Summary: A telepath is on the Enterprise, but why did he go after Mr. Spock? Meanwhile the Commander and CMO McCoy are dealing with some denial. Slow-building-ish Spock/McCoy Slash, obviously.

A/N: I want to punch the computer, I really do. I save it and everything goes into italics, and then I try and change that, and it all just somehow vanishes. Gr!

Er, sorry.

Disclaimer; I do not own Star Trek, characters, etc. etc.

Telepath

The crew in the rec. room watched the exchange of the Doctor and Vulcan with evident amusement, mingled perhaps with some small exasperation. One or two people rolled their eyes.

"Even you can't tell me that you didn't find those Orions a little 'distracting', Spock." McCoy said, shaking his head in disbelief at the Vulcan's claim. The Enterprise had just finished transporting several Orions to dicuss a treaty, and the stress on the crew had been... considerable.

"No more distracting, Doctor, than any others who have been aboard this ship."

"You felt nothing."

"If I ever lose my physical senses, Doctor, be assured that I will report to Sickbay immediately."

A few snorts. McCoy grimaced. "You know very well - "

"Bones, give it up," Kirk said, chuckling as he came up from behind. "Up for a game of chess, Spock?"

"My apologies, Captain, but I do have some paperwork to complete, if the Doctor has nothing relevant to discuss." McCoy just scowled slightly. "If you will excuse me?"

Spock returned to his quarters, musing as he went to McCoy's meaning. He never could comprehend McCoy's anger over his lack of emotion. Furthermore, Spock certainly had not seen McCoy himself taking any amount of interest in the Orions, despite his words, which had (though he would not admit it outside his most private thoughts) pleased Spock. Though he did not know quite why this pleased him as it did. He certainly would not have been pleased if the Captain had not reacted to their presence, if very surprised. Something to think on.

He entered, and made quick work of his paperwork. It was 1943 hours; he would meditate briefly, then perhaps practice his lyre, he thought, picking it up contemplatively and then setting it aside. He had been quite neglectful of it lately.

He ordered water from a small replicator in his room, sipping at it. It tasted strange - perhaps the machine was malfunctioning. He blinked, feeling a yawn rise in him. He was strangely tired. He picked up his lyre again and sat slowly, picking at it almost distractedly. It took him a moment to process the hand wrapping around his throat.

He spun, and there was a black-gray blur, and suddenly he was falling, tumbling on the ground. The room spun, and suddenly he was blind. His mind fogged, dull and slow, his panic receding until it flared only faintly in the back of his mind. His head was being lifted by something - someone? - and there were sounds, words maybe, but he could not make them out.

Something was touching his face, and he knew without knowing why that this was wrongbaddanger but could do nothing. Suddenly there was no need to think of the physical - the attacker was in his mind.

He struggled against the alien presence, but it's voice was thunderous in his mind, painful.

"Shhhh..." It hissed, almost tenderly. "Tell me of your home, your mother, your father, your family..."

He resisted, shielding his mind weakly more from instinct, unable to think coherently, but his meek defences were thrust aside. The presence was stabbing into his mind, stripping him of control, and with his body weak he was unable even to scream - if he had been able, he might have.

The stabbing stopped, though the pain faded only a little. "Do not resist me." The thing was perversely pleased at the opportunity to harm him. "Tell me."

It reached into his mind, and suddenly it was streaming before his eyes, his father, cold and kind, his mother, soft and hard, human but cool and logical, his brother Sybok, exiled, a cause of regret, sorrow, T'Pau and all he thought of with her, the council and -

But that was not for outsiders, they could not know, never know that, it was secrethiddenshhh! and he struggled anew, then gasped and arched his back as flame burst from his very bones -

"You dare!"

And he was screaming again, or trying to; he was barely aware now, but he felt hot tear-trails on his cheeks once the pain faded some, a wholly alien feeling, and faintly it said; "Kirk, tell me of Captain James Kirk..."

He was struggling, but his barriers were swept away, and in moments it swept through his mind, tearing through his mind, lingering over each memory as he writhed. Finally the assault lessened, the unbelievable pain reducing...

It spoke again, and it's words were almost fond. "There now, was that so terrible? Good-bye, for now, and here is a little gift, just so you won't forget me, you understand..."

And his mind spun, dark and twisting and painconfusionpanic and then as it all crescendoed exploded into silence.

Captain Kirk glanced around as he strolled onto the bridge exactly four minutes before his shift officially began, at 0400 hours, yawning slightly as the Delta-Shift officer saluted and left. The Delta-Shift officer at Science, Lieutenant Talin, flashed him a smile. Sulu came in right behind him and Chekov was already situated. Uhura came in two minutes later, with an ensign with a report for him read. Paperwork, wonderful. And they were just doing scans of this system until different orders came in, too - likely wouldn't be a bit of excitement for a good week or two. Supressing a sigh, he took the padd and looked it over.

Some ten minutes later he was finished, sending off the ensign. He glanced around the bridge, then took a double-take.

Talin was still there.

And looking a little surpised, himself, as he worked. He'd never yet had to stay a second past the end of his shift - Mr. Spock was always early or, amusingly enough, exactly on time. Never late.

Unless there was an emergency. Looked like he might have that excitement after all.

Sitting up straighter, Kirk tapped a button on the arm of his chair. "Captain to Commander Spock."

Sulu glanced back with surprise, and the half-dozing Uhura took a double-take at Science, too.

No answer.

"Captain to Commander Spock!"

Chekov glanced back worriedly. Kirk stood.

"Uhura, you have the con."

"Spock!" Kirk got a few odd glances from crewman who walked past, but ignored them. What was up with Spock now? The light on the door meant that he was in his quarters, there was no denying that.

"Spock!"

No response, again. Frustrated; "Computer, Captain's override Alpha One, Three, Three, Two."

"Voice and code verified."

The door opened.

The lights were out. "Computer, lights on fifty percent." He frowned, his eyes zeroing in on Spock's bed. The sheets were gone, the bed upset. Spock's lyre was on the floor, looking abandoned.

"Spock?"

He glanced around, and even up, as though expecting the Vulcan to jump down from the ceiling - or hoping he would - and then approached the bed. He looked over it and stumbled back.

Glazed, unseeing eyes from a too-pale face, hanging off a limp neck, green blood trickling from his mouth -

He's dead, good God, he's dead -

He stumbled forward, back, forward, a strangled sound rising from him, then decisively bolted for the comm nearby, his usual calm command of a situation utterly absent. "Captain to Medical, Emergency team in Spock's quarter's now!"

He heard a response through the blood rushing through his ears, stumbling back, falling beside his friend, feeling clumsily at his neck even as his eyes burned.

...

...

No...

...

Thump

Kirk sagged against the side of the bed, a breath rushing from him in relief. Alive, alive, he chanted like a mantra, pale as a corpse and barely breathing and what's with his eyes but he's alive...

McCoy could not figure out what was wrong with the Vulcan. He seemed to have bit his tongue, explaining the blood in his mouth, but there was no other sign of injury. There was increased brain activity, suspiciously high, and quite a bit of adrenaline running through him, but other than that...

He narrowed his eyes. Wait... Was that... Had he been drugged? As in, attacked? On the Enterprise, with no one but the crew here? He pursed his lips in thought.

The nurses and doctors waited for him to speak. He gave a slow sigh. "Alright, let's try to wake him... I don't like the looks of this sleep he's in. Nurse Chapel?"

The nurse came forward with a hypospray. He watched her carefully. She looked a little too happy, given that her patient was unconscious. He made a mental note to try and keep her away from Spock. He'd heard from M'Benga how she had held his hand when Spock was unconscious once, and she a nurse too; she knew all about Vulcan hands.

She injected him with a low dose of the medicine, to revive him. He gestured for a few of the hovering nurses to step back, leaving he, M'Benga, and Chapel.

McCoy stepped forward. No response. Frowning, he took out a tricorder, bending over him. "How's he not awake? He should - "

THUD

McCoy fell to the ground with a curse as a fist hit him. Everyone who had moved away now jumped back to try and hold down the writhing Vulcan.

"The hell? Spock, calm down!"

He wouldn't calm, writhing more violently the more they tried to subdue him. Chapel jumped away, reaching for a hypospray.

"No!"

Startled, the others looked at him, a few stumbling back as they were shoved away by Spock.

"Everyone, get out!"

Bewildered, they looked at him blankly, and he pointed at the door back into the main Sickbay. "OUT!"

Captainly composure regained, Kirk waited in the main Sickbay, restraining himself from tapping a foot anxiously. The muted yells coming from inside were not so very comforting, but he nearly jumped out of his skin when some half-dozen medical staff came stumbling out of Spock's room, all looking highly confused.

"Is he alright?" Kirk asked, as confused as they.

No one could answer him.

Without the hands stopping him still Spock struggled against invisible enemies, twisting and turning, but less violently, mouth open in a silent scream. McCoy's heart lurched as he saw the light glitter off the Vulcan's cheeks - he was crying.

"Spock!" No effect. Disregarding touch-telepathy, he moved forward to grasp his flailing arms by the wrists. "SPOCK!"

It was back again, grasping and pulling, all around him, with confusing noises rising and falling in volume. He struggled, more effectively this time, and at length the force fell away, but still he pushed out in each direction with his mind, stabbing and lunging all about, searching for a hint of the invader -

"Spock"

The words were faint, but there, and still he struggled. The words, though... It had not spoken aloud -

"SPOCK!"

And then there was a presence in his mind, faint but familiar, the mind-presence of doctorMcCoyfriend? and he knew suddenly that he was not attacking mentally, but physically.

His body stilled.

McCoy nearly fell against Spock as the Vulcan abruptly went still. Anxiously, he peered down at Spock, who was breathing heavily, looking at McCoy as though he really did not see him at all.

Gently, he let go of Spock's wrists.

"Spock?"

Spock took a few deep breaths. The panic faded from his eyes, but still there was something very wrong about his face. "D-doctor."

Had he just stuttered? Spock seemed to realize this as well, squaring his shoulders. "Doctor," he said, firmly now, though his face was pale. "What has happened?"

McCoy stared at him, then fell to a chair beside the bed with a small huff of disbelief. "I was hoping you could tell me that, Spock. Jim found you in your quarters, thought you were dead, and then we wake you up and you act like a wild animal."

"My apologies, Doctor, I meant no inconvenience."

"Oh, that's besides the point!" McCoy said. "Do you remember anything?"

Darkpainreachingspinningpain

His breath hitched slightly, but McCoy didn't seem to notice. "...Little. I recall... an attack, I believe, beginning with a drug... in the water, I believe. Someone must have altered the replicator prior to the attack."

"Isn't a bruise on you," McCoy murmured.

"Not physically, Doctor, but psychically."

"They attacked your mind?"

"I believe I just said that."

McCoy gave him a look, but secretly was relieved. Spock was not looking so shaken now, which was quite a relief; having him seen shaken at all was rather disturbing.

"I recall the attack itself," Spock went on, and there was a strange look in his eyes; "but not the purpose, or when or why it was ended..."

McCoy crossed his arms slowly, leaning back and eyeing him. "Except that no one else on this ship is psychic."

"It seems, Doctor, that that has changed."

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