Well, that seems apt, she commented.

Seemed that way to me, he replied.

There is no use in pretending
Your eyes give you away
Something inside you is feeling like I do
We said all there is to say

You do this for all the girls? she asked, trying to hide how close to the mark the song hit.

“No, cher,” he said aloud, sitting up and taking her by the shoulders. His mouth claimed hers hungrily as the music inside them continued. Jus’ for you.

Baby, break down,
Go ahead and give it to me
Break down, honey
Take me through the night
Break down, go ahead
Can’t you see?
Break down, it’s all right.
It’s all right.
It’s all right..

“It all right,” he whispered huskily as the music continued to play. He disentangled the robe from her unresisting arms and tossed it aside.

Pulling her astride him, they joined in the abrupt manner some telepaths preferred, cutting foreplay short and going for the deep, deep penetration of mind and body that only they could experience together.

The music inside Pelori’s head continued to play.

His mind and body were so beautiful… She luxuriated in the feel of him inside her. He was like a force of nature, not to be held too tightly or refused too long.

You pretty nice too. There was gentle amusement in his thoughts as well as hunger.

They blended together in a swirl of music and blue, blue, blue…

My favorite color, one or both of them thought.

“Deeper,” Del murmured against her lips as he maneuvered her onto her back. “Let me go deeper, darlin’.”

He was force of nature. Strong, beautiful… She couldn’t refuse. She didn’t want to.

Baby, break down,
Go ahead and give it to me

She relaxed the clenched fists of control around her desire. He filled the places that she opened with incredible, irresistible warmth.

Break down, honey
Take me through the night.

Patiently, but as insistently as the tide, he opened her to his hunger, drawing her empathy forth from her as he flowed in and out of her in powerful, inexorable rhythm.

Break down, go ahead
Can’t you see?

The doors she had spoken of were only rocks on the beach that was her being. His essence washed over them, pulling at them, running into all their nooks and crannies in a breathless, exhilarating rush as he surged inside her only to retreat and come back again ever stronger and deeper, deeper, deeper….

Break down,
It’s all right.

Each wave brought more of him into her and pulled more of her out with him. Each cresting made it more difficult to tell where beach ended and ocean began.

It’s all right.

In and out, they flowed together.

It’s all right.

Together blending more fully into deep, deep, deep…

It’s all right.

Infinitely deep…

It’s all right.

Blue.

It took a great deal of inner fortitude for Spock to enter the bathing chamber where Ve’el had sent the beaten Lahs to sleep. He and Tarvak had agreed to work in tandem, so as not to confuse or disorient the non-gift. It was a logical course of action, but Spock could not completely divorce himself from thoughts of the greatness of the obscenity. To viciously beat another sentient being for doing nothing more than attempting to redress a wrong done to another…

Lahs attacked Holsa’s slave, Tarvak reminded. Physically attacked him. Does that square with your Federation ideals?

Violence is never a preferred course, Spock countered, but in some cases, it is the only language understood.

Just so with the non-gifts, Tarvak returned.

Incorrect, the Vulcan said immediately. You saw yourself how Lahs responds to kindness…

He was responding to the mindless bliss of sexual release, which was, given the circumstances, hardly a kindness. And who is to say if the disciplinary aspect of it was not an enhancement rather than a distraction?

Spock had no answer for that, and so let the matter drop.

Lahs was lying curled on one side, naked, on the tiled floor. His back, buttocks and thighs were the rust and olive color of Romulan bruises, long stripes and welts broken in a few spots, with blood seeping to the surface. His head was buried in his arms, and though no sound escaped him, his body trembled with his sobs.

Spock knelt, his fingers gentle on the slave’s shoulder.

“Lahs,” he said quietly, “Mistress Ve’el has relented. She instructed me to inform you that you are to sleep in your cot.”

“Yes, Master,” came the rasping voice of the non-gift. “I will be certain to thank my Mistress properly when she has rested.” He started to push himself up on his arms, and Spock reached to help him.

No, Tarvak said. He would not expect such aid.

The Vulcan nodded tightly and stood back as Lahs struggled to his feet. Though his head was bent, Spock would see the livid marks of Ve’el’s hand across his cheek. But worse was the erection that curved upward toward his belly.

For a moment, outrage threatened to consume the Vulcan, but Tarvak said, We knew she had enflamed him, Spock.

With another terse nod, he moved aside, allowing the non-gift to shuffle past him. Lahs stopped at the entrance to Ve’el’s room.

“Will I – “ Lahs said, then swallowed hard. “I would not wish to – disturb my Mistress’ rest,” he faltered.

“She is with Joron,” Spock replied. That was a half-truth. Ve’el was quiescent within the body of Pelori MacEntyre, and it was the half-Indiian who was with Noel DelMonde, Joron having graciously retreated.

Lahs seemed to shudder, shame so great filling him that no empathic ability was necessary to perceive it. “I trust it is not too great a burden for you, First Master,” he whispered.

Tarvak’s eyebrow rose. It is always the Third’s prerogative, he told Spock. Why would the non-gift think…?

Scan his mind, Spock replied bitterly. It has been used against him, and he fears his guilt will touch you.

And why would he care about such a thing?

You have been kind to him, was the Vulcan’s pointed response.

As Lahs hobbled through the bedroom to his small closet, Spock went to the dressing table and its secret drawer. He used the mental technique Lieutenant MacEntyre had told him would open it, and retrieved from her supply of chemical agents a mild sedative and a not-mild-at-all analgesic. He heard the soft, low moan as the non-gift climbed laboriously onto his cot and quickly secreted the drawer again.

Allow me, Tarvak suddenly said, and the Vulcan sent a questioning thought. Please, this is something I wish to do, the Romulan replied, and Spock warily moved to the backward place within his own body.

Tarvak approached the cot, squatting down next to it.

“Lahs,” he said gently. The non-gift began the difficult action of turning to face him, and the Romulan placed his hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “No need, I simply wish to ask you a question. I will know if you lie to me.” The words were said kindly but the creatures tensed beneath his touch.

“Yes, Master,” he whispered.

“When you attacked Krel,” Tarvak said carefully, “did you have reason?”

Lahs shuddered. “I believed so, yes, Master.”

“And this reason was…?”

“The Lady Holsa’s non-gift attempted to – “ the creature’s voice caught in its throat. “He would have had me – or Wen – or both arrested for thievery, Master.”

“And was there thievery, Lahs?”

“Only Krel’s own.”

In Lahs’ mind, Tarvak saw clearly the entire situation – and heard the memory of the non-gift’s conversation with Deron’s pretty bedslave.

Lahs gasped. “I promised confidence, Master!” he cried in alarm.

“I will keep it, Lahs,” Tarvak assured, though he shuddered himself in both revulsion and too-comprehending pity.

“I am sorry, Master, so sorry…!” the creature began sobbing piteously. He choked, then words came in a rush. They were disjointed and broken by grief and fear and exhaustion. He confessed every improper thought, every secret, dread desire, every fault, real and imagined. He professed his utter worthlessness and the terrible knowledge that if Ve’el were to rid herself of him, he could expect nothing but the life of the most menial of drudges; back-breaking labor, starvation, a hard, cold, joyless existence. The fact that there was joy with Ve’el was another source of shame and he begged his master’s forgiveness over and over. When he began pouring out the details of the things he and Wen had been forced to do at Deron’s command, Tarvak knew true rage.

“Enough,” he commanded the non-gift. “Did your Mistress know of this travesty?”

Though Lahs was consumed with the horror of betrayal, Tarvak could see the ugly truth in the non-gift’s brutalized mind.

Blasphemy! The Romulan’s thoughts seethed. Sacrilege! Such perversion in a Centurion? It cannot be allowed, he is in charge of other Warriors…!

Calm yourself, Tarvak, Spock broke in, taking the forefront. If this was truly caused by a rejection of a Bond…

There is but one honorable course! Tarvak rejoined indignantly. No true Warrior would allow his own devastation to prey on innocents, even non-gifts!

They do have some rights, then…

Now is not the time, Vulcan!

Agreed, Spock said. Come, you wished to give Lahs some relief.

Tarvak shook himself, becoming aware that Lahs was still weeping, his voice now hoarse and raw.

“I will keep your confidence for you, Lahs,” he said. “It may be Lady Ve’el’s anger will have dissipated come the morning. Sleep now.” He pressed the small hypodermic device to Lahs’ shoulder, dispensing the sleeping agent and the pain-killer. He waited the few moments it took for the drugs to have their intended effect, gazing as the troubled features slowly relaxed, the damaged body losing the tension of physical pain endured. As he rose to leave, he was acutely aware that the non-gift’s mind still roiled with shame and despair and hopeless fear, comprehending more than Tarvak had ever before thought possible in a slave.

First Master was asleep on one of the upholstered couches when Lahs hobbled quietly into the common rooms. That startled the non-gift. He had assumed that after First Master’s incredible kindness of the night before, the Romulan would have returned to complete his Triad. But it must be as Mistress Ve’el wished, he thought, there being no other explanation.

And it would be most improper for a married man to…

He pushed the crazy voice away.

He went to the closet where cleaning supplies were kept and silently got the bucket and brushes needed to scrub the floor as his mistress had commanded. He had dressed only in his folded undergarment, not wanting to soil the clothing his Mistress had so thoughtfully purchased for him – and not wanting the pressure the tight garments would put on his bruised back, thighs and buttocks. The pain was less than he had expected, and he knew that could only be from the care First Master had shown him. It was certainly not due to any lenience on the part of his Mistress.

Which is no more than I deserve, he immediately countered the improper feeling of anger the thought aroused.

He filled the bucket with water, added the cleaning agent, and got down on his hands and knees.

The stretching of his back muscles as he cleaned the floor sent throbbing twinges throughout his body. He grit his teeth, accepting this as simply more punishment.

Work detail, discomfort is inconsequential. The thought came with a bizarre picture of polishing a large, metal tube of some sort, surrounded by beings in black pants and tunics of green. Another being – and he was shocked to see this was a Human – stood to one side, his arms folded, his shirt a bright red.

Lahs shook the image away with growing horror. He was surely going insane! The bleak future that had loomed before him shifted to one of confinement in a small cage, screaming his last hours out before the order for euthanasia came down from - Starfleet Medical…

NO!

The non-gift crouched on the floor, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He was still there, trembling, when the household awoke.

Pelori woke in Del’s arms, sated and renewed. She smiled softly, kissing his chest and felt him stir. Bon jour, she whispered softly to him. The beautiful dark eyes opened.

And what language is that, my Lady? Joron murmured teasingly.

The half-Indiian sat up abruptly, feeling the Romulan chuckle as he rose to one elbow.

“Forgive me, my Lady,” he continued aloud. “But I was curious to see how it felt to wake up beside someone you had not meant to fall asleep with.”

Scowling, MacEntyre slapped him, then covered her mouth, her lips opening in an “Oh!” as Del said,

Hey, girl, what that fo’?

Damn it! she swore, pulling the engineer back into her arms. Your Romulan guest thinks he’s funny.

What he… She felt him exploring her memory, and felt, too his irritation. No-account bastard, Del muttered. He gave Pelori a warm hug and an even warmer kiss, letting the annoyance fade. Well, good mornin’ anyway, darlin’.

Thank you, she said. There was no need for her to explain what she was thanking him for.

Likewise, cher.

Pelori noted that her inner doors were again secure, and that Del’s awareness of that fact was muted acceptance. She smiled at him, and stretched.

“How I wish I could spend all day like this,” she sighed.

It not bother me none, Del offered, his fingers tracing along her sides, then said with her, “but we have our duty.”

She shrugged. DelMonde scowled. She kissed him. He gave her a wry half-smile.

“Shall we begin our day, my Lady?” he asked in Joron’s voice.

“Yes,” she answered, as Ve’el. “I have to see to Lahs, and you must see to Tarvak.”

Del’s face soured. “Can’t I just step in front of a loaded freight conveyance instead, my Lady?”

“And you need your isti’li,” she continued, mentally adding, I’m sorry, but it’s necessary.

Yeah. Shee-it. “How thoughtful of you to remember, my Lady.” He left the bed, gallantly offering her his hand to help her to rise.

She found herself automatically pulling the bed-sheet to her chest, then realized how foolish that reaction was when Del drawled, An’ is there somet’ing I not seen under there?

Ve’el would not be so immodest, even with her Junior Husband.

You still all that sure I junior?

Incongruously, Pelori found herself blushing.

There was screaming in his head, mindless, terrified. A soundless voice cried Help me, Spock! and for a moment the Vulcan thought it was a nightmare of his wife’s ordeal with the sauvrn. But this voice was male. Immediately another scenario came to mind: Jim Kirk calling desperately from the Guardian planet. Yet this was no dream, no memory. Someone was screaming, someone who called for his aid…

Spock rose swiftly from the couch, not taking the time to acknowledge Tarvak’s questions as the Romulan, too, became aware. Lahs was curled on hands and knees just beyond the dining table, his body shaking as if in the fevered throes of a viral illness.

“Lahs,” Tarvak began, and Spock mentally moved past him.

This is not Lahs! he snapped. He reached out with his mind and found only fractured images and distorted realities. He inadvertently touched one – something concerning a probability chart and Noel DelMonde – and the Human within the Romulan non-gift screamed again.

Spock, help me!

The Vulcan summoned all his control and sent an urgent message to the mission commander.

Joron was fully dressed and Ve’el in her dressing gown, when both Pelori and Del heard Spock’s insistent call.

Miss MacEntyre, come quickly. It is Chekov.

The two officers raced from the bedroom. Spock was crouched next to a shivering, convulsing Lahs. The Vulcan had placed the blanket he had used during the night over the non-gift’s mostly naked body and had one hand on the slave’s face, clearly attempting to stabilize whatever was afflicting the creature.

That line of thought is most counterproductive, Lieutenant, Spock said in crisp, military tones. This is not a Romulan non-gift, this is not a creature nor a slave. This, Lieutenant, is Pavel Chekov and if you do not repair your allegedly unbreakable blocks, I fear we will lose a strong, brave officer to irreversible madness.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, Pelori was stammering. This wasn’t supposed to be possible…

Like ever’t’ing else in this fucked-up bullshit, Del said fiercely. T’hell wit’ s’posein’, cher. You gotta do somet’in’ now!

Breakdown by Tom Petty

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