The Gift

       Spock always found returning home an uncomfortable experience. He preferred to be on his ship, where he was Captain and Master and not Sarek’s half-breed. If he could not be on board the Le-Matya, he found peace in the austere surroundings of the Surakian retreat on Caris 7. But as Sarek’s heir, he was required to spend several weeks a year on Vulcan attending to clan duties. He could not delegate them, so he must return. He never felt comfortable in his Father’s house but he performed this duty as faithfully and flawlessly as every other. So, two months after his capture of the ship Sulu had been on, Spock found that he must return to Shi Kaar.
       As good a time as any to rid yourself of him.
       The passionless voice in his head startled him.
       Was this not your intent, to prove Surak’s Way within yourself? And have you not done so? Even your officers are convinced you care nothing for the Human. Do they believe a lie, Sarek’s son?
       No, he replied coldly. They do not.
       Then complete your plan. Sell him. To a brothel, if you still enjoy the use of his body. But rid yourself of him you must. Or accept that emotion still rules you.

       Sulu was happy with the thought of being allowed off the Le-Matya, but he was not so pleased when Spock fastened a leash to the collar to his throat. He had worn it ever since the first night Spock had taken him to the common rooms. Spock had never removed it, and the Human had never asked him to.
       Sulu glared at him for an instant before lowering his eyes again. “What’s this for? Do you expect me to run away on Vulcan?”
       Spock looped the end of the leash around his wrist, and explained patiently. “Unbranded slaves are always collared. It is fashionable to lead a favorite bed slave in such a manner. By conforming to this custom I increase your value.” He saw the almost proud acceptance of that fact cross the so-open features, then tugged on the leash. “Come.” Sulu obediently followed.
       They beamed down from the Le-Matya directly to the Imperial Palace, as was required of a commander of Spock’s rank upon returning to Vulcan. He left Sulu kneeling in an antechamber, the leash looped around a tethering ring. He had to wait for his audience with the Emperor, and the recital of his lineage consumed more time. He gave the pertinent details of his ship’s battles and successes, as well as the important information gotten from espionage and interrogation. The Emperor was particularly interested in news of Human resistance – and Spock was disappointed to have to tell his Prince that they were as intransigent as ever. Finally, Spock paid the Le-Matya’s tithe and was dismissed.
       He found Sulu surrounded by a trio of admiring young nobles who were stroking his skin and hair. One knelt next to him, weighing and squeezing Sulu’s testicles, stroking the hardened penis, laughingly testing the often-asserted truth regarding Human responsiveness. Another stood close to him, grasping his hair, rubbing an obvious erection against the Human’s face. The third held a short whip in his hands, and Spock noticed that there were welts rising on Sulu’s chest, back and thighs. Sulu’s eyes were closed, his lips were tightly set but he was offering no resistance to the inspection. As he came closer, Spock saw Sulu wince as a hand reached out to harshly pinch a nipple, the sharp Vulcan fingernail drawing blood. Spock was well aware that his only emotion should be satisfaction at seeing valuable property so admired – yet all he felt was anger at the abuse. He brushed the young man’s hand aside, and if the action was more harsh than was strictly necessary, what of it? He was their superior. “If you will excuse me, warriors,” he said, allowing a hint of contempt to enter his voice. They stepped back, the one rising from his knees with a smile.
       “A fine slave, my Lord,” he said, and leered. “Fine indeed.”
       “I note he wears no brand,” the second remarked. “Is he for sale?”
       “Or rent?” the third added to the laughter of all three.
       “Has the Emperor’s Hall become a fit place for marketplace conversations while I have been at battle?” Spock asked coolly. The three flushed and lowered their eyes, murmuring apologies. Without another word, Spock took the leash and led Sulu away.
       Once outside, he stopped to wipe away the small drop of red blood. Sulu murmured a quiet “thank you,” and his dark eyes gazed warmly into Spock’s. Spock flushed.
       “You must not look at me in such a fashion, slave,” he said, and realized he was expecting an argument when he didn’t get one.
       “Yes, master,” Sulu replied in the same, soft tone, and humbly bent his head. Spock found, to his consternation, that the acceptance annoyed him, though why, he could not say.
       His annoyance was not calmed by the time they reached his own gate. The guard saluted him and moved aside. Spock hesitated a moment, schooling his features to remain impassive, and stepped into the garden.
       She was there, waiting as always. It did not matter that he never announced his arrival. It did not matter that he had ordered her never to come near him. Whenever he came home she was there at the gate; a Human slave of early middle age, still slender and beautiful, face serene, blue eyes searching him for any sign of weakness. Spock ignored her, or tried; he could not help but give the briefest glance in passing. He walked on but felt pressure on the leash as Sulu stopped to stare at her.
       And what did the young fool think there was to see?
       Spock caught himself from pulling Sulu forward so hard that he would be knocked off his feet, but he snapped the leash harshly against the bronze flesh at his collarbone. His voice also snapped one word, “Human,” and he continued on. Sulu quickly followed.
       Sulu was silent until they entered Spock’s suite and Spock had removed the leash. He then asked the inevitable question. “Who was she?”
       Spock considered, though his heart was pounding in his chest. He had no reason to answer the question. Nor did he really have any cause not to answer. It was common knowledge, after all, and Sulu was bound to hear of it eventually. Finally he managed, “Her name is Amanda. For many years she has been my Father’s favorite.”
       Sulu’s expression became even more puzzled. “But why...?”
       Spock turned away as he saw the realization forming in Sulu’s eyes. “Do not speak of it,” he ordered sternly. Spock was surprised by the strong fingers that grasped his arm and swung him around, surprised enough not to aim a blow at the shocked face that stared into his.
       “You’re Human!”
       The breath caught in Spock’s throat. He could hardly croak out the answer. “No.”
       “She’s your mother. Your mother, not just another Human slave. Didn’t she give you any part of herself? How can you own – ”
       “Because I am Vulcan.” Spock pulled away from Sulu’s grasp, tore his eyes away from Sulu’s. He did not want to see their questioning disbelief, and worse, the compassion that was beginning to form in them. “Be silent. Remember what you are.”
       Sulu laughed. It was not mocking, not exactly. “I’m the only one in this room who does,” he told Spock.
       Spock whirled back to face him, ready to crush the impertinence from the presumptuous boy. But he could not. Sulu was looking at him with concern, not the pity he had expected, nor the hatred, nor the superiority of those who were self-confidently secure in their knowledge of themselves. For an instant, Spock hated him.
       Sulu stepped toward him, well aware of the danger Vulcan strength could pose, Spock knew, but ignoring it. He had a knack for assuming control of situations when least expected, an ability that, when manifested, left Spock vulnerable, almost dazed. “How did it happen?” Sulu asked gently as his fingers reached out to touch Spock’s cheek.
       Spock hesitated a moment, but could not keep the words from pouring out. “You know nothing of Vulcan,” he said in a bitter voice he barely recognized as his own. “My Father took a Human woman and made her a favorite. It should not have happened, should not have been possible, but she conceived a child. My Father then did the unforgivable; he allowed the child to live. Not only to live, but to be treated as more than a genetic curiosity. He gave a half-breed child place, position, education, and when he had passed the proper tests, he made that child his heir. He condemned me to a life of honor and duty and service to the Vulcan Empire.”
       “How can any man hate himself so much?” Sulu asked him in an incredulous whisper.
       Spock’s features twisted into a grimace. “Like everything else, it has taken a lifetime of trying,” he answered. He tried, but could not turn away from the compassionate, questioning eyes. “Perhaps,” he continued, “life would have been easier for me had I been reared as T’Pon, my Father’s wife, had wished. When I was five and my Father was away, she sent for the healer that does such things to have me castrated. She wanted a half-breed boy as her servant – revenge, I suppose, on my Father. Amanda would not allow me to be taken from her room and the servants and House warriors were afraid of my Father’s anger.” Spock damned himself, but still could not stop the words. “When my Father returned, he was furious. If T’Pon’s family had not been so prominent, he would have repudiated her. That was when he began my training to be his heir. He told me that I must forget that I was part Human, that I must be Vulcan. It was my duty to excel in all things that were Vulcan and prove to the Empire that I was worthy to be the head of a house. I did as he wished. How could I not? He owned me. It was only at his whim that I became what I am and not T’Pon’s eunuch. I am Vulcan, I can be nothing else. I hate that in me which comes from my mother. Because of her, I live and have always lived a fragile and precarious existence. Having Human blood is a very dangerous thing.” At the questioning tilt to Sulu’s head, Spock finished quietly. “Humans can be made slaves, Sulu.”
       Spock took a deep breath, and another. He could feel the stench of fear that rolled off him, leaving him as cold and terrified as the memories always did. He had had nightmares of fierce-eyed men with knives coming toward him through much of his childhood. After adopting the philosophy of Surak, he had been able to finally suppress and ignore the fears. He had never spoken of them to anyone, save his Final Confession. He never wanted to. He could hardly believe he had done it, and knew that Sulu was the only person he could have told.
       “You called me Sulu.” The soft murmur interrupted his private anguish.
       “What of it?” he asked brusquely. “It is your name, is it not?” Gentle arms came around him in a tender caress.
       “Yes, Spock,” Sulu replied. “Yes, it is.” Then, suddenly, the Human rose to his tiptoes and kissed Spock fully on the mouth.
       In that moment, Spock realized what he had done. He had told the Human the first day of his enslavement that he had a name no longer. Fear began to beat at him, the creeping dread that he had failed the great test he had set for himself. If he could think of this slave as a being, as a name...
       It is not too late, the disciplined voice in his mind said calmly. Prove yourself. Rid yourself of him
       And be again alone, fragile and precarious.
       The thought went unacknowledged.
       He closed his eyes, shook off the comforting hands, stepping away from the threatening embrace. “I require civilian clothing,” he managed. “My court clothes are kept in that cabinet.” He pointed, without looking toward the Human.
       “Yes, master,” Sulu replied and with sharp clarity Spock realized that, once again, Sulu had understood what he needed and could not say – and what he would not admit even to himself.
       A soft tap on the door interrupted Sulu’s task. After a glance at Spock, Sulu moved to answer it. Spock hurriedly shoved his emotions into order. He turned as his Father entered, unattended and in too much of a hurry for ritual greetings.
       “I have just come from a Council meeting,” he announced without preamble, totally ignoring Sulu’s presence. But then how was Sarek to know that Sulu had a talent for languages, and had been able to pick up far more Vulcan than was necessary for his place?
       Sulu went quickly to kneel by the bed, as he had been taught, inconspicuous but nearby in case any service was required. Spock felt a twinge of pride, and had to force himself to concentrate his attention on his Father. “Indeed?”
       Sarek took a seat, motioned for his son to do the same. “The Council has agreed to approach the Emperor about opening peace discussions with Earth.”
       Spock stiffened, unbelieving. No! The Emperor would never... Never admit that an enemy could be so dangerous. They had fought battle after battle. Vulcan ships had destroyed countless Human ones, had invaded and looted countless Human settlements. Each encounter left the Humans defeated – but never conquered. He himself had spent ten years in battle against the Terran/Andorian Alliance.
       “We have had to concentrate too much of the fleet’s power against the Humans,” Sarek continued. “We have been fighting them for sixty years and have been unable to complete their subjugation. They are the most tenacious race the Empire has ever encountered. And the cleverest. Now, since the trouble with the Romulan faction, the Emperor can no longer afford to spare enough warriors and ships to contain the Humans. We need time to subdue the Romulans, to rebuild, reorder the fleet.”
       Spock listened in stony silence. How could his Father speak such traitorous words? When Sarek was finished, he asked, “Why do you tell me this?’’
       Sarek’s eyes searched his face, no doubt looking for some weakness. He seemed to be about to make some emotional appeal and doubtless found nothing to appeal to, since his next words were matter-of-fact. “Three reasons. First; you are very influential among the fleet captains. Many will follow your lead. If the Emperor decides to sue for peace, we do not need a rebellion among the warriors. Second; it was the Surakians in Council who first stated that peace with the Humans was the only logical choice. It was they who suggested it as a means of reducing the Romulan threat. You should be kept informed of the moves of your own faction. Third; and most importantly, I have offered my services in the negotiations with the Humans. If they agree to talk with us, I wish you to be among the ambassadorial party as commander of the delegation’s ship.”
       Spock fought the urge to stand and pace. He also fought the urge to shout angrily at his Father that he wanted nothing to do with any of this nonsense. Instead he said quietly, “Thank you for the information, Father. I wish you to realize that I completely disagree with this course of action and will oppose it with every means in my power.”
       It was Sarek who stood. He sighed. “I had hoped you would not react this way. Perhaps I have trained you too well.”
       “That is for you to judge, Father.”
       Sarek turned without answering and his attention was caught by Sulu. He approached the Human and stroked the shining, shoulder length hair. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “My compliments on your excellent taste, Spock.”
       Spock thanked him, ignored the speculative look his Father gave him and rose to escort him to the door.

       He expected an argument from Sulu as soon as his Father left the room. Instead, the Human only rose to return to the task of preparing Spock’s court clothing.
       “You have nothing to say?” Spock asked contemptuously.
       “I know how you feel about Humans, master,” was Sulu’s enigmatic reply.
       Rather than further disturb his already troubled thoughts, Spock let the matter drop. He followed an ordered procedure; satisfying his sexual urges with Sulu’s too-willing body, commanding the Human to bathe him, dressing in his court finery, calling the House kitchens for food for his slave before leaving for the evening’s banquet. He saw and ignored the twinge of disappointment in Sulu’s eyes when it became clear he did not intend to bring his slave to court. He could not fathom why such a thing would be disappointing, but did not ask.
       At the banquet, his Father, too, seemed surprised that he was not attended by his ‘beautiful Human slave.’
       “I thought it crude to offer him at a state occasion,” Spock replied to his Father’s question.
       “Offer him?” Sarek seemed genuinely appalled.
       “My officers have found him most entertaining,” was his response.
       “Ah,” Sarek said. “You follow the code of camaraderie. I thought such concerns were not approved of by Surakians.”
       “And why should I not share such a beautiful slave with loyal officers?” Spock bristled.
       “Such beauty often inspires possessiveness, my son,” Sarek remarked.
       “Not in those of the Disciplines,” Spock returned haughtily.
       “Of course not. Forgive me,” Sarek deferred and the conversation ended.

       Spock did not linger once the banquet proper was completed. He excused himself, stating that he was still fatigued from his recent battles, and firmly ignored the laughter of those who had seen him arrive with his slave. He heard his Father’s voice explaining that any intimation that Spock would disregard his obligations to return to the Human beauty was not only inaccurate but might give offense to one ‘of the Disciplines,’ and left before he was subjected to more ridicule.
       Sulu knelt by the side of the bed, his head lowered, shivering. Spock realized he had left the windows in his room open. The cool air of the desert night had rapidly chilled the area. He discarded his heavy robes quickly, without demanding Sulu’s assistance, then went to his bed. As always, Sulu crawled in beside him. He pressed his cold body close to the Vulcan’s warmth.
       “Your mother was here,” he murmured.
       “Amanda?” Spock both corrected and questioned.
       “She asked if you treated me well. I told her you did.”
       Spock stiffened. Anger and humiliation and emotions he could not identify coursed through him, combining with his irritation at the conversation with his Father. “Do not speak to her again, slave,” he growled. “She is no concern of yours.” There was silence instead of the expected ‘yes, master.’ It went on for so long that Spock was almost ready to believe Sulu had fallen asleep.
       “You’ll have to give up every Human prisoner,” Sulu said.
       Spock turned toward him, startled. “What?”
       “Earth won’t make peace with you as long as you keep Human slaves.”
       Spock frowned. “You will forget what you overheard this afternoon,” he instructed. “You need not make plans for your future, slave; you will never be free. Go to sleep.”
       He heard the deep sigh, and then came the ‘yes, master.’ Sulu said no more. Whether he slept or not Spock did not know. He only knew that sleep eluded him.

       It is dangerous to delay. If even Sarek thinks...
       I care not what my sire thinks. I and I alone will decide if the test is finished.
       Rationalization. It is emotion that propels you, son of Sarek. If you were truly unconcerned, you would not be arguing with yourself. Get rid of him.
       Will that not prove to those who are watching that my sire’s comments still effect me?
       Let them think what they will. Which is more important, their opinions or to hold to the Disciplines?
       Emotion does not rule me...
       His emotion does. You care what a Human slave thinks, feels, believes. You took him to control those reactions. Acknowledge them, but conquer them. Get rid of him.
       I do not desire...
       Precisely. Do not allow your desires to decide your course. Get rid of him.
       He is beautiful, he understands...
       Is this not proof? He is dangerous to you, to the Disciplines, to your future. If the Emperor should believe that Warriors, too, think of Humans as more than chattel, it will only propel him towards this ridiculous course of ultimate surrender. Get rid of him.

       Spock’s first words to Sulu the next day were, “I am selling you.”
       The Human pivoted from making the bed to stare at him. “You’re doing what!” he shouted. There was anger growing in Sulu’s eyes, and as he watched it build, Spock realized that it was as much from indignation as it was from hurt disbelief. The attitude took him aback, and he stood in shocked silence as his slave stalked toward him. “What do you mean, you’re selling me?!”
       Spock felt his eyebrows flare in surprise. No one had ever spoken to him with such vehemence since he had become a Warrior. He swallowed and said evenly, “It is no longer convenient for me to keep you on the Le-Matya. I have decided to sell you to a brothel here so that I may still have your services when my presence is required on Vulcan.”
       Sulu struck him, an open-handed blow across his face. Oddly enough, it was the last thing Spock had expected the Human to do. He acted immediately to subdue his young slave, but it was purely on instinct. His thinking processes were quite numb. However, as he heard the words Sulu screamed at him, a flame of anger began in him.
       “Do you think I don’t know what you’re trying to do? Prove yourself a Surakian, of The Disciplines...” The Human’s voice dripped disdain.
       The anger grew.
       “They’re making you do this, aren’t they? You don’t want to! They can’t stand to see you content, fulfilled....” Anguish burned behind the almond eyes. “Spock, don’t you realize why you don’t have to beat obedience from me?”
       I do not want to know! screamed in Spock’s mind.
       “You know I’m not a whore, what I do, I do for you, you know it...”
       No, no I will not be weak, I will not be lured as my Father was lured!
       “It’s more than survival now, more than life and hope... I serve your officers for you, to help you... you’re a telepath, damn it, you know...”
       Jealous, possessive rage abruptly overwhelmed Spock’s being. You are mine...
       Danger! Get rid of him!
       “I love you!”
       The words shattered him, destroying his control in a conflagration of need and pain, desire and despair. Discipline left him, leaving only the snarling Vulcan warrior whose chattel was daring to challenge him.
       “You won’t make me a whore,” Sulu’s desperate voice pleaded. “Spock, you can’t...”
       “I won’t? I can’t?” Spock repeated with deadly softness though the fury in him was a reckless blaze. He grasped Sulu by the hair and shook him fiercely, unheeding of his gasp of pain. “You are an animal, property, and I will do with you whatever I choose. You dare to question me? You will be taught your place, Human!”

       In the main courtyard of the house, a man-high post with a cross beam attached at the top had stood for generations. Disobedient slaves were manacled there to be publicly whipped. Spock dragged Sulu to it, fastened the cuffs to his wrists and uncoiled the whip that always hung from the cross-piece. If the Human pleaded with him, he did not hear it. Anger was a holocaust of flame within him, tinting his vision with verdant fury. Gone was the calm voice of the Disciplines. All he knew was Vulcan rage, Vulcan dominance.
       The first stroke across Sulu’s back was forceful enough to send a spurt of blood spraying into Spock’s face. He ignored it and struck a second time. A third, a fourth – on and on he continued. He remembered the Human’s determined silence through all his officers had inflicted, and suddenly knew he had to hear his slave cry out. Only that sound, that proof that he was completely the Human’s master would quell his rage. He went on, ignoring logic, ignoring reason, beating with a ferocity he had never before expressed, until the scream that appeased his anger and pride was finally ripped from the young man’s throat.
       It echoed around the quiet courtyard. It echoed in Spock’s mind, triumphant and sating – then slowly altered. The sound twisted, changing until it became colored with an agony that was so much more than physical that it made Spock’s being reel. It carried all the grief and betrayal he had always expected yet had never seen in Sulu’s eyes. It reverberated with fear and humiliation, degradation and defeat. Nausea welled in him, shame and terror and grief, and he was filled with horror.
       My beloved, what have I done?!
       He dropped the whip, fighting the desperate need to gag and vomit. He hurriedly unfastened the chains, easing the now-unconscious form into his arms. He carried Sulu back to his room and called the healer. There was no reaction from the man other than a slight frown at the marring of Human beauty, a admonition to remember that Humans were far more fragile than Vulcans, and a query as to whether or not Lord Sarek’s son wanted the slave to receive painkillers. Spock replied quietly in the affirmative.
       When the healer was finished, Spock wandered out into the garden. He sat there in numb confusion until long after night had fallen.
       His mind raced, raged, warred openly with itself. The teachings of Surak, the passions of Vulcan, his own Human fears... nothing made sense. Except that he had lost his war not to feel, as it seemed inevitable that he must. He loved. Not only was he in love, but with a Human. He felt the shame he had always felt for his Father’s love of his mother. Why was it still ugly and demeaning when it happened to him? Yet there was the stark truth of it. As Amanda was to Sarek, so Sulu was to Sarek’s son. The Human was peace and sanity, his only solace. Sulu was, in truth, all he needed. How could he ever part with him? Why had he caused him so much agony? Because I wanted, needed to deny the truth when he told me that he loved me. I could not, dared not answer in kind. He will hate me now, how could he not? I broke his pride, I have destroyed him...
       There is yet hope, if you are but honorable with him.
       What hope?
       Honesty.
       How could he forgive...
       Where there is life, there is hope. Do you not owe him that much?
       Spock had no answers, but he knew he could wait no longer. He pulled himself out of the near-trance state, gave a bone-shivering sigh, and went to see what could be done about the damage he had inflicted.
       The healer had done his work well. Sulu was weak but not in pain. A layer of synth-flesh was stretched over the raw welts, covering and cushioning them from any touch. The Human should have been asleep but his eyes were open, staring dully at nothing.
       Spock took a seat next to the bed. He did not expect Sulu to look at him and was not disappointed. He spoke slowly and in Anglo-Terran.
       “I am sorry. A madness took me, but it has passed. I did not intend...” No, he would not speak that lie. “I am deeply sorry for what I have done.” Sulu turned his head to stare through him, and he continued. “I am –“ he paused, the words catching in his throat, “ – I care...” He tried Vulcan. “Kra’as n’ven. I knew it when I first saw you, but the Disciplines of Surak’s Way forbid such emotion. I have tried to deny it, harder than I have ever done before, and I could not stop it.” He swallowed. “All I have done to you was in a vain attempt to hide that truth. I know now that I masked it only from myself, for you have known it, you have seen it. I played a game with myself, testing my own inadequacies, and in doing so, I have brought harm upon you. I have degraded you, injured you. I will do what I can to make amends between us.”
       The unexpected words – though why they should have been unexpected Spock could not fathom – came from Sulu in a weak whisper. “Free me.”
       And the only answer he could give was hoarse and difficult for him to say. “No.”
       Sulu did not ask why, but his dark eyes continued to stare, unseeing.
       “It would not be safe,” Spock tried to explain. “In the Empire, Humans are chattel. That is a fact that cannot be changed. Were I to declare you free, another would claim you. As long as you belong to me I can protect you. Better than I have up till now,” he added quickly, though there was no rebuke in the Human’s vacant eyes. “I am Vulcan, I cannot be other,” he went on,” trying desperately to put sincerely into his voice, “yet I will do what I can to make your life pleasant.” Spock paused, fighting against his emotion, a silent plea filling his mind and being. Believe me!
       Sulu’s eyes closed in anguish and Spock wanted to take him into his arms, to comfort him, but he did not move. Sulu would not want his touch, not yet. Time might not heal or change how Sulu felt about him now, but all Spock could do was wait – and hope. “Sleep,” he told him and went to find other quarters for himself.

       He could not rest and was later grateful that he decided to return in the middle of the night to check on the injured man.
       Sulu was not in the bed when Spock entered the room. Worried, suddenly alert to danger, Spock made a quick search of his rooms. When he did not find Sulu he went into the garden to search. It was the cat that led him to where the Human lay. He heard it making an insistent sound and on instinct followed the noise to its source. The cat was standing, fur spiked and hissing angrily, over a blood soaked lump that was half hidden by a bush.
       Spock breathed Sulu’s name and ran to him. He knelt, and gathered the Human into his arms. He found the knife slashes on the wrists and quickly tore strips from his night robe to bind the deep wounds. He once again carried Sulu back to his rooms and called the healer for the second time that day.

       “What happened to him?” Spock’s question to the healer was in a dazed voice. “Who would dare damage him this way? He is mine, was in my rooms, in my Father’s house...”
       The healer raised a puzzled eyebrow. “No one has damaged him, my Lord,” he said.
       “But... how...?”
       “These wounds were self-inflicted, Lord Spock.”
       The shock must have registered plainly on his face, for the healer took a deep breath. “It is not unheard of among Humans. Some will attempt to end their lives rather than continue in a situation they find unbearable.”
       Spock blinked in disbelief. “I was taught that Humans... “ He swallowed uncomfortably. “There is a Human phrase, about life and hope...”
       “And so there is, my Lord. But there are circumstances in which Humans can no longer endure. They are far weaker, both mentally and physically, than we.” He shrugged, making it plain that though he had no real understanding, he was reporting verifiable facts. “I would suggest that he be restrained to prevent him from again appropriating your weapons.”
       Spock glanced at the display that had graced the walls of his room since he had passed his Warrior’s testing. One of the daggers was missing. The curve of its blade would have matched Sulu’s wounds.
       “He has lost a great deal of blood,” the healer said as he rose, “but I think he will recover. I am ever at your service, Lord Spock.” He bowed, gathered his medical equipment, and left the room.
       Spock went to Sulu’s bedside once again. This time he was asleep, drugged to make sure he stayed that way long enough to get the rest he needed. Spock ignored the needs of the physical. There was something he had to do, or he knew Sulu would never recover. He had thought that his confession of emotion would be enough, that Sulu would understand as he had always understood. But it had instead led the Human to wish death. It had caused him to believe himself, as the healer has explained, in an unbearable situation. Old bitterness welled within him, the certainty that he was somehow innately unworthy. A Vulcan – a half-breed loves you, Sulu, and it leads you to take your own life? He pushed the fearful thought away. It did not matter. All that was important now was that he understand the way Sulu had. He knelt beside him and placed his hands on Sulu’s temples.
       It was a strange mind-meld, and very difficult to try to rouse the unconscious mind. But Spock was determined and finally, and with great terror, Sulu answered his call. The terror was a thing Spock easily understood, and he reached for it.
       Calm, calm my Human, he soothed. There is no more need to fear. I will not harm you again. Come to me, speak with me, I would know you.
       He felt Sulu yearning toward him, felt, too the sharp fear that made him hesitate. Spock made his mind-voice gently compelling.
       Allow me to understand, Sulu, as you have understood me. I caused you great pain, I know, yet you have accepted... why do you now seek to fly from me? Why do you seek death?
       Sulu’s response was faint and disjointed. Can’t live like this. Not a whore. Not even for you. Warriors die before they let themselves be captured, don’t they?
       Spock’s mind was inundated with a sudden burst of bitterness and self-hatred. Feelings he knew too well, but this time they came from Sulu. Yet here was no hatred there of him, no recriminations.
       Why? I do not understand. It is I who enslaved you – I who forced you...
       Love you. Shouldn’t, don’t understand why, but I do. You need. The voice became stronger, more coherent. I want to be everything to you. I don't know why. It’s wrong. Slavery’s wrong, the Empire’s wrong... I’m a Starfleet officer, sworn to fight for my people, to be honorable, loyal, steadfast... And none of that matters. All I want is you. At first...Human adaptability. Where’s there’s life... But it’s not the truth, not anymore... I want to be with you even if I have to be... Oh God, I want, want to be your slave! How can I face that? Against everything I’m supposed to believe... Can’t live with wanting to be... Please, just let me die...
       Pain and joy warred within Spock’s thoughts. It was not the love of a half-breed that was destroying him! And yet, to think of the Human’s death... How could I allow that?
       You said you loved me. Allow me some honor. It’s the only duty I can perform and remain myself. It’s the only way I can keep loving you. Can’t love you as a slave. Spock, please, let me die!
       No.
       Bitterness now, directed at him. Capitulation. Yes, master.
       Spock recoiled from the cold defeat in Sulu’s thoughts. I will not allow your death, he answered, because I give you your freedom.
       A rush of love mixed with surprise – then horror-filled realization. But free – you said another would... no, I couldn’t bear...!
       No, I would not allow that. I will return you to your people.
       Return me to... More realization, a deeper panic and horror than before. I’ll have to – to be free – leave you? Spock, no...
       There is no other way, Sulu.
       The despair that filled Sulu’s being was both agony and ecstasy as Spock realized the depth of Sulu’s desire for him. How can I -
       You cannot remain a slave.
       But...
       I must make many arrangements, and you must heal. Where there is life, there is hope. Sleep my love. It is the only way.
       Spock broke the meld, nudging his beloved gently back into sleep. It was a bitter decision for him, but he would do as he had promised. He could not allow Sulu to be less simply for his own happiness. He understood now the sacrifices his Father had made for Amanda. Love was not selfish, one should not be made to suffer for another’s gratification. He had wanted to understand Sulu as Sulu understood him. That such understanding carried so high a price was no more than the final irony of his existence.

       Sulu recovered quickly and the rest of the time spent on Vulcan was idyllic. The Human served him as he always had, with even more enthusiasm, if that were possible. Spock refused to acknowledge the questioning or lascivious or disdainful looks he received from other Vulcans. He kept his slave sequestered, ignoring all requests to display the Human’s beauty. He even ignored the stern glances of others of The Disciplines, though as the time passed they questioned more and more openly both his dedication and his ability to keep to Surak’s Way. None of it mattered. Sulu was the only thing of importance, Sulu was his strength, his heart. When there was no duty to occupy him, Spock remained with Sulu. They did not discuss freedom, but Spock heard his words echoing in Sulu’s mind, carrying anguish – and hope.
       It was not until several weeks after they had returned to the Le-Matya that all the necessary arrangements were completed. The ship was engaged in a long, hard battle with a half dozen Klingon pirate ships. Just after the battle, while there was still much confusion, Spock’s personal shuttle was stolen from the slightly damaged docking bay by a Human slave who had managed to overpower an already wounded guard.
       It was the hardest thing Spock had ever done, and he knew that it was as difficult for Sulu. The Human had turned at the last moment, the desperation to remain overwhelming Spock’s mind. Spock stopped his protest with a long and almost violent kiss. He had to remind Sulu that no matter how much they cared for each other, Sulu’s position as slave would inevitably lead him back to despair and hatred of being owned – and another attempt at death. He was a warrior, and could be nothing less – and Spock loved him for it. Sulu had reluctantly agreed, knowing that whatever he wanted, freedom was what he needed. He had been warrior enough not to ask Spock to go with him.
       Spock gave him the coordinates for reaching Human-held Space, wished him luck, and returned to the only thing he had left: duty. Empty, lonely duty.