A/N: First, no slash, or any type of romance, present here. Mainly because I always find that weird, in these types of stories. Completely doesn't fit. Also, this is angst, just to tell you. Depressing.

Also, warning; main plot point is rape. Non-graphic, but be warned. Also mentions of suicide.

I torture Spock way too much in my stories… *shakes head*

Also, because it's inevitable it will come up; Why Kyle? Because his name was on the 'character list' on this site and there's only three stories with him there. *Shrugs*. I took it as a challenge.

Porcelain Masks

Lieutenant Kyle, for a moment, could only stare with wide eyes at the bloodied form of the first officer on the transporter pad; then Starfleet training kicked in, and he reached for the com. Panel -

"No."

He stopped automatically, then glanced back at the quiet command from the Vulcan. "Sir - !"

"There is no need to call Sickbay."

"Sir, you're injured, protocol…"

Kyle trailed off as Spock favoured him with a blank, distant look, a shiver going up his spine.. "Is not applicable in this case, Lieutenant. Return to your post."

Before Kyle could muster the courage to protest further, Spock had left.

Spock walked as quick as he could without seeming like he was rushing, though his heart pounded in his ears. He saw from the corner of his vision crewmembers stop and double-take at the sight of him, but he kept his gaze straight ahead, mind blank, even as an alien panic began to well up.

He reached his quarters. Entered. Went into the bathroom.

A long, jagged cut across his face was the most noticeable addition; it had scabbed over and then broken again, and some fresh green blood dripped down past the dried stains covering his face. That, and the bruise splotched over his right cheek, had probably attracted most of the stares. The ripped, dirt-stained clothes didn't help much either.

Spock, though, possessed both keen Vulcan eyesight and the knowledge of where to look.

A slight indentation, there - and, lowering his collar slightly, he saw a mangled green mass of ripped flesh. He'd struggled, writhed, twisted and thrashed, which had injured him more - and made the bite mark the mess was impossible to recognize.

A sudden dryness in his mouth and a twist in his gut told the usually unshakeable half-Vulcan to move for the toilet as a heave wracked his body. Finished, he wiped his mouth, trembles going through him that had little to do with the sickness.

He needed to get clean. That was the first thing that came to his head. He needed to feel clean. He was fastidious on the best of days - but having this on him - he convulsed again, suddenly, but controlled the physical reaction this time. He was Vulcan. This was nothing. It was of the body. The body. His mind was still whole, he could overcome this.

After cleaning.

Lieutenant Kyle debated calling Sickbay anyway as Mr. Spock left, but decided against it - the Vulcan had given him an order, after all. But his shift was over soon… maybe after shift he'd stop by Sickbay and make sure the Science Officer had gotten that scratch treated. Something in him railed against that. Spock… something had been wrong there… But McCoy would find it, surely, and Spock was no fool. He would do the 'logical' thing, wouldn't he? Only feeling a little more assured, he returned to his duty uneasily.

I am subscribing, Spock realized, to a totally illogical and emotional reaction.

There was no reason to have two sonic showers, much less the four he'd just had. Usually a brief one was enough; he knew that having multiple ones surely made no difference.

But it was on his skin. He didn't know how, but he could feel it, crawling there. It seemed to weigh on him - it couldn't be ignored. And every patch of too-heavy skin brought back flashes of memory - there, that bruise on his bare arm was from the one who'd gone third - and those scabbed-over wounds on the wrists were from where the restraints had chafed as he'd struggled, and that deeper bit there was from when he'd struggled hardest, before he'd known it was useless, and when the first one had -

He closed his mind, taking a quick, deep breath. P

erhaps the sonic shower was malfunctioning. Therefore, it was only logical to resort to the water one. Perhaps that would prove more effective.

McCoy looked up as Winston Kyle hovered nervously. "What is it?" He asked roughly, seeing immediately that the man looked fine.

"Sir, did Mr. Spock come by here?"

A little alarm went off in McCoy's head, and he sat up straighter. "Should he have?"

"Well, it's just - when I beamed him up, he looked like he'd been hurt, and then he told me not to call Sickbay - "

"Damn it, man!" McCoy jumped up and grabbed his medical bag. "Damn fool - you know what he's like!" Kyle cringed a little. "Where is he?"

"Not here - " McCoy glared. "So probably his quarters," Kyle said, hastily.

"Quarters - idiot, does he think he's a doctor? Don't call Sickbay, indeed…" Kyle sighed a little as McCoy reached the door, but his reaction was premature. "And I'll be talking with you when I'm done!" McCoy called back as he left.

Damn it.

McCoy scowled at Spock's door darkly as he commed in for the sixth time, but there was still no response. He was debating using his medical override when the door finally opened.

He blinked.

Oh.

The Vulcan's hair was wet, his skin shiny, and it was obvious he'd just had a shower - a water shower, which was just weird, because most people preferred quick sonic showers now and the desert-bred Vulcan was definitely one of those people. He couldn't get too distracted by that, though - Spock's face was a little more attention-catching.

"What the hell?" McCoy hissed. He immediately pushed past Spock into the Vulcan's quarters.

Spock stiffened. "Doctor," he said. His heart beat, which had begun to finally calm, shot up again. The halls had been easier - Kyle had been a little difficult, but he could mostly ignore the crew in the halls, if they didn't try to approach him. McCoy's presence, however, was not something one could just ignore.

"What happened to you?" McCoy demanded immediately, reaching into his bag. "Siddown."

"Doctor, this is not - "

McCoy glared at him. "Sit. Down."

Normally, Spock would have raised an eyebrow, perhaps commented wryly on the doctor's bedside manner even as he acquiesced, and the two would exchange insults - most of which coming from the doctor and lamenting the Vulcan's penchant for trouble - and that would be that.

Today, however, the doctor's presence was bringing a rare slew of alien feelings which the Vulcan was hard-put to suppress. He desperately needed to meditate, to try and regain some measure of control. His mental shields had been rent to tatters after the prolonged physical contact - they had been so emotional, hate and thrill and superiority and confidence, and cruel, cruel amusement, all overshadowed with an overwhelming lust -

He barely kept from flinching as the doctor prodded as his abused face, clinically, with the air of one comfortable and accustomed to doing so. Which he was, and which made Spock's reactions all the worse to the confused half-Vulcan.

This was McCoy, why was his mind flashing back to them - illogical, totally illogical. He just had to keep calm and distract the doctor, so he wouldn't do a full scan with his tricorder and see what was wrong, and then he'd meditate and get calm and everything would be fine. It would be.

Except, maybe it wouldn't - he'd read of this, once, it was rare in Vulcan society but it happened, and some went mad, some could never control their emotions again, or totally lost their minds, some became no more than animals, and some kept most of their sanity but not all of it and they would fail to suppress their emotions, and they had terrible emotions, and then they would succumb to them and in the dead of night sneak from members of their clan so no help would come and they'd take old family blades with them kitchen knifes or great ceremonial daggers or lirpas or swords and the family would find them half-buried in green-stained sand the day after…

McCoy ran an instrument over his face, brow creasing in concern even as his voice grumbled on. "How do you get into these messes? Who did you get mad this time?"

Something in that stung deeply, though the comment itself was absent-minded and without any venom. "I provoked no one."

"Your face says otherwise."

You know you want it -

"I did not."

McCoy glanced at him, taken aback by the strange fierceness, and Spock felt inexplicably abashed. A little bemused, McCoy held up a tricorder. "Any more injuries?"

"No," Spock said immediately - and perhaps a little too quickly.

"You sure?" McCoy narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"There would be no reason to tell untruths, Doctor - I have already been given the dubious honour of your attention, I would hardly have a reason to avoid it now."

McCoy gave him an irritated, "You're right it's an honour." He didn't care to banter. "But that's it? Just the face?" He insisted.

"Yes, Doctor."

McCoy eyed him, but the straight-forward phrasing reassured him. If Spock was hurt, he'd say something like, 'I have not been significantly harmed,' or some such thing. But the Vulcan never outright lied.

Usually.

"Alright." He rolled his eyes. "Can't even take a simple visit to the surface of a Federation planet without getting hurt! How do you get hurt on Andor, of all places…"

He left easily enough, still grumbling as he did so, and Spock allowed himself a shaky sigh as the door slid shut, closing his eyes and laying back as he tried to slow his quick heart. He was not quite successful.

It was late. He was not clean, but he could wash no more without hurting his skin, which was even now quite raw from the cleansing, which had also reopened some wounds. Not that he had any large cuts, really. It was all bruises, except for where he'd been pressed against something sharp, when they'd first fought him to the ground, and then when he was pressed when they were -

Well.

"Lights off."

It was late. He should sleep. It was logical. His body had been injured and needed to recover. He could wake early and meditate, and go on his shift, and pretend nothing had happened.

…

He did not want to sleep.

He opened his eyes again as he realized this, disconcerted. But, yes, he had to admit it was… disturbing, thinking of sleeping. His muscles felt tense at the thought. But why? There were not even any memories of - it - associated with sleep, though if there were this would still be illogical.

He considered this a long moment.

He rose to retrieve a long knife hanging on the wall, placing it on the bedside table. He laid back down.

Slowly, he turned so that his back was to the wall, and he was facing the door.

…

Somewhat reluctantly;

"Lights, twenty percent."

He did not meditate upon waking from the hellish sleep. The thought repulsed him, somehow - thinking at all about what had happened repulsed him. Instead, he washed again, and spent a long while cleaning his teeth and scrubbing his mouth. The toothpaste somehow did not help, so after a time, frustrated, he simply washed out his mouth with soap. It tasted foul and gave his mouth a burning sensation, but it did help. Somewhat.

He had a very short time until his shift after all this, so he skipped both meditation and breakfast, donned his uniform, and reported to the bridge, his appearance and manner impeccable.

But this didn't stop his heart from racing as a lieutenant rounded a corner and almost ran into him when he then went to the labs, feeling uncomfortable on the bridge by his oblivious friends. He hesitated, grasping the wall covertly, then straightened and continued. But there was something he had not taken into account when he reached the labs.

A large Andorian thaan, Lieutenant Laaras, was across the room, bent over his work.

A few people blinked in confusion as, looking up at the sound of a door sliding open, they saw their department head stare into the room before abruptly turning and leaving. They shrugged it off a moment later, and returned to their respective duties.

Spock made it to the turbo lift, then reached out to stop its progression. He took a moment to compose himself, bracing against the wall.

He had not expected this. He would find some way to overcome the rest of the - and he hated to admit there were any, that he, a Vulcan, was susceptible to this - of the psychological effects of the night before. He had encountered some, already, but those he could privately work through, on his own time. No one would need to know anything. But Lieutenant Laaras was his second in Science. He could not simply avoid him until these odd effects faded, surely. He interacted with the Andorian too much.

But he also knew, with certainty, that he had to try avoiding the Andorian. Just the thought of that hulking blue figure - there were too many memories. He clenched his eyes shut against the recollections, crossing his arms and shrinking against the wall in a purely instinctual attempt to be smaller. He forced the thought from his head. Not now, not now. He was on shift, he had a duty. And he was Vulcan. He would not let this effect him, he could not. He was a shame to his father's people, cowering like a frightened child! He needed control….

When Commander Spock stepped onto the bridge one minute later, he was totally composed, totally unruffled, and completely in control.

Outwardly.

Spock shook his head very slightly, in polite refusal. "I am afraid that there are some matters which require my attention."

Jim raised his eyebrows - Spock didn't often refuse chess games - but nodded agreeably enough. "Maybe tomorrow then," he said casually, flashing the Vulcan an easy smile before going down another hall.

Spock doubted he'd be saying 'yes' the next day, either.

He could almost, almost, understand having an adverse reaction to Lieutenant Laaras. He was an Andorian, a thaan, he looked very much like the five who had accosted Spock on Andor. It was still an emotional reaction, of course, and those were never logical, but he could accept it as something to work through.

But this! He grew tense when Chekov passed too near, the twenty-two year old Ensign! And Chekov, for all that he had a bit of a temper, would never harm him - would never be able to harm him, for that matter. Spock could stop him in a fight easily.

Even more disturbing, however, was his reaction to Jim. He had full trust in Jim, and had long ago been forced, reluctantly, to admit that the depth of his love and loyalty for his captain was certainly outside the bounds of Vulcan culture. In that area, however, he would not acquiesce to his upbringing. In that one thing, he would do as Spock wanted, not Spock-the-Vulcan. Even if it did make him ashamed, at times, he could not deny it.

But something strange was happening - his trust was faltering. He had felt definite, bewildering fear when the captain came too close. His neck prickled when anyone - including Jim -even looked at him. For someone used to suppressing the vast majority of his emotions, and quite capable of ignoring the rest that he noted but did not submit to, the strength of these emotions - and the reactions they caused in him - were incomprehensible.

He returned to his quarters. He needed to understand these emotions - understand, categorize, and, eventually, he would be able to suppress them and control them, once he had come to terms with them. Simple. He had done so his whole life.

So why did the prospect fill him with dread?

He lit the fire held by the bust of Shariel, taking it from the table to place on the floor, before his bed. Usually he stayed in his uniform, but today the uniform had sat uncomfortably on his skin - perhaps another side effect. He had, after all, been in uniform when It had happened. That day, therefore, he immediately donned a black meditation robe, which alone seemed to help his nerves. He sat cross-legged on the ground.

He had to come to terms with what had happened. It was of the body, he told himself, for far from the first time. True, the thoughts and feelings he had discerned with his touch telepathy had been… upsetting, but it was the body. That was all.

He could not reach a meditative state. It eluded him entirely. After roughly half an hour through his struggle, the door chimed.

He opened his eyes. "Enter."

Kyle was barely able to believe he'd worked up the nerve to do this. But he felt strangely compelled to see the Vulcan. McCoy would have seen to him, he was sure, but Kyle couldn't forget that look. The look he'd been wearing when he'd beamed up - he couldn't describe it. He couldn't stop thinking about it. It was like an itch, and it wasn't going away. He found himself at the Vulcan's quarters after shift the day after the beam-up, almost before he realized what he was doing. And, once he pressed the chime, it was too late to go back.

He heard a faint voice. "Enter."

He did so.

Spock was sitting on the floor, in what was obviously a meditation pose. Kyle felt doubly foolish at that.

"Lieutenant?"

Any fears he had vanished in an instant.

He couldn't pinpoint why, exactly - but there was that same thing in his voice that Kyle had seen in his face. Winston Kyle had always been a perceptive individual. And he knew, intuitively, that he needed to find out what was going on. And, more than that, Commander Spock needed it too.

He stood at parade-rest, but he kept his eyes on the Vulcan instead of ahead. "Sir, forgive me if I am being presumptuous, but are you well?"

Kyle thought it a mark of the Vulcan's obvious need to confide that he was not dismissed right at that. Instead; "The doctor has seen to me."

Now, Kyle was not one of the admittedly small group of the crew who could claim friendship with Spock, but he knew by now when the Vulcan was lying. Or 'stretching', as the crew referred to the first's half-truths. "Sir, permission to speak freely?"…Perhaps the Vulcan wasn't so eager to confide as he'd presumed?

"Denied."

…Huh.

Kyle tried to remember a time he'd heard that question answered with anything but a 'proceed', and failed.

He would have left. He wanted to leave, certainly, his previous resolve faltering; but something yet stayed him.

"There was blood on you."There was a long silence. "Lieutenant, leave immediately."

"Were you hurt?"

"Lieutenant, this is insubordination. Exit my quarters."

And, suddenly, it struck Kyle; Spock wouldn't report him. Because something had happened on Andor, something Spock wanted kept secret; and if he reported Kyle, Kyle would be questioned. And if Kyle explained his concerns, there might be some renewed interest in Spock by McCoy.

Which further reinforced that this was a very serious something. But Kyle wasn't in Starfleet for nothing. He planted his feet firmly. "What happened?" Spock said nothing.

Kyle stepped forward, speaking evenly. "What happened on Andor?"

It wasn't his place, and again his resolve faltered; but his unquenchable curiosity and persistence made a return as Spock stepped back, a flicker of emotion flashing on his face.

Kyle crossed his arms, and tried to ignore the slight tremble of them as he took two more steps. "What happened?"

The Vulcan's nostrils were flaring as his breathing picked up, and the first faint traces of alarm came to his features. A trickle of unease filled Kyle, but this was a different fashion than fear for himself; it was concern. What the hell was going on? This situation - seemed familiar -

"Lieutenant, leave." The words came out weak, more pleading than commanding, it seemed.

"Tell me what happened."

Kyle took another step closer, and now he was brushing against the Vulcan, right up to him - and, seeing the familiar way the Vulcan cringed from his touch, he suddenly knew, without a hint of doubt, what had happened.

He asked it, anyway, voice light and breathy, coloured with shock. "What happened?"

Spock didn't seem capable of answering at this point - and Kyle understood that, too.

He remembered tears, he remembered sobbed questions and doubts - and he was quite sure, Vulcan or not, that the Commander needed the same assurances She had. He spoke without thinking, automatically.

"It wasn't your fault."

He was pretty sure Spock stopped breathing right about then.

But he continued. "It wasn't your fault. There was no secret part of you wanting it, there was nothing you could feasibly have done to prevent it. You did not do anything to provoke it." The Vulcan was trembling slightly. Gently, Kyle dared to lay his hands on the other's shoulders. "It wasn't your fault."

Something snapped then. He wasn't hysterical, like She had been, but in a way it the situation was all the more heart-rending for his silence, silent but for a single strangled gasp. His eyes shone, his shoulders shuddered, but no tears came; he just stared at Kyle with those wide, stunned eyes, dark and lost.

Kyle pulled the other to him, tears filling his eyes in falling for in place of those the stoic man before him couldn't shed. The alien did not lean into his grasp, but allowed himself the sole comfort of a desperate clutch on Kyle's uniform - perhaps he wasn't even aware of it. At some point his shoulders convulsed slightly, as though with sobs; but his cheeks remained dry. Kyle let out enough tears for both of them, though, arms still pressing the others to him.

He didn't know how long he stood like that, but very soon the Vulcan seemed to remember himself, and his pride. He pulled away abruptly, or tried to. Kyle tightened his grip. "Don't you be ashamed," he said. "Don't you dare be ashamed for what those things did."

The hand still clutching his shirt convulsed, and Spock shook his head in confused denial, unable to take it all in.

Kyle was also, though few knew it, well educated in other cultures. "The cause is sufficient," he said, echoing a Vulcan philosophy he had once heard. "For this, the cause is sufficient. There is no shame in emotion after what happened to you."

The Vulcan was still silent.

Kyle hated to push, but - "Have you spoken to Doctor McCoy?"

Spock went rigid.

"Or the captain?" He continued, cautiously.

"They do not need to be told of anything." If before he had been afraid the Vulcan's demeanour had changed; his words were cold, almost angry.

He was not looking Kyle in the face, though.

It was still, however, enough to remind Kyle that this was his superior, and damn if he wasn't presuming a lot here. He had true respect for the other - even a measure of some affection - but… He was not the most ideal person for this, not by a long shot. He knew, though. Now he had to try. If he didn't, who would?

"You certainly aren't required to tell the captain," Kyle said, managing to keep his voice even. Even if you should. "McCoy, on the other hand - "

"Will also speak to the captain," Spock said curtly.

"He's a doctor."

"…"

Alright, confidentiality agreements or not, Kirk would find out. McCoy meant well, but patient-doctor confidentiality - not his strong suit. And Kyle did know better than to force that situation.

"You were likely - hurt," Kyle tried, without much hope, and Spock stiffened at the reminder. "Have you - "

"I have treated my injuries," Spock said curtly. He face was blank and hard, any vulnerability gone.

"What about diseases?"

A slight flicker of the mask; then his face was cold stone again. "I would notice."

Kyle had to accept that. "And what do you plan to do now? Just go about business as usual?"

"I do not see why not."

Another memory, of another who thought She could go through it alone - a memory of a corpse, bloodied and smiling and terrible, found three-days decomposed on a tiled floor -

He spoke without even giving it a thought.

"I am going to visit you every other day at minimum, to see how you are doing. And if you have the slightest of suicidal thoughts -" Spock's eyes flared with barely-hidden anger at the implication of emotion " - then you are to find me, immediately."

"I shall not."

"Yes you shall," Kyle shot back, thoughts of rank forgotten with that bloody memory. "And if you do not, then I'll get some assistance from the two people you have to listen to in this."

Spock was rigid. "You can tell the doctor and the captain on your own time - or never - if I can be sure you're doing well. If not, they're told."

Another shudder went through the Vulcan, though if this were fear or fury Kyle couldn't tell. Spock did not even answer, just managed one rigid nod, tense with hard-won control. Kyle took mercy on him and finally left.

When he got back to his quarters, he broke out some whiskey Scotty had gifted to him a few months earlier.

Had he really just done that?

His eyes closed as he took a swig, welcoming the burn. Gods. The memory of those wide dark eyes haunted him, though. The wrong colour, maybe, but so like Stephanie's…

His resolve firmed. First Officer or not - he had to do this. He had a moral obligation, and - he just couldn't let it happen again, to anyone he knew. He wouldn't let anyone else die to this. Someone had to be there for the Commander - even if the Commander didn't want him to be.

A convulsive shudder went through him, but he had to do this, however intimidating Spock was.

Another vision came to his head - cold brown eyes looking at him across the bridge, blank, emotionless, judging and assessing and dismissing -

And then back, again, to wide vulnerable ones pleading for it all to be a dream.

He took another swig, and the second vision won.

In the morning he approached Spock first, saw the Vulcan stiffen as he approached. Kyle didn't allow anything in his demeanour to alert any nearby in the crowded messhall.

"You're alright?"

"My health has not deteriorated since we last spoke," Spock replied, tersely.

Kyle pretended not to notice the evasion. He looked instead at Spock's food, an untouched bowl of soup. "You haven't eaten anything."

Spock's face tightened; there was something bleak in his eyes.

Kyle leant closer, speaking gently. "Try dry foods. They shouldn't be too bad; bread, and things. It might be a time before you can keep down anything liquid or with juices."

Confusion - and a bit of gratitude, under it? Perhaps it was his imagination. He left. If he was distracted that day, Scotty didn't mention it.

A small part of Spock wondered how the Lieutenant had known how unappealing liquids were, how they had made him remember, made him think of other substances choking his throat, made him think he was feeling it again. But he did retrieve some dry, crumbling bread, nuts that cracked in his mouth, and it was strangely comforting.

Kirk may have given him some odd looks on shift, but did not ask after his unusually quiet behaviour; and if he rose to move or ducked away when someone came to close, or Jim tried to place a hand on his shoulder, well, he had never been much a fan of physical contact anyway.

"I believe you specified 'every other' day," Spock said quietly, even as he stood aside to allow Kyle entrance into his quarters.

"At minimum," Kyle responded. "Have you eaten?"

"Yes. And I will say again, Lieutenant - "

"You're not kicking me out, Sir. I'm going to help you."

"I do not require help.""From where I'm standing it doesn't look like that. You know, it's only been two days and people are already commenting about how you're acting odd."

"You are lying."

"I am not. Small things, mainly, but it's affecting you."

"I will overcome it in my own time."

"Or you can let me help you. It - "

"Lieutenant, you have no authority to -"

"To what?" Kyle challenged. "As far as I'm concerned I'm helping out a friend."

"This is insubordination, and a violation of Starfleet protocal."

"So is not reporting a known rape."

Kyle almost wished to take that back as he said it; it was the first time the word had been said aloud, and Spock flinched back as though struck. But Kyle pressed on, not giving him time to recover. "You know it's affecting you. You can't deny it."

"And what gives you the right to this?" Spock demanded.

"Because I know."

"Know?" Spock shook his head, denying, the movements swift and angry. "What could you possibly know of this? Leave me."

"Sir, did you know I had a sister?"

"Leave, Lieutenant."

"Her name was Stephanie."

"I have no qualms about calling security."

Yes you do. Kyle plowed on. "She been dead for eight years."

Spock looked at him, then averted his gaze again. His voice, when he spoke, sounded weary. "Lieutenant - "

"It was why I joined Starfleet - the memories, I mean. I couldn't stay on Earth like that, and I wanted to make a difference."

Spock seemed to have given up, and was determinedly staring at a wall; but Kyle knew he was listening.

"I couldn't handle what had happened to her, how she'd reacted - I couldn't stop thinking about what I could've done, and didn't."

Spock's head twitched toward him slightly, but he kept staring at the wall.

"She was attacked on the way to my house," Kyle told him, whispering, seeing in his mind's eye a shaking, sobbing women, a girl, just eighteen, bloodied and half-hysterical on his doorstep. "Coming to visit me. There were two of them. Was it just one for you, Commander?"

Silence.

"Was there only one?"

For a long moment Kyle thought the Vulcan wouldn't answer. He was surprised when Spock did. The words, when he spoke, were barely audible in the silent room.

"There were five."

Kyle felt bile rising in his throat, controlled himself, and kept up the narrative, voice still low. "There were two who went after her. Complimented her choice of dress. She was wearing a dress I had bought her."

One of Spock's hands fidgeted with the sleeve of his uniform distractedly; he had given up avoiding Kyle's gaze, and now stared into his eyes, captivated.

"She was hysterical. She wouldn't let me comfort her, panicked more when I tried. I let her sleep. I didn't call the police. I didn't even think of the police. All I could think of was her. She sobbed herself to sleep in the guest room while I stood outside. In the morning, she refused to speak of it. She was very quiet, though she was usually so cheerful, and she just said she didn't want to talk about it, wanted to forget about it. She asked me to say nothing, and when I was hesitating she broke and begged, and I couldn't say no."

Kyle was silent for a long moment. Spock's eyes were fixated on his face. "…Within two months she had killed herself."

Kyle looked at Spock with haunted eyes of her own. He did not tell the Vulcan that afterwards he had become somewhat obsessive, reading everything he could on the subject in some masochistic need to know what he could have done to stop it, what signs he should have looked for. He did not tell the Vulcan that she had been found smiling, or that he had known, in his heart, and she had been smiling because the pain was going to end; that would have been too much. "I'm not letting that happen again, Spock, not to you. You're going to recover if it kills me."

And Spock had nothing to say.

Three days passed. Kyle, despite his promise of 'every other day', visited each one, and often for long periods of time. He stayed in the corner of a room, silent and watchful while Spock meditated, and despite himself Spock was glad; there was something comforting in that, something which lessened his fear and allowed him to examine, tentatively, that terrible moment bit by bit while a man he hardly knew kept watch, protecting him from his demons. He had been able to sleep at night again. Kyle passed by him at mealtimes, always glancing down to see if Spock was eating. The Vulcan had been glad to be from the desert; but by the fourth day a glass of water had joined his tray. He had only thrown up once - and Kyle had been there, too, not presuming to try and touch him again, but standing by, just in case.

But oddly reassuring as this was, Spock had forgotten of others on the ship who might notice his sudden seclusion in his quarters, his odd new habits on duty.

Seven days after beaming up from Andor Jim approached him, quietly asking to see him after shift. Spock nodded, doing well in hiding in discomfort as Jim leant his head by Spock's to speak, and hastily went to his duties. He felt Jim's eyes on him.

"Spock, is there anything bothering you?" Jim asked without preamble once they entered an empty room.

"No Sir," Spock lied immediately. "Might I enquire as to the reason of the query?"

"You've been acting - strangely, the past few days."

"In what way?"

Jim abruptly moved forward, towards him; Spock very quickly took three neat, precise steps back. "Like that. You've been - jumpy. And don't think I haven't noticed you holing up in your quarters. Which isn't that unusual, actually, but usually you don't go for this long."

"I have been… meditating."

"Meditating. For a week?"

"My mental shields are weakened." That was not a lie. "Touch and even close physical proximity is extremely uncomfortable." Also true.

Jim had been prepared to struggle to get anything from Spock, as was usually necessary, and he was surprised by the quick acquiescence, some tension draining from his posture. "Oh. That's it? - and it's nothing serious? You can fix the shields?"

"I am in the process of re-establishing them, yes. Do not be concerned."

Jim relaxed, uncrossing his arms. "Alright, then. Sorry to pry, Spock, but - "

"Of course," Spock dismissed. "If you will excuse me - "

Eleven days after returning, Kyle was not silent, yet did not try to get Spock to speak of the assault. Instead he surprised the Vulcan by suddenly speaking as Spock prepared to meditate.

"What were you like as a kid?" Spock turned to look at him, puzzled. "I'm curious, if you wouldn't mind. You were raised on Vulcan?"

"Of course," Spock said immediately, then realized Kyle had already convinced him to respond.

"Did you have any siblings?"

He could see no harm in it, and so Spock told him of Sybok, his odd theories and beliefs and loving smiles, how he protected Spock from his prejudiced peers and accepted him as no one, not even his parents, had - and how, when Spock was fourteen, Sybok had been exiled.

And when gently prompted he elaborated on the protection, on the views of some others Vulcans - some openly finding him lesser, almost all at the very least treating him differently, even unconsciously; he told Kyle of his parents, and was interested as the engineer reciprocated, relaxing to listen to the other speak; and when it was very late and Kyle left Spock realized that hours had passed, and he had not meditated, but he was calm and in control nonetheless.

Fourteen days after returning Spock had a panic attack.

He had been in the labs, and for the first time in awhile his entire focus was on his work. He was intensely interested in the mutation of a type of bacteria the crew had discovered to be threatening an alien population, which had previously had a symbiotic relationship with them.

He jerked away as a hand settled on his shoulder, twisting around; his side hit the desk, and the hands grabbed him as he started to fall.

He struggled from the grasp, panic mixing with that same recent terror he had experienced weeks ago as he saw, fuzzily, the bright blue skin and white hair of his attacker.

His skin went cold; he couldn't breathe; his vision narrowed, blurred, and his chest tightened impossibly. His heart pounded in his ears as the being grasped his arm, but his back was to a table. His mind went blank; the only thing he was aware of was panicfearterror and he needed to get away, he couldn't - he couldn't -

Everything went black.

When he came back to himself hands were gripping him, shaking him, although he was already trembling; but suddenly they all let go. More blue entered his vision; McCoy had arrived to the labs, with M'Benga and another nurse at his heels.

"What's wrong?" He barked, waving them away as he knelt to run a tricorder over Spock.

"He just started shaking and collapsed," A voice said hastily; the sound made Spock's stomach lurch. "Was breathing quick, too."

He knew that voice -Andorian, it was an Andorian - he struggled to rise, but his body failed to comply.

"Woah there!" A hand pressed him back down. "Jesus, his heart rates impossible - Vulcan or not that's bad. M'Benga, get a sedative."

Nonono he'd be helpless, what were they thinking, there was an Andorian -

He tried to twist away; there was a sharp pinch on his neck, and then the world was sliding away.

When Spock woke in Sickbay Jim was sitting by him, troubled. He straightened as he saw that Spock was once more aware.

"Jim."

"Spock." Jim's hand twitched, but he restrained himself from trying to touch the Vulcan. "Care to explain what happened down there?"

"Sir?"

"According to McCoy you had a panic attack." Jim looked at him seriously. "What's going on, Spock?"

Spock's mind raced. "You… recall the conversation we had, several days ago?"

"About the mental shields?"

"Lieutenant Laaras made physical contact with me while I was distracted," He informed Jim, hiding his unease. "I was unprepared. When it my physiological reaction became concerning, I believe he initiated further contact, as did several others. While unfortunate, it is nothing of concern."

Jim's frown deepened. "You had a panic attack, Spock. I would say that's plenty reason for concern."

"I assure you I am dealing with the issue." It was, actually, more than anything else the fact that Laaras was Andorian - but Jim didn't need to know that. Spock had not lied, but the implications of his words would hopefully appease Jim.

Jim rubbed his forehead wearily. "Do you need to take some time off, Spock? Is this going to happen again?"

"Not likely, Sir. And - " Unbidden, an image of Kyle's silent, relentless presence in Spock's quarters came to mind, silent and watchful. "I would prefer to remain on board. I do not expect any complications, provided I remain more aware."

"…And you're fine now?"

"Yes, Jim."

"…Alright."

"I can not."

"Spock - "

"Do not ask this of me."

"Spock."

"I will not undergo the humiliation of - "

"Spock."

Spock fell silent.

"You don't have to speak with anyone," Kyle said, soothingly. "But you have to recognize that someone else could be hurt by the people that attacked you. You can file a report to Andoria, and respond to any questions over messages." A pause. "Although - I don't think Andorian's allow for anonymous calls." Spock stiffened. "You would need to put down your name - but I'm sure they'll be discreet. Spock." Spock dragged his eyes to Kyle's. "There is nothing to be embarrasses or ashamed of. I understand not wanting to talk about, not wanting it known - but don't be ashamed. Don't let them win."

"It is not a matter of 'winning' or 'losing'. It is - " Spock couldn't think of how to put it.

"I know." And he did. "But Spock… if you report this, describe the people, the place, they might be found and punished; they'll be punished for what they did to you, and you might be saving others from going through this." Spock's face tightened at the thought of others being attacked the same way. "You need to tell them."

"…"

Kyle waited.

"…I will contact Andoria tomorrow."

It had been thirty nine days since they had left Andor.

Spock was impossibly grateful for Kyle. The engineer, now a man he considered a friend as much as anyone else aboard, had been invaluable in helping him recover his equilibrium. The memory of Andor was haunting, and he knew it still tainted his actions; the new, stronger shyness to touch, the way he could sometimes not bear wetter foods, and still he slept with a knife by his side and the lights dim but active. And he was quiet, so that the crew was beginning to become concerned, even Jim and McCoy, who thought they knew why. But he was recovering. He was beginning to feel secure again, safe, normal.

It had been forty days since they had left Andor.

And Andor was calling.

"Captain?" Jim turned toward Uhura. "We're receiving a live call from Andor's crime investigators." She sounded baffled. "They say they have further questions regarding a report one of the crew sent."

Jim frowned. "Onscreen."

Spock stood from his seat, alarmed. "Captain - "

Jim started to turn, but the image of an Andorian zhen filled the view screen.

"You are captain of the vessel?"

"Yes; what this is about?"

"Captain," Spock tried again, but he was interrupted.

"We are calling in response to a sexual assault report from one of your crew," The Andorian explained. There were gasps. Jim stiffened, and Spock clenched his fists in defeat, feeling a cold heaviness settle over him.

"Is there one called - " the zhen paused. "Shh-keen - Well, is there a Commander Spock aboard your vessel?"

The bridge seemed to still.

Jim's mind blanked. "…Are you saying Commander Spock witnessed an assault?"

Puzzled; "No, he was assaulted. According to the report, five - "

"I am Commander Spock," Spock said hollowly, stepping up. His mind was blank, frozen, unable to process this terrible turn of events. "I will take the call in my quarters, Lieutenant Uhura. Captain."

He left without further preamble; on the way to his quarters he stopped to request that Lieutenant Kyle meet him there.

It was only the second time Spock had permitted the contact, and that was how Kyle knew he needed it. He held the Vulcan against him after the call had ended as the Vulcan told him, in broken, terrified sentences of what had happened on the bridge.

Everyone knew. Jim and Uhura and Sulu and Chekov and all the other miscellaneous people on the bridge, and there were no secrets on the Enterprise. By the time next Alpha Shift came around, everyone would know, if they didn't already.

Kyle tightened his grip until he was sure he was cutting off some circulation, and Spock was shameless at least in seeking more contact, letting his head fall on the hollow of his shoulder. This hurt even more than the first day to Kyle, because now his affection for the first officer went beyond merely respect and a terrible bond; he considered this usually calm and reserved man his friend, and while he had seen more emotion from his than most on this ship could claim, the display was still heart breaking.

"It's alright," He said. "You're going to get through this. It's alright."

It wasn't.

When Spock had finally fallen to a troubled sleep Kyle rose, knowing he had little time; he was frankly surprised that the captain or CMO hadn't dropped by sooner. Perhaps they were still too surprised to act, too uncertain. Kyle would take advantage of that. He input into the computer a code only he and Lieutenant-Commander Scott knew, which would shut the down in the case of a possible explosion or other such danger to any who might enter. Kirk would have to use a counter-code specifically in response to it, a precaution so that the captain or others wouldn't just blithely enter a dangerous room, unknowingly, and become killed. The captain would have no reason to suspect Spock could lock the quarters with that code.

A few minutes after this Kyle's prediction proved accurate. Kirk was requesting entrance. Spock woke at the noise.

"Go back to sleep," Kyle said. "Door's locked, and it's awhile til Alpha Shift."

No need for Spock to fret and panic until then, at least. Spock seemed to realize the logic in this - or was just very exhausted after the recent emotional turmoil - and swiftly fell asleep.

"His rooms are locked."

"You're the captain."

"And he's Spock," Jim snapped. "He's locked me out!" He ran a hand through his hair agitatedly, his alarm quickly giving way to the worry that had encompassed him since the Andorian's call. "Gods, Bones, sexual assault - "

McCoy took a weary breath, anger draining from his as well. "I know. Jesus - I knew he's been acting oddly, but - "

"How did this - why wouldn't he say anything?"

McCoy snorted humourlessly. "You really have to ask?"

Jim closed his eyes, resting his head on his palm. "Sexual assault," he said again. "Gods." He couldn't get over it.

"The panic attack," McCoy said suddenly. Jim opened an eye to look at him. "Right next to Lieutenant Laaras."

Jim clenched his eyes shut. "How didn't we notice?"

"Like you said, Jim, it's Spock."

It was time for Alpha Shift.

It was time for Alpha Shift - but how could he go? The thought of all of them knowing -

"You don't have to."

"Yes, I do. If I do not face them now, I will never be able to."

Kyle looked at him for a moment. "…Alright. Are you going to be okay, or - "

"Go. You will be late."

Kyle hesitated, then nodded. He started to turn, but Spock stopped him.

"And," he hesitated himself, "thank you."

Kyle squeezed his arm without saying a word, then left.

Spock put on a fresh uniform, straightened his hair. While considering himself, something caught his eye - the knife he slept by each night.

Oddly drawn to it, he took a step closer, then picked it up. He held it at different angles, watching the light reflect off it. It struck him at that moment as oddly beautiful. Efficient and beautiful. And so appropriate. He didn't have a desert to wander into to do this away from family, but that was alright, he could just step into the shower, wouldn't that work just as well? And then he could black out again, foreverandeverandever, and never have to know, never have to see their reactions, and it would stop hurting because how could someone hurt when the katra had fled and nerves were dead and the brain was dead and the heart and when he was dead -

He dropped the knife.

The artificial light glinted off it, mocking him.

He left - his surroundings were a blur, and he ignored the crewmen freezing at the sight of him, going silent and awkward, with only one thought on his mind; Where is Kyle?

His feet led him to the transporter room without conscious thought. Kyle took one look at him and abandoned his station.

"What happened?" He asked sharply, rounding the console to stand before him. They were alone in the room.

Spock mutely shook his head, heart pounding in his side. He said nothing.

"Spock? What happened?"

The words came from him of their own volition. "You said to come to you immediately if I had any thoughts of a suicidal nature."

Kyle went very still.

Spock turned his head, unable to meet the engineer's eyes. "I am sorry - I do not - "

"Spock. Stop. Do you - still feel - "

"No. No. It was - just a moment - I would not do such a thing, truly."

"But you thought about. You really considered it."

" -Yes."

The Vulcan found himself wrapped in another embrace. "Do you think it's wise to go to the bridge now?" Kyle asked after a deep breath, voice muffled against the taller alien's shoulder.

"…No."

"I thought as much. Stay here. You can assist me in some repairs, if anyone is asking."

"Jim will attempt to find me."

"And I'll tell him to shove off."

"I somehow very much doubt that."

"I'll tell him to shove politely."

A slow sigh. "Yes, I could see you do that."

That startled a small laugh from Kyle; he had not had much to laugh at recently. "You know it. Come on."

Jim did, indeed, go down to the transporter room as soon as Kyle called to inform the bridge that the commander was with him, as was necessary, according to protocol. Jim kept his eyes fixed on Spock as he entered; Spock kept his eyes on the transporter console.

"Kyle, would you excuse us a moment?"

"No, Sir."

The startled Jim enough to tear his gaze away. "Excuse me, Lieutenant?"

"I said no, Sir." Kyle said clearly. He met the captain's gaze unflinchingly. "I'm quite busy, and I do believe the Commander would prefer to postpone whatever talks you wish to have until later."

Jim's eyebrows shot up.

"Perhaps after shift, Jim." Spock said quietly. The captain's eyes searched his face.

"…Very well." He looked at Spock hard a moment longer, clearly worried, then straightened. He shot the lieutenant an odd look as he left.

There was an awkward pause.

"You are improving at being insubordinate."

"Practice."

"You know you can't avoid them forever."

"I may certainly try," Spock murmured.

"Good luck with that," Kyle said. "If I might make a recommendation, talk to Kirk and McCoy at the same time - you know you'll have to speak to both of them."

"Not necessarily."

"Yes necessarily. McCoy will want to know the medical details, if there are any lasting injuries; he'll probably want to examine you, you know." Spock looked troubled. "You can't just rely on Kirk to satisfy him."

"…Yes, I am aware."

"Just get it done with," Kyle said, touching his shoulder reassuringly. "And don't worry about the rest of the crew. They'll stop staring after awhile, and they won't dare go asking questions, either - though I think you might find Laaras in tears if you try to speak to him. He's convinced the panic attack was because of him, he's terribly guilty."

"It was in response to him."

"I think he'll feel better if you tell him it was just the touch," Kyle informed him.

"I would prefer to avoid the conversation entirely."

"That would probably work too," Kyle agreed. "Oh - get ready."

Spock had spotted Jim and McCoy as well.

"Want me to stay?"

Spock glanced at the other man, who had swiftly become more serious. "No, I must do this myself."

"Not necessarily."

"Yes necessarily," Spock disagreed. "I cannot use your presence as a crutch indefinitely."

Kyle sighed, but knew it to be true. "Alright." They were closer. "Good luck."

Spock went with the other two, silent, to an empty room; they followed him without a word.

They sat down, and he began to speak.

He had been on Andor, of course, in one of their warmer cities. It had been late; he had been on the surface for simple curiosity, for he had never been to such a world, nor seen more than a handful of Andorians. He had always found the race, in many things the opposite of Vulcans while also being very similar, to be fascinating.

He had been advised by an unknown Andorian thaan to dine at an establishment near his wanderings; the Andorian had been insistent that he try the dishes there. Since he was, after all, trying to learn more of their culture, he agreed to go - with the Andorian as company. It seemed he also found Vulcans interesting, and Spock was more than willing to trade knowledge.

The food was good, and certainly unlike anything he had ever tasted; truly an unique experience. He was pleased that he had thought to visit Andor. Before finishing his dish, however, he began to exhibit odd symptoms of lethargy, and his head had clouded. He had informed his companion that he needed to leave; the food was having negative effects on his physiology. The Andorian had insisted, though, that he accompany Spock to a local hospital, and dazed as he was Spock saw no reason not to agree. There was a blur in his memory there, just the two walking past buildings. They entered one - but it was an empty area, no hospital, though there were four other thaans there.

"Took you long enough," one said.

"He was an interesting conversationalist," Spock's escort informed them. For some reason they found this amusing.

Spock began to have an inkling that something was wrong; this feeling increased exponentially when his arms were pulled behind his back and restrained.

Alarmed, he twisted away, some of the fogginess leaving his mind.

"Goddess, how is he still awake? You gave him the drug, right?"

"He's Vulcan."

"It doesn't work on Vulcan's at all, though."

"You don't recognize him? The infamous Commander Spock, half-human. I saw him and couldn't resist."

"A Commander? Starfleet?" The fourth said an Andorian curse. "I despise Starfleet - good choice. Pretty, too. Look at those legs."

Meanwhile the rest had effectively restrained Spock - and appeared to be divesting him of his clothes.

A sudden inkling dread seized him. He knew, suddenly, what they were planning to do.

His struggles turned to wild thrashing and bucks, and they laughed and pinned him down with superior strength. He had never felt so terrified.

By the end of the night, they all had taken a turn, two of them twice. The one who had met him claimed the right to be first.

The others had laughed as they watched his rape.

Spock found it hard to believe that the situation on board the Enterprise would quickly turn to normal, as Kyle had predicted, and Spock was right.

Things were very different. Laaras, indeed, seemed permanently guilt-stricken near him; Spock had a feeling that the Andorian would soon be requesting a transfer. The rest of the crew acted differently as well. They stopped talking as he came into rooms, looked at him with pity and sorrow in the halls. They spoke slowly and gently with him, as though with a frightened animal. The males kept several paces back, and he was sure they remembered stories of his panic attack, and were trying to be considerate; the females on the other hand would not stay away, constantly touching his shoulder, his arm.

Jim and the rest of the senior officers were by far the worst. Even McCoy seemed excessively protective suddenly, dropping his usual engaging banter for straight-forward questions on his health and well being, and other small talk that had Spock quickly leaving his company. The whole crew, in Spock's opinion, was behaving in a very disturbing manner.

He found himself, again, secluded in his quarters with Kyle most days. On one such afternoon, several days after the word had leaked, their amenable conversation was halted as someone came to the door; Jim.

"Sir?"

"Spock, may I come in a moment?"

"Certainly."

He stepped aside. Jim entered - and then blinked upon seeing Kyle. The engineer nodded to him, then Spock, and slipped out.

"Was that Kyle?"

Spock blinked mildly. "Are you doubting your memory?"

Jim ignored the weak joke. "What was he doing here?"

"Talking."

"Talking?"

"And your hearing is apparently defective as well," Spock noted dryly. "Perhaps, Sir, you should be visiting Doctor McCoy."

"Don't get huffy." Jim frowned, remembering the odd scene in the transporter room. "What's up with you and Kyle?"

"Lieutenant Kyle has been - extremely helpful since we left Andor."

Jim stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"He saw my condition when transporting aboard and was quite concerned; he very quickly learned of what had taken place."

"And he didn't tell - "

"I asked him to say nothing, Jim." Spock's sharp eyes pierced him. "It was my choice whether or not to speak."

Rebuked, Jim fell silent. Finally; "Spock, please be honest; how are you holding up?"

"My spine is quite capable of supporting my body structure."

"Spock."

A slight sigh. Spock considered how to answer. "I am - better than I was."

Jim looked somewhat appeased at that, knowing Spock well enough to know that, while it wasn't a great answer, it was still favourable. "Since everything's in the open?"

A slight frown. "No. To be more accurate, better then when I first beamed from Andor. And not so well as before that untactful call."

Jim winced slightly. Spock softened.

"But I do not think," he added, "That there is any reason for concern, Jim. I cannot deny that this time has been… trying… and I do not think I shall ever fully be free from the psychological effects… but I am recovering."

Over time, the crew returned to normal around him. Spock did, as well, for the most part, and if on rare occasion he might flinch from quick contacts, everyone pretended not notice, and Jim respected his space when it was clearly needed.

And if Spock still slept with the lights only dimmed, a knife on his table, and occasionally woke trembling from memories -

Well, that his business and no one else's.

And even the dreams were decreasing - he was, indeed, recovering.

It was about four months after the incident had begun that the notice came. Lt. Kyle would be leaving.

Kyle looked at Scotty in amazement as he received the news. "I'm - Chief Engineer?"

"Aye, lad." Scotty grinned. "USS Columbia is a fine ship. You'll do right on her."

Kyle was thrilled; and worried.

Extremely worried; he still wasn't sure how stable Spock was. What he had said that day, about having suicidal thoughts, still worried Kyle. He left to see Spock right after receiving the news.

There he found Spock unsurprised. Well, of course he'd known of the transfer; he was first officer, after all.

He spoke before Kyle could work out how to phrase his concerns. "Do not be concerned with me."

"Are you sure - "

"I cannot articulate my gratitude," Spock said. "I do not think you realize all that you have done for me. But do not let me hold you from this; you have helped me through the worst of the time."

And, looking at him, seeing how he had changed, Kyle knew it to be true.

And that made him happier than any promotion ever could.