NEW: TOS "Surrender" [K/S, b/d, NC-17] 1/?

[Killashdra]

Surrender
Copyright (c) 1997 by Killashandra

This is an original work of amateur fiction. I don't make
money off this stuff and fanfic is fair use. So I ain't infringin, all
you big guns at Paramount and Viacom. And my daddy's a
lawyer, so there.
If you're under 18 or don't want to read about two men
having sex together, don't read any further. Also, this story is a
little bit rougher than my usual, so be warned. (No, this isn't the
sequel to Turning Point. I'm sorry--I have writer's block.
Hopefully this will help.)

***

"You look like a man with a problem, Mr. Spock."
The first officer of the Enterprise started. Leonard McCoy
stood next to his table, dinner tray propped against one hip.
Spock was somewhat chagrined to realize that he had just been
caught staring at nothing, empty fork in hand, in the middle of
the mess hall. How long had been sitting like that? He hadn't
even seen the doctor come in.
"Doctor," he said by way of greeting, ignoring the question
that hadn't been a question.
"Mind if I join you?" McCoy's tray was already on its way
toward the table.
Spock inclined his head. Pointless to argue. The doctor had
his diagnostic expression on, the one Jim said reminded him of a
bloodhound on the scent.
McCoy sat in the chair opposite, began removing his repast
from the tray. "So you just woolgathering, or is it something
more serious?"
Spock gave the doctor his most innocent look. "'Wool
gathering,' Doctor? Shall I assume that this is yet another of
your colorful expressions that I am not meant to take literally?"
But McCoy did not rise to the bait--and Spock knew that he
was in trouble. The doctor was most dangerous when he was at
his most patient. "You know perfectly well what I mean."
McCoy lifted his fork and began poking at his spinach salad.
"Since when do you let me sneak up on you like that? You were
a million miles away."
While the doctor considered his dinner, Spock considered the
doctor. He was reluctant to get into this with McCoy, now, when
they still had unfinished business between them. But
realistically, he could not simply get up and walk out of the
mess. It would be too much of a concession--and walking out on
two conversations in as many days would set off McCoy's
professional red alert for sure. Perhaps the better part of valor
should dictate his actions this evening. He'd already proven that
when it came to personal matters, simply ordering McCoy to
back off did no good. Perhaps it would be safer to maintain calm
and humor him.
Indeed, the man might actually be of some assistance. After
all, McCoy was Kirk's friend, too.
Spock glanced at the nearby tables, making certain there
were no crew members within earshot. There were none; it was
late for alpha shift's supper hour, and most of gamma shift was
still sleeping. The place was deserted. At last he sighed quietly
and put down his fork. "I am forced to admit, I may be out of
my depth."
The doctor looked up, surprised. "*You,* Spock? I wouldn't
have thought it possible."
Spock tilted his head slightly, his equivalent of a shrug. "One
cannot excel in everything one attempts."
McCoy snorted. "Since when? I always thought perfection
was your goal in life."
"Naturally. Is it not yours?"
"Not hardly. My goal in life is to drive you crazy, didn't you
know that?"
"Ah. Well, in that case, you are to be commended."
McCoy grunted, obviously amused and trying not to give
Spock the satisfaction of knowing it. "Now I can die a happy
man."
The Vulcan watched him take a bite of the salad, watched
him chew it thoughtfully. Spock's own appetite had been small
tonight to begin with, and now it was nonexistent. That was
nothing new, though... he'd been finding food unappealing for
some weeks now. He'd only come to the mess hall tonight
because he had hoped to find Jim here.
As if reading the thought, the blue eyes came to rest on him
once more. "Where's Jim tonight, anyway?"
Spock blinked, suspected that he'd given himself away when
the other's gaze sharpened. He kept his answer neutral. "He was
here earlier, but said that he and Mr. Scott had some things to go
over before shift change."
The doctor scowled. "He's already been on duty for twelve
hours today. What's so important that he couldn't even take
time off for supper?"
Spock could not answer that without betraying his captain's
privacy, so he did not answer. The truth was that he suspected
very strongly that Kirk had been lying to him about his reason
for leaving the mess hall when he had. It was that suspicion
which had distracted the Vulcan to the point of forgetting his
surroundings a few minutes before. To the best of his
knowledge, in three years of friendship Kirk had never lied to
him outright.
McCoy leaned forward slightly. "What is it? There's
something you're not telling me."
Spock suppressed the urge to sigh again. "I am... concerned
about him, Doctor. His detachment seems to be growing more
pronounced, rather than lessening with time."
"What makes you say that? Not that I'm disagreeing with
you--I'm not. I'm just surprised that he's let you see it."
"He believes I am unaware of the problem."
McCoy nodded, took a sip of coffee. "Yeah, he thinks he's got
everybody hornswoggled. Damn fool. What happened tonight,
specifically?"
"Nothing, specifically. Simply that he was... uncomfortable
with me." As if he feared that I might ask him questions he did
not want to answer, Spock thought, did not say. He was
remembering the way Jim had fidgeted when Spock had made
his clumsy offer of a chess game. They had not played in more
than a month. Spock had hoped that if he could get Kirk alone,
perhaps his captain would talk to him about what was so
obviously eating at him. But when he pressed the issue, Kirk
had bolted, with only a clumsy attempt at an excuse.
"Well, that's certainly not the norm," McCoy agreed, his eyes
on his plate. "You two are usually thick as thieves."
There was a knowing undercurrent to the words, and Spock
felt his face start to heat. He willed the reaction down. He
wanted to talk about Jim, and what was troubling his captain--
most emphatically did *not* want a return to the aborted
conversation he and McCoy had begun on the observation deck
the night before.
"Doctor..." he began warningly.
"Relax, Spock. I'm not gonna push you." *Yet,* seemed to
hang in the air after his statement.
Spock had to take a deep breath to maintain his air of calm.
"What is your analysis of the captain's mental state, Doctor?"
McCoy frowned at him. "You know I haven't done a psych
exam on him."
"Very well. What is your *opinion* of the captain's mental
state, then?"
"My opinion...? You asking me as his friend, or as his doctor?"
"Either." Spock met his eyes. "Both."
"Not good," McCoy said without hesitation.
"Specify."
"I can't, without an exam. But," he forestalled Spock's protest,
"I can tell you that I've got him under observation. First
indication I get that this... funk he's in is affecting his command
performance, I'll have him down for an exam before you can say
Jack Sprat."
Spock quelled a surge of very unVulcan annoyance. "You do
not feel the problem is severe enough to warrant your
involvement?"
"Spock, you're not hearing me. I *feel* the problem is deeper,
and more serious, than he's willing to acknowledge. But until I
have some outward indication that something is wrong,
something besides a friend's intuition--I can't evaluate just how
serious it is. I can't order him to come to me for help. Not if he's
still functioning at peak efficiency." His gaze was piercing. "Is
he?"
Spock hesitated, but there could be only one answer to that.
"More than ever."
"Well then."
"Can you not speak with him, Doctor? As his friend?"
McCoy set his coffee mug down with a thump. "Where've you
been for the past three weeks, Spock? Don't you think I've been
trying? He won't sit still long enough for me to say hello."
"There must be some action that we can take."
The blue eyes stabbed him. "You're his best friend. Can't you
talk to him?"
Spock wanted to look away, didn't dare. The man saw too
much. "I have tried, also."
McCoy blinked. Then he relaxed, and started picking at his
dinner again. "Gotten anywhere?"
"Nowhere of consequence. He avoids me." He wouldn't speak
the other truth--that he himself had done his own share of
avoiding, of late. That his own pain sometimes made being in
James Kirk's presence... difficult. "When he cannot avoid me, he
simply pretends that I am imagining a problem where there is
none."
McCoy looked up sharply at that. "What do you mean?"
Spock steepled his hands, summoning Vulcan calm against
the memory of the thoroughness with which Kirk had shut him
out. "When I tried to speak with him about what happened on
Theta Aurigae, he told me I was 'dwelling' and walked out of the
room." He met the doctor's worried gaze. "Once, I attempted to
talk to him about Miss Keeler."
McCoy's voice was hardly more than a whisper. "What did he
say?"
"He said, 'It's best forgotten, Spock.' And then he began
questioning me about the latest efficiency ratings."
"Hmm. And then he turns around and works one twelve hour
shift after another, with a sixteen-hour stretch thrown in here
and there for variety."
"Yes. And his own efficiency rating this quarter was the
highest it has ever been."
"Well, no wonder."
They were both silent for a long moment.
"Doctor," Spock began, finally voicing his reluctant suspicion.
"Do you believe there is more to what happened on Theta
Aurigae than we have been told?" He spoke carefully. He was,
in effect, accusing his captain of possibly lying in a mission
report. But it was a dread he'd lived with too long.
The doctor's autopsies had showed that many of the dead
hostages had been raped, or worse. Was it possible...? He
choked that back as he had a hundred times in the past weeks,
refused to let the thought complete itself.
McCoy looked thoughtful, then finally shook his head. "Spock,
I don't know. That could be it. But also, it might just have been
the straw that broke the camel's back. Look at what he's been
through in the past two months. Edith, his brother..." He broke
off, but Spock heard the words he didn't say. Saw the memory
of the koon-ut-kalifee like an afterimage, red and smothering.
"And then losing those hostages... Any one of those things might
be enough to knock down an ordinary man. We've got no way of
knowing what's really eating at him unless he tells us."
"But he refuses." It came out a whisper, and Spock
immediately cursed his failure to control.
For now McCoy was looking at him, reading him like a book.
"What about you? Do you want to talk about what we talked
about the other evening...?"
Spock had to act swiftly to keep the surge of anger from
showing in his face.
"You know I do not."
"I know no such thing."
"You presume too much, McCoy." He started to rise.
"Now, Spock, you don't have to run out on me. I'm your
friend, too, dammit. I'm just trying to help."
Spock only looked at him, thinking, you cannot help me. No
one can help me.
"It might help you to talk about it," McCoy said softly, nothing
but compassion in his gaze.
"There is nothing to talk about."
McCoy leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow arching. "Then
why couldn't you answer me last night?"
Spock felt the blood staining his cheeks despite his best
efforts to stop it. He could not have said why he did not simply
terminate this invasive conversation. Could it be that McCoy was
right--that he needed a confessor after all? "A Vulcan does not
speak of such things," he said, the old defense.
"Bullshit."
"Doctor--"
"Mr. Spock," McCoy said evenly, voice pitched low, "you may
not realize it, but you are doing a lousy job of pretending that
everything is business as usual. If Jim wasn't working so hard at
shutting us both out, he'd already be on to you."
Shocked, Spock had no answer for that.
"It's written all over you, Spock," the doctor finished gently.
His compassion felt like the tiny jabs of needles in soft,
vulnerable tissue.
The Vulcan wanted to argue, wanted to deny the truth of it.
Wanted most of all to escape the man's brutal understanding.
But he was an insect, pinned.
"I shall have to transfer," he whispered at last, in despair.
Anger flashed in the blue eyes. "You want to kick him while
he's down?"
"Better that than the alternative."
"Better for *you,* you mean."
"For him."
But McCoy was shaking his head. "Wrong on both counts.
Spock, the absolute worst thing you could do right now is run out
on him with no explanation. He needs you. You're his friend."
The despair welled up, a pressure on his throat. "In my
current state, I cannot be. You have just said so yourself."
McCoy opened his mouth, and Spock thought that the CMO
would yell at him, openly, right here in the mess hall. But the
doctor apparently thought better of whatever he would have
said, for he closed his mouth, and leaned forward. "Your 'current
state,' Spock? You make it sound like a disease."
"Is it not?"
To Spock's surprise, that evoked a lopsided, sympathetic
smile. "Maybe." McCoy sobered. "Spock, we're talkin' about
your life here." Spock gave the man a look which he hoped drew
blood. But the doctor was unrepentant. "And sooner or later,
he's gonna figure it out, just like I did. It's not that difficult to
see."
The Vulcan wished, fleetingly and fervently, that the deck
would open up and swallow one of them--he wasn't particular
about which. What had he done, to be cursed with this
perceptive, affable, dangerous nemesis?
"Doctor... it is his life, too."
"Exactly my point. He deserves to know."
"Either way," the Vulcan whispered, looking at his hands, "he
shall lose his best friend."
McCoy's voice was gentle. "It doesn't have to be that way.
He's not going to hate you, you know."
"Are you certain? I am not." Spock heard the quiet agony he
could not hide, and closed his eyes.
"Spock."
At last, reluctantly, the Vulcan looked up.
"What I'm certain of is this: he needs help. You might be the
only one who can give it. We've seen already that it's going to
take drastic measures to get through to him. Maybe..."
Spock was staring at him in disbelief.
"...well, you have to admit, it might shake him out of his
funk."
"It might also cause him to throw me bodily out of his
quarters." Somewhere, a warning bell went off. His quarters?
When had he begun visualizing a setting for this impossible
scenario?
"Look. Do you want to help him or not?" McCoy didn't wait
for an answer. "How can you expect him to be honest with you if
you can't be honest with him?"
Spock was silent for long moments, struggling with the
inherent truth of the doctor's words. The kalifee burned scarlet
behind his eyes, a stark memory of fever breaking, Jim's
brightness under his hands, fading to darkness, and the
realization--
McCoy was correct, of course; his secret was obvious enough.
The evidence was his very continued existence, when by all
rights he should be dead or married to a woman he hardly knew.
Still, he had not expected anyone else to see it.
Live long and prosper, Spock.
I shall do neither...
He found himself meeting McCoy's gaze, seeing reflected
there compassion without limit, understanding--and wisdom he
could not deny.
The doctor glanced at the wall clock, and back at him, and his
expression shifted into something like a smile. A challenge.
"Twenty-two thirty, Spock," he said softly. "He'll still be awake."
Spock considered that in silence, wondering if they had both
lost their reasoning. Tell him? Now, when the last thing he
needed was Spock's burdens added to his own?
Impossible.
The Vulcan swallowed, drew a deep breath, and released it.
Looked up. "Doctor, if he cannot... if he will not accept it..."
"He might surprise you."
"...he will need a friend." Spock was finding it difficult to say
the words. The reality of what he was considering made it hard
to breathe properly. "Will you... be that to him?" He knew what
he was really asking, knew that McCoy knew it, too. If he should
turn away from me...
"Are you making me a deal, Spock?" McCoy asked, smiling a
little, painfully.
Spock realized that his hands had drawn into fists under the
table. He made them relax. "Perhaps."
After a moment McCoy nodded, once. His eyes were bright,
impressed. "Very well, Mr. Spock," he said seriously,
approvingly. "You've got yourself a deal."


[end part 1]

[Uif1]

As always, a most welcome addition to K/S.

Killa, your most wonderful and unique voice is so easy to fall into
again. These are visions of the characters that are so real and well
drawn, it is like coming home again to read another of your stories.
My only and everlasting complaint....I wanted more tonight! <g>
One of many, I suspect, impatient fans.

Deb

[Lady Nidiffer]

Killashdra wrote in article <19970427055...@ladder01.news.aol.com>
...

>Surrender
>Copyright (c) 1997 by Killashandra
>

You have absolutely made my day!!!
Thanks
Willa

[Lori STfan]

What happened to part three!!!! Please repost, I LOVE your stories,
Killashdra!
Thank you, Lori