felt for her husband at that time. Sarek. Why was he so prevalent in her thoughts recently? Then those words came back to haunt her. Did she really not know what it was to be a Vulcan? Did they really need the affection, the love, that she had grown up believing they lacked? Was this not a failure in her husband, or her son, but a failure in her? Then there were other words, harsh words, that rung in her ears--angry words that were spoken by Sarek just weeks before. 'He was more of a lover to me in one night than you have been in the many seasons that you have been at my side.' Dear God! Surely not! She remembered his hand holding her wrist tightly. Automatically her fingers went to the spot and, although the bruises had long since faded, she could still feel the heat that had come from his touch. His hand had trailed down her body and across nipples, a touch that seemed so common. Why did the memory of his fingers there excite her so? Excite? Yes, she had felt excitement by his touch. This was against all she had been taught. She looked again toward the man standing in the room with her. His courage amazed her. He had spent years in conflict with Sarek over his choices, choices that had gone against his traditional upbringing, yet he had remained steadfast in his decisions. She had always conformed to all that her family had expected, even in matters of what was considered dignified behavior in the bedroom. "Mother?" Spock asked, bring her back to the present. "Yes, Spock?" she breathed. "Was the transfer incomplete?" "I can't answer that for you. You will have to find out for yourself the significance of these memories." She watched the face of the man she had borne and raised, lost and found. He had once felt safety, comfort, and love with those whom he had chosen to share his life. How could she deny him the search for those things again? But if he did find his way back to them, then it was a certainty that he would never marry, never have children, at least not in her lifetime. It was then that she felt an unfamiliar--almost calming--warmth settle over her. Wasn't she already blessed? Hadn't he been returned to her? What more could she ask for? She could almost accept this with James, but McCoy was a different matter. Even in their previous life, he had sought out another, her husband, Spock's father. But had McCoy really been the seducer? Not if she could believe what Sarek had told her in Seattle. Still, even if that were true, he had allowed himself to be seduced. Something else Sarek said that day, something about him wanting to bring these newfound feelings to her. She remembered the night Sarek had returned home from that horrible mission. Their separation had been longer than any they had experienced before. His leg had been badly injured and he had nearly died. Had Kirk and Spock not located them when they did--and, admittedly, had McCoy not been with him during that time--he would have certainly died. He was pale and thin, his face lined and drawn. But there were other changes, changes that were more profound than any of the physical damage his body had suffered. When they retired that evening, they touched their fingers, assuring each other through their bond that all was well. But the swell of emotion that she felt coming from Sarek was most unusual. At first, she attributed it to his being back home after such a difficult mission. He expressed his desire for a physical coupling and she had lifted her gown to allow him access. But he wanted much more. Not since the early days in their marriage had he tried to get her to do things that were entirely inappropriate. He pushed her gown higher and had tried to suckle her breasts. She admonished him and quickly covered herself. Then he had asked her to touch him, not in the sense of the bond, but to physically touch his body, his need, to feel his hardness. This, too, she refused to do. A woman of her stature did not permit such unseemly actions. When rebuffed, he had simply mounted her and pushed his organ inside of her. It was more assertive than she liked, but it was still appropriate. Harder and harder he had driven into her. Taking her hands, he had moved them low to his buttocks and she immediately moved them back to his waist. It was then that his shields lowered, and all that he felt toward this McCoy was revealed to her. She realized his intense desire for another, a man who had amazed him with his abilities, and had surprised him with his loyalty. A man who had caused him to smile despite the worst of hardships, had made him hope when all was hopeless. This man had soothed him, caressed him, excited him, and made love to him with a sweetness Sarek had never known could exist. This man had made him feel...safe. She realized it was this that he had wanted to bring to her, to share with her. She had refused to touch him, to allow him to touch her. But when she remembered standing with him weeks ago, she could remember the feel of his erection pressing against her hip. Why had she not given into her desires at that moment and reached down and stroked him? Could she have given him what he needed? On that terrible night, could she have seen what he wanted to share, and accepted it as a precious gift? Could she give back to him what he had wanted to share with her? Was it possible for her to participate in such common, undignified behavior? Common...undignified. The words seemed to echo in her brain. Hateful words, they were! Perhaps all she had been taught was wrong. Perhaps it was moments such as those that made the union between two people--in her son's case, three--special. When her son had found his emotions, she had, at least in the beginning, rejoiced. When her husband found these same feelings, she had rebuked him. And in both cases it was this man, a human--Leonard McCoy--who had been paramount in awakening those feelings. She had called him a slut, a demon, and much worse. Who was this man who was capable of stirring such strong passions in two different Vulcan men? Men who otherwise were destined to live wrapped inside their unemotional, logical shell? For the first time since the day of the bonding between her son, James, and Leonard, she looked at McCoy through different eyes. From the eyes of a son who longed to find a path back to the life he had known. And from the eyes of a husband who found love in the arms of someone who accepted him for all he was. 'How could you have lived these years on Vulcan, married a Vulcan, raised a child on Vulcan, and still not understand what it means to be a Vulcan?' How, indeed? She looked at Spock, who had seated himself beside her and was watching her with concern in his eyes. Concern. How concerned had she been about his needs since her return to Vulcan? At what point had she decided to place her own desires above those of her son...her precious son? A deep sense of shame washed over her. "Yes, Spock, find your friends. They are your friends. You may find that they have been much more. You cannot be expected to know where your future lies until you have faced your past. None of us can be expected to know where we're going until we know where we've been." Spock rose and nodded slightly to her. "Thank you, Mother. I find your words most encouraging. I will go take my midday meal then meditate before I meet with Saavik. There is much I wish to discuss with her." A fear of a different kind welled up inside of Amanda. Had her plan worked too well? Was Spock going to commit himself to her before he explored the other possibilities? "May I ask what, Spock?" "I have made the decision to dedicate my life to the Order of the Kolinahru. It is for this reason that I must clear these memories and rid myself of any emotions associated with them. Saavik has become a confidant. Therefore, I shall be taking my leave of her on this day." "Spock! No, you can't do that. Not yet. Don't decide on anything until you have met with James and Leonard." Amanda came to her feet. Even she couldn't believe that these words were spilling from her mouth. But with them, there seemed to come a cleansing of her soul. His eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "I do not understand. Dedicating myself to my planet and my people is something that you have encouraged. You seem quite distressed." Drawing a deep breath to collect her thoughts, she replied more calmly, "Spock, I've been wrong. Please, take time to think this through. I didn't even think about you returning to the Order." "Returning?" A look of confusion appeared on his face. "Yes, Spock, returning. You were there once before and couldn't find what you needed." "Indeed. I was not aware of the fact that I was cloistered once before. However, that does seem to explain my familiarity with many of the ancient rituals. May I ask why you feel that you have been wrong?" Amanda felt the need to sit back down. Reaching behind her, she found the chair's arm and lowered herself into it. "I wanted you to have the future I desired for you instead of allowing you to find your own way. Specifically, I had hoped to push you and Saavik together. I had hoped that the two of you would bond." Spock nodded. "Although I do not believe it was appropriate for you to attempt to lead me to such a match, I understand your belief that she would be a satisfactory mate. However, it is my belief that Saavik and I would find it impossible to have a successful bond. That which is deemed necessary, by most accounts, is not present between us. I seem to lack the essential...desires...for such a coupling." Of course, there wouldn't be, she realized. Her son's needs could not be met with a female in his previous life; therefore, neither could a female satisfy his needs now. Even though he had yet to understand, he had the need for a male. No, he had the need for two specific males. For a moment she toyed with the idea of telling him everything, but decided against it. There were some things that he truly did need to rediscover on his on, hopefully with the assistance of those who had been closest to him over these last years. "Spock, there is a lot you're not yet aware of, and a lot that I am just coming to realize. Please, promise me you won't make any decisions right now. Not until you have seen James and Leonard, the men you remember as Jim and McCoy, and hear them out." "Very well, Mother. I do not believe it will change my mind, but I will do as you request. I believe I will forgo the midday meal and go directly to meditation. It seems I have much more to consider than I had realized. Would you wish for me to come to you this evening, as usual?" "No, Spock. You have things to consider, and so do I. I feel the need for privacy, for rest. I wish to be left alone for the remainder of the day, and tomorrow, as well." "I understand. I will leave word that you are not to be disturbed. I hope you rest well, Mother." "Thank you, Spock. I wish only the best for you." For the first time since her return, she meant that. She did hope that he would find that which brought him fulfillment, even if it meant that she would have to make amends with Sarek and…yes, even McCoy. "Good day, Mother." He turned and left the room. "Be well, my son," she whispered after the door was closed. Soon her son was going to go to the men he barely remembered, the men who, although he did not yet realize it, he still loved. There was one, only one, that had ever made her feel like that, and she had spent their many years together pushing him away. For her, it was too late. She could only hope that due to her own selfishness, her son did not share the same fate. Chapter 12 Jim shifted slightly in the command seat of the shuttle as he stared out at the stars ahead and contemplated his future--or lack thereof, as the case may be. As a man of action, he became restless when there was nothing for him to do. At least on the Enterprise he had room to pace... The Enterprise... The thought of his destroyed ship tore at him. So did the nagging sensation that he shouldn't be alive now that she was gone. Wasn't it written in the deepest traditions that, as her commander, he should have gone down with her? The image of the vessel disintegrating as it met Genesis' atmosphere was one he had repeatedly tried to expel from his mind. Yet, even now, he could still picture the fiery fuselage as it blazed a path across the sky, pieces of the ship that had been such a part of him sheering off, and chunks of her burning up. Spock had once given his life to save her. No...that wasn't true. Saving the Enterprise, and therefore her crew, had been a consequence of Spock sacrificing his life in an attempt to save his bondmates. And even though he was alive again, what they had together was gone. If what they had together had been that important to Spock--important enough to once give his live for--wouldn't he be trying to find his way back to them? But maybe Spock was better off. There was certainly very little left of what they once had to return to. And soon, in no more than three months, there would be even less. The Bird of Prey should be in excellent shape to assist in his negotiations by then. Glancing across the controls, Jim sighed. Sitting in the stillness onboard the small, cramped shuttle, with nothing pressing to occupy his mind, allowed him time to think about all that had transpired. It wasn't something he welcomed. Every time he allowed himself to think of Spock, Jim felt a powerful wave of rejection wash over him. It was the same feeling he had experienced three evenings before when Saavik came to tell him that Spock refused to meet with him. But, he reminded himself, rejection wasn't just a one-way street. He'd dished out his fair share of that recently, as well. The day he and Chekov left Vulcan he had, once more, handed Bones a big dose of it. But he couldn't give Bones what he needed most--closeness--and he knew that even if his body would cooperate and it were possible, it would only lead to a worse situation once he was ready to hand himself over to the authorities. Wrapped up in all the emotions that he had locked away in that deep, unreachable place inside, were feelings regarding Bones that he knew were there, but ones which he had not fully examined or acknowledged. Turmoil was the best way to describe it. Jim had no idea the source, but was quite aware of its existence. Perhaps it stemmed from the situation with Sarek. In those first weeks after their rescue from the mineshaft on Bakswana, there had certainly been evidence of feelings, deep ones, that Bones had formed toward Spock's father. After Spock's death, Sarek had come to San Francisco in search of his son's katra. On that evening, the ambassador had made his feelings for Bones McCoy abundantly clear; Sarek was in love with him. Then, on the day of the refusion, when the two men had been reunited for the first time since leaving Delta Station, Jim was certain that the sparks that flew between Bones and Sarek were more than just his imagination. Yet, since that day, Sarek and Bones hadn't so much as seen each other. Instead, Bones had spent the two months of their exile trying to reestablish the relationship with him, not with Spock's father. God knows if this had been a test of Bones' loyalty, Leonard McCoy would have passed with flying colors. But Jim's inability to commit to Bones wasn't some macabre test that he was subjecting the doctor to. The trepidation he felt toward Bones was real, even if the reason for such feelings was inexplicable. But Jim knew that whatever the source, it no longer mattered. What they had together was over, just as the life they had once shared was--a life that had been centered around the Enterprise. He knew there was nothing he could do for the ship that had owned such a part of him, nor for the other losses they had experienced these past few weeks. He couldn't allow those things to matter to him anymore or they'd rip him apart. He had his plan and he'd stick to it to the bitter end. Looking down, he noticed that he had clenched his hands into fists. Letting out a deep sigh, he closed his eyes briefly and willed his body to relax. He wished once more that he could walk off this energy that was building within him and get his mind centered on other things. Except for taking care of his personal needs, Jim had sat in the command seat of the shuttle since leaving La'ishi, six and a half hours earlier. It wasn't because there was anything that needed his constant attention, but because his options were limited. Except for the pilot and co-pilot seats, the bunk, and a very narrow path leading to the 'head', there was nowhere to go inside the small, tightly-packed ship. Crates containing scientific equipment were stacked in every available niche and, for the most part, blocked the aisle. For the moment, the seat beside him was empty. Jim had taken his turn at a sonic shower and pulled on one of the clean jumpsuits; now it was Pavel's opportunity to get cleaned up. Along with the rescued scientists, they had worked hard to get all equipment packed away quickly before they evacuated the outpost. It had proved to be dirty, sweaty work--work Jim appreciated because it was physically demanding and kept his thoughts centered on the task at hand, unlike now, when his mind had time to wander. He had to admit, however, that taking a shower and getting into fresh clothes had felt quite nice. Glancing down, Jim realized the small viewer was still set to the aft-interior position. Since keeping an eye on their prisoner was no longer a consideration, he started to reach over and flip it off when he saw Pavel emerge from the small, nearly non-existent bathroom. The sonic wand was located in the extremely small space dedicated to the facilities, but there was no room to maneuver in the tiny area to get dressed. That had to be done in what little space was left in the corridor. The Russian seemed oblivious to the fact that his actions were being caught on the vid unit. Knowing damned well that he shouldn't be watching, Jim couldn't help but notice that the Russian, especially in his naked state, had a fine body--broad, muscular shoulders and arms; a well-defined chest that narrowed to the slim waist; an ass that that you could probably bounce a credit chip off of, and a cock that, even flaccid, was thick and impressive. With a sigh, Jim reached over and keyed off the unit and remembered a time when such a sight would have excited him. Except for a couple of nights when erotic images had invaded his dreams, arousal was something that he was no longer capable of. He missed that, missed the feel of having the kind of closeness that can only be found when your arms are around someone you care about. But between the small flicker of desire that, if those dreams were to be believed, still existed within him, and the numb state he currently found himself, lay an abyss of despair and depression that had become unreachable. Chekov, now also dressed in one of the duty jumpsuits, slid wordlessly back into the co-pilot seat. The mission had gone off surprisingly smoothly. They were well back into Federation territory, their course back to Vulcan was tied in to the ship they followed, and the automatic monitoring system for the detection of any vessels in the area was working properly. Although, with the message sent earlier, Jim was fairly certain that no one would dare approach. And even if a ship did decide to check them out, Jim was quite secure in the fact that no one would risk 'contamination' by boarding them. At some point the Federation was bound to realize that the Klingon prisoner was missing, but that was what diplomats were for. Too, once he turned himself over to Starfleet, he would do all in his power to explain the circumstances. He wasn't worried, not about that. Hell, what could they do to him, throw him in prison for *two* lifetimes? No, with their safe passage back to Vulcan all but assured, Jim wasn't bothered by this situation. It was the demeanor of the man once more seated beside him that disturbed him more than anything. In the six and a half hours since they had left La'ishi, Chekov had spoken no more than ten words, and all of those were duty-related regarding the condition of the shuttle. Turning to him, Jim asked, "Pavel, is everything all right? I know that you had some amount of trepidation about turning Maltz over, but it had to be done." Pavel turned his head and stared at him. Jim had never see such a look of anger in those eyes, at least not directed at him. "I understand that, sair," Chekov responded, coolly. "I know my duty. It's true that his fate concerns me, however, there is something else which concerns me more." "Well, it's only the two of us here. We're cleaned up, the shuttle's on automatic, and there's not a lot we have do for the next day and a half. There's no time like the present to clear the air. Mind telling me what it is that's bothering you?" Jim asked. "You, *Admiral*," Chekov replied. "Me?" Jim questioned. He had no idea what he'd done to set the man off like this. "Aye, sair! It's about when you were trying to put me out on the planet." "Pav, I was just trying to protect you. There wasn't any reason for *both* of us getting killed if we didn't have to." "I know that. I'm talking about something you said. I didn't realize it at the moment, but you said it was your intention to see to it that my career was saved. Explain to me what you meant by that." Jim felt a cold wave wash over him. He realized that in the heat of the moment, he had almost revealed himself. At the time, he hadn't expected to be alive more than just a few minutes. And, the truth be known, if it hadn't been for the Klingon's information, and Pavel's insistence that they listen to him, none of them would be, including the Vulcan scientists. "Pavel, there was a lot happening right then. I can't remember everything that was said. I was probably just grasping at straws, trying to convince you that staying on the planet while I made the exchange was the best idea." Chekov shook his head. "No, sair! That's not what you meant, and you know it! You said you had taken steps to save my career. I want to know what steps. I think I deserve to know what you were talking about." Jim's mind spun. He couldn't admit his plan to Pavel--to surrender himself and the Bird of Prey to gain his crew's freedom. He couldn't let him know why he had pushed everyone to the very brink to get the work done that he needed. Or why he had allowed the Vulcans to support them all this time. Deciding that he could get away with a partial truth, he said, "Before we left, I made a vid tape that was to be delivered to Starfleet Command in the event of my death. On it, I took the blame for everything that's happened, and asked them to accept my confession of guilt in exchange for the freedom and reinstatement of my crew." "Why? Why would you consider doing something like that?" Pavel asked indignantly. "Why? I think that's pretty obvious. If it works, it gets all of you out from under any charges that they want to levy against you, and gets your commissions reinstated." "You had no right to do such a thing! You want to take the decision on how to handle our own lives away from us? And what do you mean, 'If it works'? You're alive. You're not planning...you wouldn't...?" "What? Kill myself? No, of course not!" "But you do have something in mind, don't you? This isn't the end of it, is it?" Chekov's eyes narrowed. Unable to sit still any longer, Jim pushed himself out of the command seat, stepped around crates until he was as far toward the back of the shuttle as he could get, standing beside the bunk. Collecting himself, he turned back toward the front of the ship. Pavel had turned in his seat; his angry eyes were centered on him. "It's nothing that concerns you, Commander," Jim replied, hearing the defensiveness in his voice. Chekov stood as well and walked a few steps in his direction. His dark eyes were ablaze. "I think it concerns me a great deal. I think you have some *scheme* worked out so the rest of us will be exonerated. Am I right?" Pavel asked, angrily. "You seem to have this figured out, you tell me," Jim snapped back, not believing that from his one statement Chekov had stumbled on the truth. Once again, he had underestimated the man. "Fine. I'm betting that it probably has something to do with your turning yourself over to the authorities to gain our freedom. It's the only thing that makes sense," Pavel stated harshly. Jim swallowed hard. "I don't know what you're talking about, Commander. But I suggest you mind your own business," Jim shot back. "Since we arrived on Vulcan, you have pushed everyone away. It's bad enough with the rest of us, but no one could figure out why you've treated Leonard McCoy the way you have. The only explanation is that you know something is going to happen where the two of you will not be able to be together. I know we've been spending long hours on the ship..." Pavel suddenly paused, his eyes growing wide with realization. "The ship!" he exclaimed. "You're planning to use it to bargain with, aren't you?" Jim felt his mouth go dry. How in the hell had Pavel put all of this together? It was probably from spending all those years working with that damned Vulcan! Damn Spock for insisting that Chekov apply deductive reasoning to every situation! "Pavel, you don't understand! This was my doing. I asked all of you to get involved, to give up everything you had worked for. How I choose to get you out of this is *my* business!" "Yes, you asked us to get involved, and we all did so voluntarily!" Pavel raised his voice. "That night in your apartment, you laid out the risks very well. I don't remember you ordering any of us into this. We all knew *exactly* what would happen when we signed on. We're not children! We don't need you to protect us! You haven't even thought about what it would do to us for you throw everything away, for you to go running back to Starfleet in some effort to 'save' us, have you?" Pavel seethed. Jim felt himself expel a hot breath as his own anger began to take over. Through clenched teeth, he responded, "Have I THOUGHT? I've thought about nothing *but* what the effect of this has been on the crew! And you're one to accuse someone of running! You're the expert at that! You don't know a damned thing about what this crew's been through these last years! For someone who says they're not a child, you sure have acted like one!" "I NEVER ran away! I wanted to advance faster than I would have if I had remained on the Enterprise, so I..." "That's bullshit, and you know it! You ran because of Sulu. Instead of staying and working it out with him, you decided it was better to high tail it into the ranks of the Security Force! If anything, it kept you from advancing as quickly as you would have if you'd stayed with the Enterprise. But it wasn't the rank that appealed to you, it was the fact that you could hide away. Always being moved from one assignment to another, never having to stay anywhere long enough to risk getting involved. If there's anyone who knows about running, it's you!" Jim seethed. "Even if that's true, at least I was running *because* of my feelings. But you wouldn't understand that, would you? You have forgotten what it was like to feel anything. You've managed to shove everything out of your mind except this plan of yours. That's all that matters to you now, isn't it? Once more, you want us to think of you as our 'knight in shining armor'. Maybe if you give yourself up so we can wear the uniform once more, we will bow down to your memory. At least that's what you will live on while you're locked up on some prison planet! Well, not me! I can't respect anyone, much less worship them, when they've given up!" "Stop it, Pavel. Stop this right here!" Jim could feel himself beginning to quake and boil. But Chekov didn't stop. He stepped in closer, as if to prove that he no longer feared the 'Great Captain' that he had known all those years before. "What will you live on? If we refuse to remember you as our champion, what's going to keep you alive if it's not our adoration? What about Leonard McCoy? Do you really think he's going to be happy if you give yourself up so he can sit at the 'Fleet Medical Center and treat sore throats? Do you think for a minute that he will consider it a fair trade, or ever be able to forgive you for making it?" Jim could feel his insides trembling. Who in the hell did Pavel think he was talking to? "How dare you reprimand me about the way I'm treating McCoy! You weren't around to see how devastated Sulu was after you left! It took him years to recover! There were times that we nearly didn't recognize the man who would show up for his shift! I'm not doing anything that you haven't already done. The difference is, I *have* a reason!" Jim watched as Pavel's chest expanded and contracted with deep, panting breaths that were drawn through his flaring nostrils, and he knew that his own demeanor was very similar. Anger--pure and unadulterated--coursed through the man's body. But Jim knew he had hit a nerve when he watched the breaths slow and the Russian's face soften somewhat, some of that anger replaced with pain. "You're right," Pavel admitted, his tone becoming quieter. "I hurt Sulu by leaving. I never should have done it. If I could go back to that day, I never would have let my pride drive me away. What I did to him was unforgivable. But do you want Len to go through that same hell? Jim, you watched Hikaru suffer, so you know that's what McCoy will go through, only much worse. I don't know all the details, but I know he's been through a lot lately, even before this started. What do you think this will do to him?" The sudden change in Pavel's manner made Kirk draw a deep breath. Releasing it through pursed lips, Jim calmed down as well. As he had been prone to do in the past, he had once again stepped over the line. He had wanted Chekov to stop, but hadn't wanted to hurt him. "It will free him. It will free all of you," he sighed. "Do you really think that sacrificing yourself will free us? If you do, you're wrong. There are all kinds of prisons, and I think guilt is the worst of them all. If you do this, then that's the prison you're sentencing all of us to. Do you believe Leonard is strong enough to survive that? After all he's been through?" Jim turned away from Chekov and folded his arms on the stack of crates. Resting his chin on the back of one hand, he said, "Bones is tough, a lot tougher than you give him credit for. He'll be fine. Hell, Pav, look what you survived and bounced back from! McCoy and I--Spock, too--have had our time together, now it's your turn. I want to give you that. I want to give you and Sulu--Scotty and Nyota, too--a chance at what we've had." Pavel took a few steps forward, and Jim could feel his presence just beside his right shoulder. "Just what is it that you think you are giving us? What do you think there is between Hikaru and me?" Turning his head slightly, he glanced peripherally at Chekov. "I know what you have. I'm the one who witnessed that scene in the corridor, remember? In those few seconds, I became quite aware of what exists between the two of you." Jim looked up and drew a ragged breath. "My God, Pav. The passion, the trust, the love that I saw between the two of you..." His voice broke. He heard a deep sigh from behind him. "You mean the same passion you feel when you're with Leonard, and, even though he doesn't remember right now, Mr. Spock, too?" Jim shook his head. "Felt, Pavel. Not feel, but felt. You were right. Somewhere along the way, I lost the ability to feel what you feel for Sulu." There were some things he didn't want to get into. He hoped Chekov would drop it. The silence of these last hours had been much better than this. However, knowing this man as well as he did, he knew he wasn't going to be so lucky. "Are you saying that you don't love them anymore?" Pavel asked in amazement. Bringing one arm down from the crates, Jim turned toward Chekov. When he replied, his voice reflected nothing less than the hardened steel that his soul had become. "No. I'm telling you that whatever that magic combination is that lets you take pleasure in that kind of passion, is something that I don't possess any longer." He knew he'd said too much when the last of the anger in the Russian's eyes faded and was replaced by sadness. This, Jim decided, was worse than the rage that had been there moments before. Anger was guttural; he could deal with that. Sadness stemmed from a deep sense of caring, and that was less easy to accept. "When?" Pavel whispered. Chapter 13 Pavel was asking him to explain those things which he had shared with no one, asking him to breach impenetrable barriers that he had carefully erected within himself. And by the look in his companion's eyes, he knew nothing short of the truth was going to satisfy him. Feeling as if his knees were going to fold on him, he looked around for a place to sit. Other than the command seats in front, the only other place was the bunk just behind him. Leaning back, Jim rested his hips against the edge of the unfolded bunk for support. "I'm not sure. Certainly since the day Spock walked into the containment chamber. But it probably started a full year earlier. "Pav, in those years after you left us, the Enterprise was commissioned to me for those escalated situations that required someone with my experience. In the times between those missions, I held my position as Chief of Starfleet Operations, and we lived in San Francisco. It truly was the best of all worlds. Then the word came that the Enterprise was to be converted to a training ship. I was no longer needed for special situations because there were other captains who were every bit as qualified as I to handle those missions. I was assigned to headquarters full time. Without too much protest, I accepted it and chalked it up as just getting older. It wasn't until Bones was called to the outer rim that I realized just how misplaced I'd become." Jim's voice faded away. "I heard that Len and Ambassador Sarek came close to dying there," Pavel interjected. "Yeah..." Jim nodded, "...too damned close." "But it was you and Mr. Spock who saved them." "We found them, but you couldn't exactly say we were the ones who saved them. Spock did more than anyone. He came up with the idea of how to repel the attacking force. By the time we reached them, we were almost too late. God, the things they had been through at that point. If I had been there..." It was the same demon that had haunted him since that time. Attempting to shrug it off, he continued, "I began to realize just how powerless I had become." Clearing his throat, he continued. "It wasn't long after our return to Earth that we were sent on the training mission." "Where you encountered Khan...and saved me," Chekov added, softly, gratefully. Jim looked up and smiled, slightly. "Saving you was the only good that came from that whole thing, Pav." But his smile faded as he continued. "After that, everything began to spiral out of control--at least, out of my control. There was the death of Spock, Sarek coming to me and us realizing what was going on with Bones, the fact that David was in serious trouble with the Federation, then having to see him dead on that planet. Then, of course, there was asking the four of you to give up everything..." Jim looked down and drew a deep breath. The black pit inside of him, that place where he had doomed his emotions to in these last weeks, was threatening to erupt, but he knew he had to hold on. Leaning over, Jim propped his forearms on his thighs and clutched his fingers together so tightly that the blood drained from them. "Somewhere along the way, I seemed to have lost myself," he breathed. For a long time he'd felt as if he had very little control over his life. On the day of the refusion, Jim had discovered that Spock had given his life in an attempt to save his bondmates, and he found himself resenting the Vulcan's decision ever since. Spock had left him powerless. Yet, Pavel had pointed out that he had done the same thing to the crew--to the friends--who had been so devoted. In making this decision without them, he had unwittingly sentenced them to the same fate. The fact was he had never stopped to think about how it would affect them. "I'm sorry," he uttered. "I'd hoped that by surrendering myself and the ship, that I would be able to get you back all that you had given up. I felt like it was the only thing I had left to offer. I hadn't considered...I hadn't considered what it would do to all of you." The words were becoming lodged in his throat. Jim felt the hand as it was laid on his shoulder. The sensation took him by surprise, and he looked up at the man standing beside him. "Jim, it wasn't too long ago that you told me you were a man, not a hero. On that night, you told me that you consider me a friend. Until now, I hadn't realized that I never considered you one." Jim felt his eyebrows furrow, and he shook his head questioningly. "What do you mean?" he asked. Pavel propped his hip against the bunk next to Jim and turned toward him. "You see, I've never been able to let go of that image of you as *my* hero. I think I became transfixed, almost mesmerized, by you the first time I walked onto the bridge of the Enterprise. You were my ideal of perfection. I've never been able to accept you as a man who could have problems that you can't handle on your own. Oh, sure, there have been times when I've watched you make what seemed like wrong decisions, but it always turned out that you were right, at least from my perspective." Jim drew a deep breath and turned his head so he was looking forward at the wall of crates that blocked the aisle. "I was a lot of things, Pavel, but I was never perfect. Most of what we accomplished in those days was because of the crew I had supporting me." Turning his head and meeting the deep brown eyes, he added, "That includes you. You were a hella'va navigator, and more. And if you think that Sulu was the only one who missed you after you left us, you're terribly mistaken." Pavel seemed to flush slightly. "I know. It was never the same with any other crew I served with, either. But even when I rejoined the Enterprise, those old feelings about you returned. In your cabin that night, I heard what you were saying to me, but it didn't matter. You were never a man to me. I always saw you as so much more. Now, I think I get it. I realize that I have to make a choice; I can look upon you as a hero, or as a friend, but not both. Hero's are infallible, and once they topple from their pedestal, it's hard to put them back up there. But, as you tried to tell me that night, you are a man, one who can make mistakes. I never wanted to accept that in you. Maybe if I had stopped looking at you as the one who would solve everything, then you would have been able to come to me. But I never gave you that chance, did I? That was my mistake. I always expected you to be there for me, yet I've never been there when you needed someone." Something in Pavel's voice, a deep concern that he wasn't prepared for, began to unnerve Jim. He felt a small ache begin deep in his chest, and it reminded him of other, happier, times. He had almost forgotten those feelings he had held for Chekov a long, long time before. In those early days, Pavel's youthful exuberance, not to mention his fine form, had repeatedly tempted him. It was only Jim's position as the young navigator's commanding officer--and the fact that, even in those days, Spock and McCoy were beginning to drive him to distraction--that kept him from acting on his surreptitious desires. More than once, he had found himself having to mentally calculate fuel-to-distance ratios when the young ensign had been subbing at the science station. Seeing Pavel bent over the scopes had all but been his undoing more times than he cared to count. The awakening of those memories, recalling how good had been to feel so alive, sparked something within Jim. His memories of the relationship with Spock and McCoy were accompanied by so much regret and pain that it was much easier to lock those feelings away. Not so with the charming, innocent memories of a young ensign who had once secretly stirred his passions. And memories such as those, he found, were the most dangerous of all. He knew that opening himself up to such pleasant recollections could be the catalyst that would burst the carefully constructed wall he had built inside. It was only the growing internal tremor that was keeping the lid on all that he had meticulously buried within him. "Well, it's been a long time since I've allowed myself to believe that I needed anyone. I was probably pretty instrumental in putting myself on that pedestal. Even if others saw my failures, I wanted you to think of me as perfect. I got too used to the adoration..." Bringing a hand up he ran his trembling fingers lightly down the shape of Pavel's face, "...especially from you," he added, his voice barely above a whisper. Then, clearing his throat, he quickly pulled his hand back. "But it gets pretty boring being worshiped," he attempted to add lightly, and failed. Jim looked into the warm, chocolate brown eyes. As much as he hated admitting it, even to himself, it felt good having someone he could bare his soul to. He had missed that. McCoy and Spock had been his confidants for so long, that he hardly knew how to talk to anyone else. But Spock was for all intents gone, and Bones was too emotionally involved in the situation to be able to get beyond the relationship--and the anguish--they shared. Even so, Jim knew he was teetering on the brink of disaster. Letting his guard fall, however briefly, was threatening to open the bulging floodgate of emotion that was waiting to be released. He stood up and turned, desperate to walk away. He found being in such close proximity to Pavel was becoming unsettling. It had been a defense mechanism to begin to think of Pavel as a kid, almost like a younger brother who he had taken under his wing those many years before. It had worked. The desires he had felt for Pavel had faded, or so he thought. But since Pavel had been reunited with them, there was no denying that he was a man with a natural sensuousness that was impossible to deny. It was that feeling which Jim wished to escape from. But finding there was nowhere to go, he turned around to discover that Pavel, too, had stood up, and there were only a few inches separating them. "Jim," Pavel soothed, "you're my commander and, if it's not too late, my friend. And I promise you I will never worship you again. Not in that way, in any case." Chekov moved in a bit closer. There was no more than a breath separating them. The warm, reflective eyes turned upwards, but gone was the reverence that had so often been present as they looked at him. The lips parted slightly and moved in, gently brushing against his own. There was no longer any doubt about what Chekov was offering him. Admittedly, the lips were soft, and the sweet warm puffs of air against his face were inviting. With the touch, Jim pulled his head back and looked at the irrefutably captivating man. "Pavel, don't. The one thing I could never live with is your pity." The brown eyes rose to meet his stare. "Never pity," Pavel breathed, "...never." "Then what? You can't tell me you're ready to throw in the towel with Sulu for a relationship with me." "No, not that either." "Then why...why would you offer yourself to me?" He watched as Pavel bit his bottom lip between his teeth. It seemed that Chekov wasn't going to answer, but then he said, "Because I'm a man who cares about you, and I think you feel the same way about me. And, because with all that's happened, I believe you've just forgotten how it feels to be touched. I'm certainly not expecting you to give up everything, just as I'm not willing to. But I'm here for you, and I'd like to help, if you will let me. You know, I'm not that same green ensign that you remember," Pavel grinned. It was true. Pavel wasn't that same kid from years before, and that was the problem. The man he had seen making love in that corridor was very much an adult. At the time, it had been that realization that had hit Jim the hardest. And, in reality, the idea of experiencing that kind of sexuality was tempting, or would have been if he had felt himself capable of such. "Pav, I don't know if I can...it's been so long since I've been able to...feel anything beyond pain. If I let my guard down now..." "Like you said, it's only the two of us here. Are you afraid to let me see that you're not perfect?" Pavel ran the fingers of one hand lightly through Jim's hair just above his ear, his open grin turning to a small, sensuous one that played over his lips. Jim brought his hand up once more and caressed lightly across the mouth with just the tips of his fingers. "Using my own words against me?" Jim asked through a half-grin of his own. What would it feel like to have the touch of those lips against his again? To not have a wall of fear keeping him from feeling pleasure? To no longer be afraid of allowing himself the sensation of warm flesh against his own? "Da," the Russian all but purred, nodding ever so slightly. Jim moved slowly toward the inviting lips and gently touched his to them. He felt no hesitation in Pavel, but that same feeling of wanting to back away soared to life within him. He felt the muscles in his back become rigid. Pulling his head back, Jim panted, "I can't do this, Pav. I'll come apart." His voice was heavy with unspent emotions, and the fear of what would happen if he allowed them to be released. "It's all right if you do. I'll be right here to help you pick up the pieces," Pavel soothed. God, how Jim wanted to let himself go, but he wasn't sure he still remembered how. He had held himself in such tight reins in these last months that he felt bound by them in an almost death-like grip. Consequences, he reminded himself. There were always consequences, but he didn't want to think about those, not right now. Leaning in, he moved his lips very near to Pavel's soft, full ones once more. "Pav...I can't guarantee..." he breathed. "I'm not asking you to," Pavel whispered as he slid his hand around the back of Jim's neck. Once more, Jim met those soft lips with his own; this time they parted under his pressure. The breath against his face was almost painful, but it was a sweet pain. He emitted a ragged gasp, and then another, when he felt Pavel's arms closing around him. The sensation began to stir something within him, something long forgotten--or long ignored--but his mind seemed to be fighting against this perceived emotional assault. It hurt, and his mind told him to run from the touch, but he wanted to have the wound inside opened so it could drain and heal. He felt Pavel move against him and he could feel the first stirrings of the Russian's arousal as the groin grazed against his hip. A part of Jim's warring mind was attempting to will his body to respond, yet another part of him wanted to shove the man away. Attempting to close his mind to the latter of the inclinations, he pressed his lips to Pavel's neck and he tasted the faint salt of the flesh. With his tongue, he trailed a path to the base of the ear and felt the body surge against him. A hand slid between them and it felt like a branding iron when it began to move against his flaccid groin. "Don't," Jim gasped into the damp neck as he tried to move away from the touch, but the bunk behind him held his body firmly in place. Jim grabbed Pavel roughly by the arms and started to push him aside to make his escape. It was only the look of deep caring in that face that stopped him. He felt his fingers relax as his grip on Pavel's biceps loosened. "I'll stop, Jim, if you're sure that's what you want me to do," Pavel murmured quietly. At that moment, Jim wasn't sure of anything. Something inside told him that if he ran away this time, he would forever more be running from his feelings. He had to know if he still had anything to offer to anyone. "No....don't stop," he finally breathed. Home/Next Chapters |