Return to Valjiir Stories
“Mr. DelMonde, a word, please?” Lian Rendell’s professionally bemused voice asked from the doorway to Engineering.
Del frowned, placing one hand to the back of his neck, trying to rub away the tension. “Can it wait, Doctor?” he said. “Miss Mazar want th’ realignment o’…”
“It will only take a minute, and no, it can’t,” the Haven returned.
The engineer sighed and rose, following Rendell out into the corridor. A few feet from the door, she turned. “I’d thought of having Lieutenant Commander Ryan join us,” she began.
“Tara?” Del blinked, as if he didn’t know what her position on the Drake was.
“But then I thought I’d give you a chance to explain before alerting the Chief of Security and the Captain.”
“Explain what?” Del asked, continuing the charade.
“Ensign Paine’s rather significant bruising.”
Shee-it! Del’s eyes hardened He really hadn’t considered that the little chiot might report him. “It mutually consentin’, Doctor,” he growled, “an’ if he say otherwise…”
“Actually, Mr. DelMonde, he didn’t say anything. His roommate came to me after observing what he called ‘disturbing marks’ on the ensign’s body. He said he’d casually asked Mr. Paine where he’d been the previous evening, and was told the ensign had spent the time with you.” The woman grinned, a typically Haven urbane expression. “He put two and two together, Del.”
“If there no complaint befo’ you, ma’am, I t’ink that likely th’ end of it,” he managed. “An’ if you not mind, I prefer Lieutenant Commander in a professional context.”
“I’m sure you would, and I didn’t say there was no complaint before me, and we’ve met before.”
That brought Del up short. He was tempted to say something smart-ass about having reported for the required physical when he came aboard, so of course they’d met, but there was something in her black eyes that kept him silent. She smiled, as if knowing what his lack of response meant, and folded her arms.
“Mr. Paine’s roommate did lodge a complaint, which is why I’m here. I’ve got your statement that the – tryst – was one of mutual consent. If Ensign Paine gives me the same information, the matter will be dropped.” She leaned forward. “And for a time, about – oh – twelve years ago, I was the medical officer for a Haven ship, one H.T.E Leather.”
Del swallowed. “Gage,” was all he said.
Lian smiled again. “Gage," she confirmed. "I recall one incident in which he called for my attention to a very stoned, very drunk, very grounded Clavist who had just added jet into the already dangerous mix in his system, against the good Dealer’s advice. Gage was in SOS mode and wanted me to make sure the Clavist in question wasn’t going to kick it while full of his product.”
Del grimaced. “Me,” he muttered.
“You,” Lian nodded. “Though I completely understand if you don’t remember the meeting.” She smiled a fourth time and Del refused to let himself flush.
“Guess we all do crazy t’ings when we young, Doctor,” he said. “If that all, I got work t’ get back to.”
“That’s all – except for a word of caution. Be very careful with our young Mr. Paine, Lieutenant Commander. You know what they say about feeding stray puppies.”
She turned and walked down the corridor and Del sighed.
“Yeah, Doc, I t’ink I already figure that one out.”
He was in the lift to the Bridge, nursing the hangover that hadn’t quite been cleared with his quick drink before reporting for duty when he got the second news report of the day. Captain Sulu joined him, and after nodding a sympathetic ‘afternoon,’ casually reached over, stopping the movement of the car.
“Shee-it, Sulu, ever’body know my business?” Del began, certain of the subject that was foremost in his captain’s mind.
“Yes, they do,” Sulu replied bluntly, though his tone was still amiable. “I instituted a grapevine when I took command, and it’s a very efficient one. But even if I hadn’t, The Paine has been talking non-stop about you all day. It wasn’t hard to figure out why.”
“Mere de duin, that damn petit chiot…”
“So I wanted to give you a heads up before he rushed into your arms on the Bridge and I had to call maintenance to clean up the mess when you punched his lights out,” Sulu returned.
“Considerate o’ you.” He sighed, then shot Sulu a sideways glance. “So what he been sayin’?”
“No gory details, just about how wonderful and sensitive and intelligent and – uh – forlorn – you are.”
“Forlorn?”
Sulu shrugged. “You don’t want to know the actual words he used, Del.”
“Shee-it,” the Cajun muttered, and Sulu placed a compassionate hand on his shoulder.
“I don’t want to intrude on your privacy,” he continued, “but not everyone here knows you as well as I do. This crew has been together for several years. You and me – well, we’re still the outsiders here. Dylan may be a pain, but he’s young and impressionable and really into the whole hero-worship of us Big Name Clavists. If you wanna fuck him, that’s up to you, but don’t fuck with him, okay?”
“It one night, Sulu,” Del grumbled.
The captain gave him a wry grin. “Not to hear him tell it.”
“Oh, lord have mercy…” the engineer sighed.
Sulu started the lift moving again, and when it opened on the Bridge, the captain headed to the con, Del making the left that would take him to the Engineering Station – where Dylan Paine already sat. The ensign stood, smiling at him.
“All systems at norm, sir,” he said crisply, his blue eyes twinkling. Then he leaned in and whispered, “and I told Dr. Rendell it was most definitely consensual.” And he grinned again.
Del grunted and took the seat Dylan had vacated. When the young man kept standing over him, he glanced up. “Anyt’ing else, Ensign?”
“Only that I’ll see you in Engineering after your shift here,” Dylan said. His hand reached up to Del’s hair, and the Cajun scowled. From the almost inaudible snickers coming from Helm and Navigation, he knew he and the ensign were being discreetly observed.
“Not on th’ Bridge, boy,” he hissed.
Dylan dropped his hand with a smile. “Oh, of course. Forgive me, sir.”
“Scoot.”
Del turned to his board, shuddering inwardly at the fond rush that came from the young man as he turned and left the Bridge.
“Show’s over, people,” Sulu said, and there was an appreciative ripple of laughter. If Del hadn’t known Sulu was of ‘the best defense’ school of thought, he might have had a thing or two to say to his captain in private.
He debated not showing up in Engineering, but when Rivka Mazar relieved him on the Bridge, she also commented that she hoped his new infatuation wouldn’t lead to interruptions in Ensign Paine’s education. Del had scowled, assuring her that, no, ma’am it most certainly would not, and to make sure it didn’t, stopped by his cabin for a hit a sapphire before heading to his appointment with Dylan. It dulled the edges of his emotional turmoil enough so that he was able to react to the young man with civility, and even a pained grin – the irony not being lost on him. When Dylan responded with, of course, a smile and the reaching toward his hair that was becoming annoyingly automatic, Del held his hand up.
“None o’ that, boy,” he said. “We got work to do..”
“Sorry,” Dylan replied easily. “It’s just so – touchable.”
“Maybe I cut it, then,” the engineer muttered, knowing that he wouldn’t. It was his silent tribute to Pelori MacEntyre’s sacrifice.
“Oh, don’t do that, sir,” the ensign returned. “It softens your face.” He smiled. “Not that you need it…”
“It only my personality that do, non?”
Dylan chuckled. “You said it, Del, I didn’t.”
Del frowned, but didn’t continue the conversation. They got to work on exploring more engine modifications, this time concentrating on shuttlecraft and other similar small vehicles rather than needles. Lost in the flow of mechanics, the dulling blue in his veins, the time passed quickly. When the Third Watch officers came into the section, Del finally rose from the prototype they’d been working with.
“Ready for a break?” Dylan asked, wiping his hands on the cleaning towel.
“I ready fo’ bed,” Del returned, suddenly realizing how tired he was.
“That’s fine with me, Del,” the ensign murmured. His hand reached for Del’s hair, the fingertips brushing the engineer’s temple.
The bolt of questing hunger pushed the last vestiges of the sapphire out of Del’s brain. All his irritation at the young man came flooding back. “Did I say wit’ you?” he growled.
“You didn’t say without me,” Dylan retorted, though his voice was sensually teasing.
“You not bruised ‘nough, that it?” was the snarling response.
“If that’s what you want.”
Del couldn’t help himself. He looked into the damnably blue eyes. The peace and acquiescence he saw there, rather than filling him with answering calm, only infuriated him. It was like his empathy had become a funhouse mirror, not simply reflecting but distorting all he received, sending it back as some twisted, reversed image. He found himself pulling the ensign close to him, his voice a hoarse growl.
“If this my ship, I do you right here.”
Dylan shivered. “Oh, please,” he murmured.
Del fought off the sudden urgency, holding himself under strict control while they replaced the tools. He told the young man to follow him with only a backward glance as he left Engineering. When they got to his cabin and the door had hissed closed behind Dylan, he shoved the boy against it, crushing his lips with brutal insistence.
Dylan responded immediately, pulling at his tunic, his hands slipping under it to caress Del’s back. When the Cajun’s fingers grasped Dylan’s shirt, he whispered, “Let’s not ruin another uniform, okay?” and deftly moved to pull his tunic up and over his head. Del’s eyes were as black as the night as he watched Paine undress, his breath coming in short, urgent pants. Once the ensign was naked, he grinned at the still clothed engineer.
“How about you, too, this time?” he suggested, and again lifted the hem of Del’s shirt, pulling it up. Del tore it off, and before he could make a move to unfasten his pants, Dylan was on his knees, doing just that.
“Mere de duin, God Almighty, sweet Lord have mercy….” Del moaned, and grasped Dylan’s head, forcing it to the task it was, in that position, perfectly suited for. He caught the fleeting impression that this was exactly what the ensign had planned, but his suspicion of the word disappeared with the warm, wet lips and tongue and mouth that surrounded him.
Del took the boy twice more, once on the deck and finally back on his bunk. Then he sat up on the side of it, downing mouthful after mouthful of bourbon, washing down another two hits of sapphire. He felt Dylan’s hand moving softly up his spine.
“You really need to numb yourself like that?” the quiet voice asked.
“Fuck yes,” Del growled.
“Can’t you get what you’re feeling out with me?”
“If I could, would I be drinkin’?”
The young man sighed. “Maybe I’m not doing enough,” he murmured. He sat up, his arms coming around Del’s shoulders. “It’s too late for tonight,” he said, nuzzling through the hair at the back of Del’s neck, “but maybe tomorrow you can tell me what you need and I can…”
“What I need?” Del nearly roared, turning and breaking out of Dylan’s warm embrace. “What I need, boy, is not’ing you can give! You t’ink your cute, tight li’l ass an’ your hungry li’l mouth can ease what inside me? You t’ink fuckin’ you ‘nough t’ erase what I lost?”
The blue eyes lowered. “No. I just want to help however much I can,” he said.
“Why?! What I ever do t’…”
“It’s not what you’ve done, Del,” Dylan broke in, and his gaze rose to stare directly into the anguished, black eyes. “It’s who you are.”
“Th’ greatest damn Maker th’ Clave ever…” Del began with a disdainful snort.
“No,” the ensign said simply. “The greatest Human telepath and empath Terra’s ever seen.”
It should’ve brought him up short, Del knew. It should’ve made him wonder what the boy was up to. It should have aroused all the suspicions about the research and experiments with xeno and amyneurophene. Instead, it nearly blinded him with renewed hunger, and he was on and inside Dylan’s willing surrender before he even knew what he was doing.
The message light on his comm terminal was blinking when his alarm woke him. Bleary-eyed and still heavy from the sapphire, he checked the chronometer. He barely had enough time for a shower before reporting for duty, but he hit the button that would replay the message, hoping for some miracle, like the captain calling him to tell him to stay in bed.
”I know you only got a couple hours of sleep,” Dylan Paine’s voice said, “but if you could, don’t medicate yourself today. There’s something I want to try after our work in Engineering this evening.” There was a pause, then a slight chuckle. “And in case you’re too wasted to tell, this is the petit chiot.”
Del groaned, erased the message, and stumbled to the shower. After getting dressed, he damned the puppy, took a drink and swallowed a bright blue capsule.
The day dragged on forever. Del did his best to concentrate on his work, but the puppy’s cryptic message wouldn’t leave him in peace, nor would the memories of the night before that seemed distorted and incoherent. His Bridge duty, though uneventful, was marred by the disappointed look he’d gotten from Dylan when he’d taken over the Engineering Station, as though the boy could tell he’d had one drink and one hit of sapphire hours before. It made Del’s mood more foul, and he showed up for their tutoring session intending to tell the ensign he was exhausted and was going to his cabin to get some rest.
Dylan stared at him, the blue-eyed gaze, instead of being mournful, simply sympathetic. “I’ll come with you,” he murmured. “You look like you could use a good back rub.”
“I not want…” Del began, and when Dylan smiled at him, he was too tired to argue. “Fuck it then,” he muttered, and let the young man follow him to his quarters.
Once inside, Dylan pushed the sleeves of his tunic up to his forearms. “Take off your shirt, sit on the bed,” he said. “I’ll kneel behind you.”
Del complied, trying to keep his emotions from leaking, and trying not to reach for a bottle of bourbon or the vial above his bed, though he couldn’t’ve said why. Dylan’s hands were warm and strong on his shoulders and the tight muscles at the back of his neck, working with smooth precision at the knotted cords. For once, he wasn’t talking, though he did keep kissing the top of Del’s head as he massaged the tension away. It was soothing, as much as Del hadn’t wanted it to be, and he found himself leaning back against Dylan’s body, actually dozing as the relaxation seeped into his mind.
“There, isn’t that better?” the ensign whispered as he moved, easing Del’s body onto the bed. Del mumbled an wordless affirmative. He felt Dylan removing his boots and the rest of his uniform, knew from the rustling sounds that the young man was also undressing, but didn’t bother opening his eyes to confirm it. He was sprawled crosswise on the bed, and soon Dylan was on top of him, straddling his hips.
“Just keep relaxing, Del,” Dylan said softly. “Open your shields – don’t be afraid,” he added as Del began tensing beneath him. “Just let me draw the pain out of you, let it flow into me. I promise you, I won’t break.” Del could hear the smile in his voice.
What kinda gift you got, petit chiot? he thought lazily.
“Heightened intuition,” came the grinning reply. “Don’t worry about it. Just relax and let it happen.”
Let what happen?
There was no answer, just the feel of Dylan’s hands on him, caressing and stroking with silent determination. Slowly the arousal came, but it was again at odds with the image of Dylan’s blue eyes in Del’s thoughts. They were like the sea, deep and calm and fathomless, yet the passion that was building in him was that of the nights before; angry and savage and tempestuous, like a storm of fury beneath the placid blue. The throbbing in his head returned, the grief and rage of too many regrets and too many losses. His erection rose, full and urgent, need driven by pain and despair. He reached up, grabbing Dylan’s head, pulling the boy into a harsh kiss. Dylan responded with all the utter acceptance of the past two nights. Within moments, Del had thrown the boy onto his back, pushing his legs to his chest, impaling him with fierce brutality, just as he had before. The ensign responded, eager and breathless, the adoration flowing to Del’s mind as deep and peaceful as the blue of Dylan’s eyes. But again, none of it touched the engineer, his empathy again reflecting incongruous ferocity and hedonism. He found himself deliberately marking the young body, adding to the bruises and scratches that were already abundant on the fair skin, reveling in the obdurate power he seemed to be able to wield over the boy simply by existing. It wasn’t the sweet, terrible, all-consuming thrill that he knew could overwhelm Sulu – it sent only more desperation and more grief through him, but he couldn’t stop it. He screamed all his agony into the blue depths, his anguish bleeding out into the calm pool, staining it the color of the bruises on Dylan’s flesh. When climax took him he collapsed, falling into the deep where there was no numbness and no surcease, only hollow, empty silence.
“That what you wanted t’ try, boy?” Del snarled. He was lying on his back, Dylan sitting next to his head, his fingers playing softly through Del’s hair.
“How do you feel?” the ensign asked, rather than answering his question.
“Like shit. You?”
Dylan laughed . “Pretty much the same. But you’re not numbed up and you’re functioning.” He leaned down, kissing Del’s cheek. “So I’d say that’s an improvement.”
“Yeah? Fo’ who?”
The young man shrugged. “Short term versus long term,” he said, then rose, climbing off the bed. “Get some sleep, Del.”
“You not stayin’?” Del said, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“You won’t rest with someone else here,” Dylan answered, and grinned. “Especially not me.”
“What you want from me, Dylan?”
“For tonight, that you sleep unmedicated,” was the reply. Del watched as the ensign dressed, then knelt over him, giving him a soft, sweet, completely non-sexual kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”
“Shee-it…”
“Sleep, Del.”
To the engineer’s utter surprise, he did.
The days formed a pattern – wake, bourbon and sapphire, shower, duty, Dylan’s disappointment on the Bridge, tutoring, feral sex, sleep – sometimes medicated, but increasingly, not. Del’s weekly workouts with Sulu included increasing concern on the part of the captain regarding his ‘dangerous flirtation’ with The Paine. But when his old friend tried to verbalize just why it was dangerous, words seemed to fail him. Sulu would only repeat “Monitor yourself, Del,” his “as long as it doesn’t interfere with my ship” giving way to “I’m not sure this is good for either of you.” But still, he couldn’t say why. Del had had a discreet conversation with Dr. Rendell, telling her honestly he was curious about Dylan’s gifts, but even a liberal application of Southern charm failed to move the Haven to a discussion of the young Human’s medical file. Even a semi-emergency call to Jeremy Paget only elicited a grunt of consternation and a vague, “I’ll see what I can come up with, N. C.”
And Dylan Paine’s eyes remained way too blue.
Del hadn’t yet played or sang for the crew of the Drake, but Sulu and Tara finally convinced him he should, with all the usual arguments of ships needing good recreation. He did a little digging, and discovered that the pretty Life Sciences officer, Ensign Beth Arista, played a mean saxophone. Yeoman Zoe Elif was a pianist, the L’chal’dan Helmsman, Zel, a drummer, and Del started organizing The Second Coming of The Cataclysmic Nondenominational Band for its musical debut. Dylan graciously accepted it cutting into his tutoring time, and showed up in the rec room designated as the practice area, carrying an old-fashioned bass guitar.
“You not tell me you play,” Del said to him as the young man opened the case and began plugging in his amplifier.
“When do they get a chance to talk?” Yeoman Elif giggled.
“Shhh!” Ensign Arista hissed.
Dylan shrugged. “It never came up,” he replied, which prompted more smothered giggles and another attempt to hush them.
“You findin’ somet’ing ‘specially funny, Yeoman?” Del growled as he turned to her.
“Yes, sir, I am, sir,” she returned, with the fearlessness common to every yeoman Del had ever met.
“You care to share, cher?” he asked, aware of the impact the homonymic words would have. As expected, the yeoman blushed.
“It was the obvious double entendre, sir,” she answered.
“An’ what obvious ‘bout it, darlin’?”
He waited, watching and feeling the young woman struggle with how to say, ‘he said came up’ without sounding like a twelve-year old. He let his eyes bore into her, catching the shake of Zel’s head and Beth’s discomfort from the corner of his eye.
“Well… it was just…. I mean, everyone knows about you two and….”
“What ever’one know, sugar?” the engineer interrupted with a glittering smile.
“That you – I mean you and Ensign Paine…” Her flush was deepening.
“That we what, petit?” Del moved closer to her. Dylan took a step forward, but Del held up a hand. “Non, Dylan, let th’ yeoman say what she got on her mind.”
“Del, this is cruel,” Dylan whispered.
“Cruel?” Del repeated without looking at the young man. “Cher,” he continued to Zoe Elif, “you t’ink I cruel?”
“N – no, sir.” She was beginning to get more than flustered, and Del felt old wounds seeping their poison into his veins. Y’all t’ink I a foul-tempered sombitch? I show y’all a foul-tempered sombitch!
He stepped closer to her, pushing with his empathy.
“Th’ ‘comin’ up’ you snickerin’ at – you t’ink it be fists or punches, or maybe some kinda weaponry?” he murmured at her, but to Dylan. “Or you jus’ t’ink it be cruel t’ have me comin’ up at all?”
The yeoman’s flush had changed from one of embarrassment to one of desire. She mutely shook her head and he lifted her chin with his forefinger, bending his head down to hers. When her eyes closed, he glanced at Dylan – but all that was in the blue, blue eyes was, Give it to me, not to her.
Del’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing at the ensign, and he kissed Zoe Elif with all the passion he was capable of. She melted in his embrace. His urgency growing by the second, he stayed in control long enough to be aware of Dylan herding Beth Arista and Zel out of the rec room before falling into the storm of gluttony and hedonism.
How can you let him humiliate you like that?
You don’t understand, Beth. It’s what he needs to do.
No one needs to treat their lover like that.
He does. Maybe not before and maybe not always, but now… believe me, Zel, now – he does.
The conversation his telepathy hadn’t been able to help overhearing echoed in Del’s mind as he lay on his bunk, hours later. He hadn’t hurt the yeoman, the sexual contact being passionately brief. Afterwards he’d fled to his cabin and his bottle and his vial, trying desperately to figure out what was happening to him. He hadn’t been this callous, this – cruel – since his days at the Clave. How the petit chiot thought this was good in the long term was something that was completely beyond his understanding. His pain wasn’t lessening, his memories just as raw and angry. He didn’t feel better after fucking Dylan Paine, though he had to admit the brutality didn’t fill him with the kind of guilt such things usually did. What was the ensign’s gift, what was it doing to him? Why was Dylan doing it? And most importantly, how could Del get him to stop?
When his door chime sounded, he groaned, sure The Paine would simply walk in if he didn’t answer, so he called “Come” without getting up from his bed.
“Del, what the hell are you doing?” Sulu’s voice said, sounding more worried than furious.
Shee-it! “Who rat me out?” he muttered.
“And what possible difference does that make?” Sulu came into his line of sight. “Look, I know what you’ve been through. I’ve tried to be patient and understanding. I’ve tried to give you the space to work this out on your own terms. But I’m not about to let you turn my crew into your own private hunting ground.” He paused. “And yes, I know what I just said,” he added before Del could either snarl a protest of the word or throw some insightful invective back at him. It had the intended effect, and Del’s arm rose wearily to cover his eyes.
“I know,” he rasped. “Sulu, I not know what wrong wit’ me. My control fo’ shit.”
“Haven’t I been telling you to monitor yourself?” Sulu returned.
“What th’ hell I s’posed to be monitorin’, mon ami?” the engineer managed. “My shields as good as they gonna get, I try t’ keep t’ myself – till you insist on me playin’ fo’ th’ crew…”
“Del…” Sulu crouched at the side of the bed. “I thought Dylan was an outlet for you.” Both the gentle tone of his voice and the fact that he hadn’t used his favorite nom de plume for the ensign conveyed how deeply concerned he was.
“I not know what th’ hell Dylan is,” Del mumbled.
“You know I wouldn’t have any problem with mutually consenting promiscuity,” the captain went on. “But when you start projecting what you want to get what you want…” Sulu shuddered. “We both know where that leads, Cajun.”
Del’s face twisted in shamed anguish. “Oui, je sais. Je suis désolé,” he whispered, and without thinking, crossed himself.
“I’ve never seen you do that before,” Sulu commented.
“That ‘cause I usually th’ devil,” Del said, swallowing. He opened his eyes. “Kam, I not know what t’ do.”
Their gazes locked, the emotions passing between them strong and despairing and suddenly, fervently passionate. The silent communion lasted only seconds, then Sulu stood, taking several awkward steps backward.
“Not that,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“Mere de duin…” Del breathed, then he sat up, grasping for the vial above his head.
“Del, for gods’ sake…” Sulu began, reaching for the engineer’s wrist. At the touch, everything around them froze, the memories of wild, eroticism pulsing through them both, threatening and compelling.
Take me, use me… begged breathlessly, answered by, I need, I want… and neither knew which came from who, or who pulled the other into a fervent embrace.
“Captain, Captain!”
The sound was the warning screech of one hawk to another, and the Divine Wind reacted, pulling up and out of its suicidal dive. Sulu took a breath, slammed the shojis as tightly closed as he could manage, and pulled away from Del’s arms. The back of his hand came to his mouth, wiping away the taste of bourbon and dark blue. Del’s eyes were blacker than black, and Dylan Paine was pulling on his captain’s arm.
“Get out, sir, please, just get out! Let me do what I have to!”
“What the hell are you doing?” Sulu demanded, but the ensign pushed him toward the cabin door.
“What I have to, what he needs someone to do,” Paine answered. “Please, Captain, please before I can’t stop him!”
Del growled and Sulu felt every molecule in his body yearning toward the engineer.
She fo’give you, whispered obdurately in his mind. You know she fo’give you.
“Captain, GET OUT!” Dylan cried, and pushed him through the door. Sulu heard it locking in front of him, and fell back against the bulkhead, shudderingly terrified.
“Aema have mercy,” he found himself whispering. “Buddha, God, Aema have mercy!”
The Divine Wind rattled its precarious cage, and Sulu stumbled down the corridor, nearly blind with fear and horror – and need. He reached the lift at the end of the hallway and once inside it, fell against its curving wall. He ordered the car to halt, and stayed there until the shaking stopped. Then he pulled himself together, and directed the lift to Sickbay.
“Dylan Paine’s medical file, Lian,” Sulu demanded as he strode into Sickbay. The Haven doctor glanced up from her desk.
“I was wondering when you’d ask,” she replied, and handed the captain a statboard. Sulu scowled at her.
“You are allowed to bring to my attention things you think I need to be aware of, you know.”
“Am I?” Lian said with a bright smile. “I tried that with VonHels, once. He not only ignored me, he put a reprimand in my file for unauthorized initiative.”
“And I come from Jim Kirk’s ship, where Dr. McCoy is a fixture on the Bridge, giving unsolicited advice left, right and center,” Sulu returned absently as he paged through the file.
“Did he do that with Captain Spock, too?” Lian asked.
“Spock, too…” Sulu began, then paused. “This says the records for the year prior to Paine’s acceptance into Starfleet Academy are classified,” he said, tapping the board.
Rendell’s smile got more brittle. “I noticed. Intriguing, isn’t it?”
“How can medical records be kept from the officer who has to see to his medical needs? How can it be ‘classified’ from his captain?”
“My guess would be ‘need to know,’ Sulu.”
The captain frowned. “Intelligence,” he muttered. He handed back the statboard. “Lian, do me a favor. Send a request to the Enterprise for Jade Han and Daffy Gollub’s analysis of projected residual remains of xeno and amyneurophenes in Human test subjects.”
Rendell’s eyes widened. “Oh, please, Captain, tell me you’re shittin’ me.”
“I wish I was, Lian.” Sulu shivered, hearing the mocking laughter from inside his own head.
Dylan raced from the door back to Del’s bed. The engineer was coming up off it, furious at having been denied his prey and the young man tore off his clothing, prepared once again to be the sacrifice. He threw himself into Del’s arms, kissing him fervently, his hand reaching up to the pivotal contact point. The mental switch was turned and he was thrown to the deck, the savage sexuality that would restore temporary equilibrium to Del’s compromised mind consuming them both.
For one terrible moment, Del was certain the body lying beneath him on the deck of his cabin was Sulu. The last thing he remembered was being drawn to Kam with a passion he hadn’t felt since – since Li’l Mac.
Non, came the immediate, anguished rejection, since Raw-eth need me when Captain Bastard turn from her. He categorically refused to sully Pelori’s memory with anything even vaguely resembling emotional desperation. They weren’t desperate, they had been truly in love.
He pushed the thoughts away, a part of him almost relishing presenting himself to Jilla Majiir. He’d even hand her the phaser himself. Mere, Pelori, y’all keep supper waitin’, I be home soon…
Then a hand came up into his hair and he knew it wasn’t Sulu.
“It’s all right, Del,” Dylan whispered. “You’re fine, the captain’s fine.”
Del groaned, climbing off the young body, sitting back on his haunches. “What th’ hell you doin’ t’ me, boy?” he demanded.
Dylan too, rose, sitting cross-legged in front of him. “What you need, what has to be…” he began.
“An’ how th’ fuck you know what I need?”
“Heightened intuition…” the ensign began.
“Fuck that, what kinda gift they coverin’ up fo’ you?” Del spat.
“What does it matter? You need what I can give you. And it IS a gift, Del. There’s no strings attached, I’m not looking for reward or payment…”
“’Cept that li’l bitty ol’ enhancement t’ your Clave rep,” Del snarled.
Dylan grinned. “That’s just a fortuitous side-benefit.”
“You mighta notice, boy, I not smilin’.”
The ensign sighed as he again reached for Del’s hair. “I know, but it’s not like you’re not bisexual or…”
Del grasped his wrist. “An’ why fo’ you keep doin’ that? It more’an my hair so damn touchable.”
“It is,” Dylan acknowledged simply.
When he didn’t say anything more, Del snapped, “Well?!”
“Well, that’s an appropriate word,” the young man murmured with a soft grin.
“What th’ fuck you talkin’ ‘bout…!”
“Your hair is a well of – potential,” Dylan said. “Not exactly like Antari hair, but it’s a pathway to your abilities. When I touch it, I can tell what you need.”
“You fuckin’ takin’ my damned psychic temperature?” Del snorted.
Dylan shrugged. “Sort of.”
The sarcasm seethed out from the Cajun in bitter incredulity. “So now you a ‘pathic doctor, non? You gonna fix all my problems wit’ doses o’ your perfect, patented Paine panacea. You gonna ease my headaches an’ mend my broken heart an’ set my poor, devastated soul free t’ find bliss an’ purpose. You gonna feed my hungry body wit’ some sorta sweet, savory, savage Dylan delight an’ put my ruined life back on track. Anyt’ing else, petit chiot? I miss some facet o’ your wondrous healin’ ability?”
“I’m not a healer, Del,” Dylan answered quietly. “I’m a stop-gap. I’m a weather gauge. I’m supposed to tell which way your personal wind is blowing….”
“An push it th’ direction someone want it t’ go,” Del broke in harshly.
Dylan shrugged. “That, too, though it’s not the way ‘someone’ wants it to go, just the way that will keep you from imploding…” he grinned faintly. “… or exploding.”
“An’ who give you this assignment,” Del demanded. “Who been keepin’ tabs on me?”
Dylan blinked. “You really don’t know?”
“If I fuckin’ knew, would I be fuckin’ askin you?!” Del exploded – again, not missing the irony of his reaction.
For the first time in their association, Dylan seemed uncertain. “I might not be at liberty to…” he began.
Del shot up from the deck, crossing the space to his bourbon and sapphire in three long strides. “Then you jus’ get the fuck out an’ stay out,” he spat. “I not need none o’ Mad Anthony’s fuckin’ Secret Spies messin’ up my life any more than they already done messed it up!”
“I’m not associated with the Multicultural Authority for Surveillance and Security,” Dylan said, and he, too, rose, and moved to stand next to Del, trying to take the bottle from his hand. “But I can’t tell you anything more. At least, not right now.”
“Lemme guess,” Del sneered. “You gotta consult wit’ your superiors.”
Dylan pulled at the bottle. “Something like that. Del, I’d tell you if I could.”
“But it ‘need t’ know,’ right?” Del snarled, pulling back. “An' they damn test subject not ‘need t’ know’ shit, non?”
“Del, I’m only an ensign, and you’re not exactly a test…”
With sudden ferocity, Del pulled the boy to him. He wrapped his arms around him – then yanked the bottle of bourbon out of the younger man’s hand, putting it to his lips and downing a good portion of it before the puppy could react. When Dylan did grab at the bottle, pulling it from his mouth, he smiled grimly.
“That mess up your damn thermometer, don’t it?” he taunted. He tugged back on the bottle engaging Dylan’s attention, then reached with his other hand to his vial, likewise tipping capsules into his mouth, not even bothering to count them as they passed his lips.
For a moment, he could feel white-hot anger flaring from the boy, then it faded to hopeless determination.
Dylan sighed and let go of him. “Okay, you’re right, we’re done for tonight,” he murmured. “You’ll pass out anyway. We’ll talk tomorrow, Del, and I’ll see what I can tell you.”
“Y’know, if you stop tryin’ t’ baby-sit me, you not have t’ tell me no fuckin’ t’ing at all,” Del pointed out grinning smugly.
“But if I stop trying to baby-sit you, you might not make it to next week,” Dylan returned sadly. He picked up his clothes, putting them on, then headed for the cabin door. “Sleep, Del,” he said, and was gone.
Del threw the bottle at the closing door.