Title: Drink One For Me (5/6)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: In the past, Leonard has been more than willing to attend a Spring Fling or two as his captain’s wing man. But when Spock starts tagging along, Leonard realizes he may have been assuming some things he shouldn’t have.
Previous Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4
Or read at AO3

Part Four

In Leonard’s experience, when things go wrong, they don’t go a little bit wrong, which can be shrugged off or quickly corrected. No, things go horribly, end-of-the-universe wrong.

This thought slips past a myriad of others, all too briefly acknowledged. He had said to Jim to forego ‘crying over spilled milk’, but right now Leonard wants to do nothing more than cry—and rage. He doesn’t remember a time when he has been bombarded by both emotions so strongly at the same time.

The person responsible for his turmoil doesn’t seem to care in the least.

Leonard adjusts the angle of Spock’s head in his lap and glares at the Governor as she idly cleans green blood from her saber.

“You’ll pay for this,” he says. “I’m not going to leave you alone!”

“Surely you know that if your Vulcan cannot stand against me, then you have no chance.”

“You’re vile,” he keeps going, heedless of the way his adversary stiffens. “If this is how your people operate, then you don’t deserve compassion or respect, or even a simple ‘how do you do’ from our Federation.”

“Is that so?”

It makes him feel better to lash out with a few other derogatory insults.

The pointed tip of the saber comes to rest just under the doctor’s chin. “You would be wise to hold your tongue unless you have a keen desire to have it removed.”

He lifts his chin, causing the blade to draw a thin red line across his neck, and challenges, “Go ahead.”

The Aurelian smiles and lowers her saber. “Very good. I have no use for cowards.”

His arm tightens protectively around Spock’s upper torso. The fabric of the Vulcan’s formal blue tunic has become soaked with blood, and so the hand Leonard has pressed to the Spock’s abdomen slips slightly out of place. It reminds him that he is woefully ill-equipped to treat the wound.

Swallowing down disgust, he tells her, “I need medical supplies. He’ll die unless I can stop the bleeding.”

The Governor sheathes her weapon. “Ah, but I am too vile a creature to care, Doctor.”

“If you kill a Starfleet officer, our ships will never grace this sector out of goodwill again.”

Her look implies she would consider that outcome to be more than ideal.

Leonard adds the kicker. “But if you kill Ambassador Sarek’s son, you can rest assured he will eliminate every avenue of support you’ve ever had or could have, whether it is Federation-funded or not.”

The amused glint in her eyes turns to something more ruthless and far shrewder. “I do not care for threats, Dr. McCoy.”

“That’s not a threat. It’s the truth.”

The Governor studies Leonard in silence, her expression calculating until it unexpectedly shutters. “You have made your point.” She signals two guards to come forward, ordering, “Carry the Commander to our healing rooms.”

Leonard loathes the idea of handing over Spock to their enemy but he knows that on his own he cannot physically bear the weight of the unconscious Vulcan for more than a few steps.

“Be careful!” he snaps when one of the guards jerks Spock up by the shoulders.

Rising, he hurries after Aurelians bearing his friend away, only to find himself waylaid by two more officers, who refuse him passage.

Trying to push through them is like trying to move a brick wall. He scolds them, “What’re you doing? Move!”

The Governor comes abreast of their group with her hands locked behind her back and her countenance disturbingly calm. “Your Vulcan will be well-cared for by my personal physician. However, I am afraid you must stay here as I still require a guest—” Her mouth curves into a wicked smile. “—and my previous one has been indisposed.”

His mouth opens but no sounds issue forth, so appalled is the doctor by the Aurelian’s audacity to joke. “Have you lost your mind? That man could die!”

“I have you to replace him,” she replies as though no explanation could be more logical.

He steps into the Governor’s personal space, only to have someone jerk him back and place a sword against his throat in warning.

He is too far beyond infuriated to care about the bite of the blade. “You’re no better than your husband or your nephew. You’re selfish and cold-blooded. I hope you get deposed because from what I have seen, you are a detriment to everything good and decent this world and these people could be.”

“Have you not come to understand us yet, Doctor?” she challenges. “I am what my people require of me—and if not I, then someone colder, crueler would rule.” She dismisses him in the next breath as a fool. “Your Federation’s ideals are not ours and never shall be.”

“Then God help Aurelis. You have a long road ahead of you.”

She moves away. “It is time I spoke with the Captain. I daresay he will be shocked to learn of what has transpired here. Bring the human.”

The Aurelian with the sword to Leonard’s throat removes his blade but none-too-gently takes a hold of Leonard’s arm and forces him to follow in the Governor’s wake.

~~~

Plenty of mistakes have been made since the beginning of the Gala but none more so, Leonard thinks, than his willingness to become involved in this dangerous game with the Aurelians. He barely remembers how it all started, with an overheard conversation and an angry reaction to learning his purpose at the party had been superfluous.

The truth is, if he could go back and change the past, he would. He would stop this whole mess from happening. He would accept his disillusionment with silence, and he would pretend to be utterly clueless when accosted by that unpleasant Aurelian. Anything, in retrospect, to prevent ending up where he is now: utterly useless and in the hands of Spock’s would-be murderer.

How had he not realized he truly was a liability on this mission? Little wonder that Jim had never felt easy about including him.

I should have stayed on the ship, his brain plays in a loop. I should have protected Spock better. I shouldn’t have been a jealous idiot.

And so, with no small amount of heartache, he looks into the eyes of his captain on the view-screen and utters, “Jim, I’m sorry.”

White-lipped, silent, Jim simply stares back at him.

“I respectfully resign my commission as Chief Medical Officer aboard the Enterprise,” Leonard concludes. Resigning is the only thing he can do to relieve Kirk of some of the responsibility.

“Interesting,” the Governor muses from her high-backed chair beside which the doctor stands, his shoulders drooping in dejection. “I suppose your doctor is to become a permanent guest on Aurelis, Captain Kirk—for a short period at any rate. Unfortunately, I see no further use for him now that he has disavowed himself of your Starfleet.” She beckons an Aurelian officer to her side. “Remove this human to the prisoners’ ward and contact my chamberlain about scheduling an early morning execution.”

Kirk nearly comes out of his chair, then, but a moment later, though his arms are not quite steady as the rest of him, he eases back into his seat.

His voice, when it comes, is hardly indicative of any emotion other than detachment: “Governor, if there is something I might say to change your mind…”

“There isn’t,” she confirms.

“Very well,” Kirk replies flatly. “I’ll contact you when I have more information on the Romulans.” The jerk of his hand to close the channel is like the damning arch of an executioner’s sword.

The screen goes dark.

Leonard nearly falls into the side of the Governor’s chair, his legs having suddenly decided they cannot support him.

“Yes, quite interesting,” the leader of Aurelis muses again.

“He blames me,” Leonard whispers. The others in the room look at him curiously, but he can hardly bother to think of them now, not when the truth is so plain. He shades part of his face with one hand. “I’ve killed Spock, and he blames me.”

“What a pity,” he hears his captor say. “You are weak after all.”

The Governor couldn’t possibly understand what Kirk’s lack of argument means. And he doubts she would care even if she did.

His throat constricts until he is unable to protest through the smallest of noises when the officer draws him away from the chair and into an outer corridor, presumably to escort him to a prison cell for the few remaining hours he has left to live. He lets himself be led without complaint, swamped by his grief, until a faint thought prompts him to stir from his unresponsive state.

“The Vulcan,” he murmurs, glancing over at the tall, stone-faced Aurelian marching him along. “Can I see him?”

Not even a facial tick acknowledges that Leonard has spoken. He tries again, this time his voice a little strong and much less polite. Still, no response is forthcoming.

Drawing a breath, the man plants his feet.

“Look here, I don’t care about your orders. I want to see my friend now.”

A flicker of emotion finally crosses the guard’s face: it is displeasure at being ordered by a prisoner.

“You heard me,” Leonard insists.

“Yes,” comes the clipped reply—after which Leonard is swatted into the nearest hard surface as punishment.

At the same time Leonard chokes on a cry when his shoulder connects painfully with the wall, fury sparks in his belly. Buoyed by more determination than ever and a great dislike for bullying, Leonard faces down his guard.

“Try that again, I dare you!”

The Aurelian lifts his hand to deliver a second blow.

The blow never lands, for a cry of “Doctor!” disturbs the scene, its accent quite unmistakable. Leonard flattens himself to the side just in the nick of time as Chekov, pelting down the corridor, takes aim with a phaser and fires.

The Aurelian drops to the ground, stunned into unconsciousness.

“Pavel!” Leonard exclaims, surprised but relieved. “Boy am I glad to—”

The young man unceremoniously shoves a communicator into McCoy’s hands before doubling over at the waist and panting. His stilted speech doesn’t make a lot of sense: “F-Found…Doctor…K-Keptin…”

“Bones!“

Leonard blinks at the device in disbelief. “…Jim?”

“Abandon mission!” The plea crackles urgently through the speaker. “Do you hear me? Abandon the mission!“

Leonard cradles the communicator, a lump lodging itself again in his throat. “Jim… Spock is… I can’t.” He needs a moment of breathing in and out to regain some coherency. “I’m sorry, Captain. I’m not leaving without Spock.”

“Ve’re not,” Chekov amends, his voice impassioned.

They have all heard Jim swear in Klingon a handful of times before, but never with such viciousness.

“Steady there, lads!” Suddenly Scotty comes through on the line, sounding even more frazzled than Kirk. “Doctor, whatever ye have to do, do it fast. The Capt’n—we cannae hold ‘im for long!“

Chekov’s eyes go wide. “Vat iz going on up zere?”

Leonard would like to know that too but Spock, wherever he is, is losing precious seconds the longer they linger to talk. “I hear you, Scotty. Stand by. McCoy out.”

He tosses the communicator back to Chekov and yanks his tricorder around to his front. “Give me a second, Pavel. I have a way to find Spock.” A burst of giddy relief fills him when the tricorder beeps with confirmation of a signal. “He’s still alive, thank god!”

“Vhich direction?” Chekov wants to know, anxiously scanning the hall.

Leonard points the way he and the Aurelian were headed. “That way.”

Then the two men are running, heedless of what may lie in their path.

~~~

If the Aurelians in the healing chambers are shocked by the appearance of two dubious-looking individuals, none of them verbalize their surprise beyond ceasing their activities. Leonard demands of the first person he sees, “Where is he?”

The Aurelian appears to be the oldest of the group by many years and is the only one robed in black. He answers the question solemnly with “Whom do you seek?”

When another Aurelian, a young male in pale gray, edges toward the archway as if he intends to flee, Chekov lifts his phaser and warns everyone, “No one move.”

“Chekov,” Leonard begins, frowning.

“Sorry, Doctor, but ve cannot be caught.”

Leonard swallows his argument because Chekov is right. “We’re not here to hurt anyone,” he assures the elder. “Just take us to Spock—the Vulcan. He was brought in with an injury to his midsection.”

The Aurelian inclines his head in understanding but then looks pointedly to their phaser. “No weapons are allowed around my patients.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, moving on to another room.

Leonard tells Chekov, “Stay here.”

“Yes, Dr. McCoy.”

Leonard hurries to catch up to the physician and asks, “How is he?”

“Clearly you wish to judge his state for yourself.”

The Aurelian winds through two rooms and short hall before pausing in front of a red silk curtain. Beyond the curtain is a sparsely decorated room with one tall cabinet and a narrow dresser against the walls, and a bed with a standing basin by its head. Shadows eat up the corners and the edges of the chamber, a result of the handful of burning candles littering the surface of the dresser. Spock lies motionless in the center of it all, on the bed, his hands locked across his chest as if he had just recently lain down to rest.

Leonard enters, feeling like he has come to the wake of a dear friend. Luckily, his tricorder dispels that vision with a much more promising truth.

“Blood pressure lower than usual,” he murmurs, twisting his dial for secondary readings.

Overall, he can tell that Spock’s vitals have improved significantly in a short period of time. Relief makes him lightheaded. He tucks his tricorder to his side and reaches down to brush back Spock’s bangs, only remembering at the last second that he normally doesn’t touch Spock with such casualness.

The incongruence of the urge to do just that against the knowledge that he shouldn’t strikes him hard. “Must be out of my mind,” he mutters to himself and instead sits at the bed’s edge.

Spock’s tunic has been removed and folded by the basin. A thin layer of gauze, serving as the bandage around his midsection, is immaculately clean. Leonard doesn’t dare inspect under the wrapping lest the wound be disturbed and settles for running his tricorder over the affected area.

“Whatever you did,” he observes aloud for the Aurelian’s benefit, “is working well. I’ve never seen him heal this fast and, believe me, a Vulcan’s healing rate is phenomenal compared to most species.”

“You are a physician.” It isn’t a question.

Leonard nods anyway before adding a touch grimly, “But I’m also the fool who didn’t bring his medkit on a dangerous mission.” He winces immediately after speaking, realizing the error of his admission.

But the healer appears to have no interest in such affairs, only remarking, “Can you explain why he has not awoken despite receiving treatment? I fear I have done harm to his body, though the methods we use in general should not hinder one’s recovery.”

Leonard would love to ask questions about Aurelian medicine because so far no one in the Federation has been allowed to study it. It is with some regret that he subdues his curiosity.

“Vulcans enter a fugue state in order to minimize unnecessary energy expenditure and focus on the internal healing of their injuries. It’s very difficult to bring them out of it. There’s a trick.” He lifts his hand and says, “Don’t be alarmed,” just before he delivers a resounding slap to the side of Spock’s face.

“Spock,” he calls, “wake up,” and slaps the Vulcan again.

The elder, now standing at Leonard’s side and watching him curiously, tucks his hands into the sleeves of his robe.

Leonard spares a glance for his tricorder, noting that the spike in the vitals is a positive sign. “Once more should be enough,” he says.

He delivers the last blow with an insistent “Time to wake up, you green-blooded hobgoblin!”

“Enough,” comes a hoarse whisper. The Vulcan’s eyes remain closed. “I am aware.”

“Good.” When Spock begins to shift his limbs on the bed, testing them, Leonard presses a hand firmly to one shoulder to keep him down. “Don’t move just yet.”

“…Dr. McCoy?”

“The one and only.”

Spock opens his eyes.

Leonard allows him a moment to get his bearings before asking, “Do you remember what happened?”

“…Affirmative.”

Without warning, one of Spock’s hands rise from his chest to touch the side of the doctor’s neck.

“You… are injured?” Spock says, his voice slowly changing from roughened to inquiring to tense.

Leonard finds the scratch with his own fingers. “What, this? It’s hardly anything.” He points to the Vulcan’s abdomen. “You’re the one with the hole in your stomach, or whatever organ you’ve got there at the moment.”

“Illogical,” counters Spock, some of his tension visibly evaporating. “My organs are not in the habit of migrating.”

Leonard smiles happily. “So you are all right.”

Spock’s hand withdraws—only to briefly climb higher to Leonard’s cheek. “And this,” is his soft remark, “comes from the Governor, I presume.”

Leonard hadn’t realized his cheek was bruised. “No, but Chekov took care the unfriendly brute.”

Spock’s gaze wanders past him, perhaps seeking the man in question, and lights upon the Aurelian.

“Don’t worry,” Leonard assures his friend. “Chekov is close by, guarding the door so to speak.”

“This is the medical ward of the compound.”

“You got yourself into a scrape.” Leonard’s hands slide away from Spock. “Who told you could do that, by the way? She was aiming for me.”

“Your concern, while unnecessary, is appreciated.”

Leonard harrumphs. “That wasn’t concern just now, you confused sot. I’m upset at you.”

“An emotion which stems directly from concern.”

Oh, why does he even bother? “Forget it.”

“I already have.” Spock tries to sit up again.

“Stop that! Would you listen to me for once? My god, what is the use in me being your doctor if you don’t listen?“

“Clearly you are not here with the blessing of the Governor. We must not waste this opportunity and proceed with expediency to the shuttlecraft.”

Saints above, why is Spock so stubborn? “You’re not proceeding anywhere! You’ve been stabbed. Now you may be perfectly willing to ignore the ramifications of that little fact, but I won’t. You need time to recover.”

“There is no time, Doctor. That is my point. Lingering only increases the likelihood of our capture.”

Without Jim to back him up, Leonard feels at sea. “Spock, damn it…”

“If I agree to three days in Sickbay, will you cease to argue with me and follow my direction?”

Leonard sits back, astonished. Spock has never tried to bargain with him before.

“There is another way,” the third occupant of the room interjects while Leonard is trying to untangle an answer in his head.

Spock and McCoy turn to the physician with Spock inquiring, “What is your suggestion?”

“Under a pretense of your demise, you would have more time to escape.”

The Vulcan’s dark eyes remain fixed upon the Aurelian even as he concedes to McCoy, “It is not impossible.”

“It’s mad!”

“On the contrary, it would give us an advantage.” Spock’s gaze flicks over to Leonard, sharper than before. “Where does the Governor believe to you to be, Dr. McCoy?”

Leonard mumbles his response.

Spock concludes, “Then if I am dead, you are imprisoned, and Chekov’s presence remains unknown, we do have a greater chance of success. However, there is one troubling aspect to this proposal—” His gaze pins the Aurelian again. “—and that is the dependence on your agreement to deceive your leader, for which I can determine no logical motivation.”

“My motivation is uncomplicated, Vulcan. I wish to preserve your life. Once you are sufficiently healed, you are to be arrested for treason and publicly executed.”

Leonard spits out a curse. “Is that how it works on your planet? You agree to heal somebody just to send him to his death?”

Spock’s eyebrows have drawn together. “An explanation can be too simple.”

“Who cares?” Leonard decides. “I’ll be damned if I let you get hurt again, Spock.” He stares hard at the Aurelian and says, “Your plan had better work.”

“Doctor,” Spock says sharply.

“Shut up, Spock,” Leonard tells his Vulcan in a no-nonsense tone, “and play dead.”

~~~

“Doctor, vat are you doing?”

“I’m not as much of a fool as Spock thinks I am,” Leonard whispers back to Chekov. “We’re going to listen in.”

If Chekov had been anyone else, there might have been a protest about the dangers of eavesdropping (and subsequently getting caught), but something he and Pavel have in common is that they are often much too stubborn to care a lick about danger. Chekov holds up his phaser and decides, “You vill lead. I vill shoot.”

The medical ward is a confusing warren of rooms, all of which utilize curtains instead of doors. The color and design of the fabric has a significance but Leonard has had little time to ponder what each combination might mean or why they become more intricate the deeper into the ward they go. He does know that the upside to the lack of doors is the ease of access, although there is a certain fear and titillation that comes with drawing back a curtain.

Backtracking from their hideaway to Spock’s chamber proves easier than expected because they can dismiss any curtain that isn’t red and are able to avoid a pair of sentries in one hallway by slipping into an unoccupied green-curtained chamber and exits through the opposite side. Once they cut across an antechamber that looks too much like a medieval version of an operating room, Leonard spies the plain red curtain they have been searching for. He and Pavel press themselves to the wall beside the covered archway and lean in to listen.

The curtain barely muffles the voices within. Recognizing the Governor’s voice, Leonard presses his fingers into the polished stone at his back, hoping to quell his anxiety that Spock, however amazing at playing dead, will be found out.

Her tone is sharp, questioning. “Are you certain?”

“I am, Your Ladyship. The Vulcan’s body rejected each medicine I tried. He could not be saved.”

“I am greatly displeased to hear such news.”

“This humble Servant begs your forgiveness.”

It doesn’t sound like the healer is actually begging, more like he is offering a ritual of words.

“I shall think upon your punishment, Master Healer.”

“Her Ladyship is kind and merciful. This humble Servant will accept Her punishment.”

“Creepy,” Chekov mutters in Leonard’s ear.

Leonard couldn’t agree more. It surprises him that the Governor has not ordered her physician to be openly flogged for letting one of her bargaining chips with the Federation die.

It is even more surprising when her Master Healer makes the request, “May I speak freely, Your Ladyship?” and she replies, “I welcome it.”

“Has the Consort not satisfied the conditions for the Joining?”

“There have been two deaths,” is her guarded response, “with one yet unfulfilled.”

“I see… Then Your Ladyship must feel he is not worthy of her.”

“What is your point?”

“Has the Consort not risked much for our future? To involve offworlders in this ancestral rite… it has never been done.”

The Governor sounds irritated. “If you wish to speak, Master Healer, do so plainly. I have no desire in this moment to converse in riddles.”

“Very well. Taya, I have served four generations of the honored Family—”

Leonard starts. Just how old is this Aurelian?

“—and you are the greatest among them. Still, the time is coming. You may not have had the choosing of your husband but this does not negate his skills. They are without equal, and his desire for you remains strong.”

“Of this, I am aware.”

“Then accept him. Finish the Joining together and allow him the honor of siring the Heir.”

There is a brief silence. Then McCoy and Chekov hear the rustle of fabric and the scrape of steel escaping leather.

“Your Ladyship?”

“You have betrayed me, Master Healer. I see that you have chosen a side—my husband’s. Tell me, why should I not part your head from your shoulders for such insolence?”

“So that you might better understand why he dares to enact the rite with these peculiar opponents. He knows you require the challenge. But,” the elder Aurelian demurs, “if you cannot heed my words, then perhaps you will heed his.”

Upon hearing this, Leonard dares to peek past the edge of the curtain and, in doing so, nearly chokes on his own spit when the Governor’s husband enters the chamber in the company of two Aurelians dressed in nondescript uniforms.

“Vat is it?” Chekov whispers, eyes wide.

“I think it’s a double-cross,” he answers. “What in blazes is going on with these people?”

Chekov tenses and raises his phaser hand.

“Not yet,” Leonard warns. “Spock would be in the crossfire.” Plus, he wants to find out the exact nature of the deceptions headed by the warring factions of the Aurelians. His gut tells him the answer is something he should not want to miss.

The Consort kneels at the Governor’s feet and greets her as “My Lovely One.”

The Governor says nothing. Nor does she remove her blade from the Master Healer’s throat.

“I beg for an audience.”

“Be quick, for your mere presence tests my patience, Husband.”

But instead of admitting to any nefarious deeds or betrayal, the Consort inquires, “What shall happen to the body of the Vulcan?”

“I am undecided.”

“Understandable, Lovely One. Your next move must seem a precarious one.”

The target of the Governor’s saber changes in one graceful swoop from physician to husband. “Do you dare insult me?”

“I would die upon my sword first,” vows her husband, sounding shockingly sincere. “I merely seek to advise you.”

Again, she falls silent.

Her silence seems to be taken by the Consort as tacit permission to continue. “Let the Romulans bear the blame. Already you have given the dead Romulan to their enemy.”

She questions, “Is this how you seek to win my favor, then? By turning them upon each other so that they would soon forget us?”

“I serve my Ladyship’s Will, which is that her people should never become subject to another’s Will other than her own.”

At last, the saber lowers. “Two have died. Who would you choose as the third and final death of our Joining?”

When the Consort lifts his head, his eyes are gleaming. “Is that not obvious, Lovely One?”

The Governor’s mouth curves, mirroring his wickedness. “A pity that Jorval did not have sufficient potential.”

“But how appropriate and pleasing a sacrifice to consummate our marriage,” finishes her husband, rising to his feet.

“My god,” Leonard whispers.

“She iz going to kill her own family?” echoes Chekov, equally appalled.

But it’s so much more than that, Leonard surmises silently. “Pavel, the Captain has to know this.”

“Agreed.” Chekov pats the communicator attached to his belt with his free hand.

Leonard watches the scene a moment longer.

The Governor crosses the distance separating her from her spouse and places a hand upon the center of his chest. “Your ploy has proved most cunning, Husband. I am pleased with you.”

Her husband in turn covers her hand with his own. “As I am also pleased to have challenged you to your satisfaction.”

The Master Healer bows before the couple, as do the guards. “The people will rejoice to hear of the success of your union,” he announces.

“The celebration will follow the completion of the Joining. Prepare the Vulcan for transport,” the Governor orders. “Husband, tell me, what does my nephew expect to receive from the Romulans?”

“Advanced weaponry which the Romulans have convinced him will force your surrender.”

“The fool. He has forsaken tradition beyond forgiveness.” There comes a pause, and then, “The Starfleet Captain seems the worthier opponent, but he has a weakness which can be used to our advantage.”

She unpins a device from her sword belt to give to her husband, and Leonard’s heart skips a beat when he sees what it is.

The Consort inspects it briefly. “This is one of the communication devices used by the Federation.”

“It belonged to the Vulcan. The human physician has escaped. Use it to find him, and then you will know how to exploit Kirk’s weakness.”

Leonard has heard more than enough. He signals Chekov to back up at the same time that the Consort offers his arm to the Governor as an escort and questions, “Shall we conclude the Gala, Lovely One, and prepare for the morrow’s work?”

McCoy and Chekov slip away unseen as the Governor replies, “We shall.”

~~~

Back in the small room they were to hide in, Leonard rubs a finger against his lower lip in thought while his companion wants to know, “Vat now?”

“We wait to be fetched, and then we find a way to get ourselves the heck out of here.”

He feels like he just fell down a rabbit hole. His mind is spinning with the depth of the Aurelians’ conspiracy. Simple Moon Gala indeed!

He beckons Pavel closer. “Keep a lookout and hand me that communicator.”

Praying to every deity he can think of, Leonard contacts the Enterprise.

Someone, it seems, is finally on his side. “Dr. McCoy, thank the saints!“

“I’ve been thanking them too, Scotty. Listen, this is urgent. I need to speak to Jim right away.”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news, Doctor. The Capt’n’s left the ship.“

If Leonard had Vulcan strength, the communicator would have shattered in his hand. “What!”

Chekov looks just as flabbergasted, peering quickly from Leonard to their curtained archway and back again as if he cannot make up his mind which of the two requires his attention more.

“He managed to give my lads the slip and beamed himself over to that freighter Mr. Spock discovered. I’m near to pullin’ out my hair with worry! I dinnae know what he’s thinkin’!“

Leonard can’t figure it out either. “Maybe Spock knows.” Heck, the two of them have mind-melded enough times that Spock ought to know Jim’s thoughts as clearly as his own.

“Is the Commander all right?” the engineer asks anxiously.

“In better shape than he should be. Scotty, we found out that the exchange with the Romulans is a ruse.”

“…I cannae of heard you correctly, Doctor. Did you say a ruse?“

“I did. It’s a setup, for both us and the Romulans.”

Apparently Scotty can curse in Klingon too. “Whatever for?“

“Something to do with the Governor consummating her marriage with her Consort. Don’t ask me for details. Their marriage rites sound more convoluted than Vulcan ones, and I’ve seen how convoluted the Vulcans do theirs.”

“You have?” Scotty and Chekov echo at the same time.

Whoops. He shouldn’t have said that. He and Jim went to great lengths to protect Spock’s privacy over the whole pon farr debacle. He has never written an official report so sparse with details as that one.

Scotty clears his throat, thankfully bringing them back on track. “Then the Capt’n…“

“Has no idea the Aurelians want us to tangle with the Romulans over something that doesn’t really matter to them,” Leonard finishes grimly.

Scotty expresses his thoughts on that by declaring, “I need a drink.“

“I’ll buy.”

A sigh filters through the speaker. “Best we can do is keep trying to hail the freighter and hope the Capt’n answers, Doctor. I’m afraid we cannae get any closer than we are, for if there’s anything I know about Romulans it’s that they’ll open fire ‘fore they decide to ask why.“

Damn, damn, and damn. The situation is looking worse by the minute. How could Jim be so reckless? He’s never just abandoned his ship like that before!

Chekov interrupts McCoy’s train of thought with a hiss of “I think zey’re coming, Doctor.”

“Scotty, gotta go. We’re leaving our communicator behind. It’s been compromised.”

“Do you have any good news at all?“

“Not really. We’ll try to reach Mudd’s shuttle. If we make it, we’ll contact you again.”

“Good luck.“

“Thanks. McCoy out.”

Leonard closes the device and looks at it with the briefest touch of regret before he places it aside on a table. He doesn’t do that a moment too soon, for the Governor’s physician draws back the curtain and enters their chamber.

“The Governor is convinced the Vulcan is dead. If you wish to leave, now is the time.”

Leonard asks as innocently as he can, “Won’t they have plans for the body?”

“I will delay the preparations.”

“Why?”

The Aurelian falls silent.

The side of Chekov’s mouth starts to curl in a distrusting sneer, but Leonard prods him none-too-gently in the ribs as a reminder to play his part.

“Why?” Leonard repeats.

“No more deaths are required,” the Aurelian replies at last, “and it is my belief that life should not be wasted carelessly.”

If he didn’t know better, Leonard might have assumed this being had taken a similar oath to his own as a medical officer. Now he understands that the reasoning has little do with any charity for others. The objective for the physician is to preserve the rite currently in progress and to prevent a litter of dead bodies from compromising the result of their game.

He smiles as if he is in agreement. “We are grateful for your help. Please take us to our friend now.”

Chekov follows McCoy’s lead in silence, and for once it is Leonard and his team who find themselves in the position of the deceivers rather than the deceived.

~~~

At the sight of three Starfleet officers hurrying towards him across the hangar, Mudd’s eyes grow large. McCoy keeps his arm secured around Spock’s waist (who cares if the Vulcan claims not to need the support?) and Chekov is striding just slightly ahead of them, looking both trigger-happy and extremely disappointed that no one has crossed his path as of yet.

“Mr. Spock,” Mudd babbles, flushing, “what an unexpected surprise! You look… unusually greener. Was this a rescue mission? I had no idea!”

When Spock doesn’t deign to respond, Leonard ducks his head to hide his smirk.

“Vhy iz ze shuttle door closed?” Chekov asks with suspicion, turning his phaser on their pilot.

“My dear boy, how was I to know when you would return?” Mudd places a hand to his chest in true dramatic fashion. “I thought I had been abandoned!”

Chekov takes one menacing step forward. “I am not a boy.”

“Pavel, help me with Spock.”

The man clearly suffers a second of indecision before he grudgingly turns away from Mudd and takes Spock’s weight from McCoy.

“Do you have a medkit inside?” Leonard asks, hurrying to the shuttle ramp.

The trader gives a strange little laugh and tugs at one end of his moustache. “Certainly I do, Dr. McCoy. Certainly. Let me get it for you!”

When the shuttle’s inner hatch releases, Mudd scuttles inside the craft like a crab bolting into its burrow at high tide.

Frowning, Leonard climbs the ramp. He has one boot on the foot rail when Mudd pops his head out of the hatch and tosses a medkit at Leonard’s chest.

“I am not a man without a conscience,” Mudd claims loudly before disappearing again.

In the trader’s stead, another figure comes forward, separating from the darkened interior of the craft to stand in the hatchway.

Leonard loses his footing in shock and takes a tumble to the bottom of the ramp.

“Dr. McCoy!” he hears Pavel cry.

The person who steps onto the ramp has a nasty little smile and triumph in his cold, silver eyes. “Greetings, Doctor,” he says. “Such a delight to meet you again. I did not realize you humans were so fond of disguises. The beard almost makes you unrecognizable.”

The shuttle hatch snaps shut and locks. The ramp retracts, and engine thrusters light up along the bottom edge of the craft. The shuttle begins its wobbly ascent from the hangar.

Suddenly Chekov and Spock are there, picking Leonard up off the ground and dragging him clear so he isn’t incinerated in the backlash of the thrusters reaching full power.

Jorval follows them at a more leisurely pace. From the corners of his eyes, Leonard sees why: Aurelian security officers, dressed as if for parade, file into the hangar.

Chekov shouts angrily after the shuttle as it blasts off skyward through the Dome. Leonard can only think to bleat, “That weasel.”

“It appears Mr. Mudd has not changed,” Spock murmurs, tightening his grip on Leonard’s arm and drawing the doctor closer to his side.

Chekov takes aim at Jorval.

“Don’t bother,” the Aurelian says, raising his hand. The ring of a dozen swords unsheathing echoes off the walls. “You cannot neutralize us all before you are killed.”

“Ensign,” Spock orders, “place your weapon on the ground.”

Despite his evident dismay, Chekov obeys.

Spock then says, “We surrender.”

“How very wise of you.” Jorval points to Spock and Chekov. “Remove these two to the holding cells for questioning.” He advances on McCoy. “I will interrogate this trespasser personally.”

Leonard pushes in front of Spock, already aware that Spock will refuse to yield ground in order to shield him. He has no desire to watch a blade pierce his Vulcan friend a second time.

“We definitely have something to talk about,” he agrees with the Governor’s nephew, “but in case you were wondering, your liaison with the Romulans is quite a poorly kept secret.”

Jorval grabs him by the neck, but Spock is quick to react, grabbing Jorval’s wrist. Leonard surmises that the Vulcan’s grip must be the more painful of the two because Jorval hisses between his teeth.

Eventually Jorval releases Leonard, and Leonard scowls, rubbing at his throat in distraction. He takes note that Chekov, though blocked on all sides by armed men, is still unharmed.

“Let’s have that talk,” he says again to Jorval. “You might be interested in what I have to say.”

“And why would you think that, human?”

Leonard smiles humorlessly at the fool. “Because I am going to save your life.”

Next Part

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• Drink One For Me (7/7) – from May 22, 2015
• Drink One For Me (6/7) – from May 22, 2015
• Drink One For Me (4/6) – from April 23, 2015
• Drink One For Me (3/5) – from April 10, 2015
• Drink One For Me (2/4) – from April 6, 2015

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