Sky (skyblue_reverie) wrote,
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Trek Fic: Meaning to Say (Pike/McCoy, NC-17)

Title: Meaning to Say (Part 20 of To Talk of Many Things)
Authors: mga1999 and skyblue_reverie
Fandom & Pairing: Star Trek Reboot (aka AOS, ST XI, etc.), Pike/McCoy
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Word Count: around 6000
Summary: The further correspondence of Leonard McCoy and Christopher Pike. Len delves into the past and Chris waxes poetic.
A/N: From skyblue_reverie: No, there's no Jim in this part, sorry! This is a Pike/McCoy fic, after all. You'll all just have to be patient. :P From mga1999: Yes, patience, my young Jedis. All will be answered in time.


Click here for series masterlist with links to all prior parts





To: Christopher Pike (cpike@starfleet.gov)
From: Leonard McCoy (lmccoy@starfleet.gov)

Dear Chris,

Good lord, warn a man before sending a comm that'll give him a heart attack from sheer lust. Damn, Chris. Not that I'm complaining, at all, mind you. I was just about to ask you whether sexual functioning or sexual desire had returned, but I think you've answered that question beyond any doubt.

I'd better answer your first comm, and the other parts of your second comm, though, or I'll be in no shape to think about them, much less write anything coherent.

How's the cold doing? I'm not worrying, but I know it's goddamn unpleasant. If I were there I'd probably be driving you crazy trying to take care of you, bringing you soup and fluffing your pillows and so on. It's just how I am, so you might as well get used to the thought. I like taking care of the people I love.

As to my apology, and my calling myself a moron - Chris, I don't actually think I'm a moron. It's just my way of saying "I screwed up." I'm sure that the proper psychobabble would be "Goodness gracious, I certainly acted injudiciously upon that one occasion" but you're never gonna catch me saying something like that. So don't worry, this isn't an example of low self esteem, just a figure of speech. A mea culpa, all right? I notice you didn't say I'm forgiven, just that the apology helps. Is there something else I can do or say? I don't want this to become a festering issue between us. If it just needs time, though, then I guess that's what it needs.

Speaking of psychobabble. Dr. Elliott. Now, no throwing back in my face my own bedside manner. I swear, Chris, that's not it. Yeah, she's abrasive, but that I can handle. It's something else. I feel like... I don't know, I feel like she's kind of missing the point about some of the issues we raise, like she doesn't really "get it" about some things. Maybe I'm crazy. Anyway, since she's primarily your therapist and not mine, it doesn't really matter what I think.

Your granddaddy snatched the preacher's daughter right out from under him, huh? And a barely-legal preacher's daughter at that! He sounds like a rip. I bet there are a bunch of great stories about him. Do you have any holos, or photographs, from that time?

I do know about the pressure to produce an heir. Before my parents passed, they both made it pretty clear that they wanted grandchildren, both so they could spoil them rotten, and also so there'd be someone to inherit the family land. Looking back, it's probably part of the reason I rushed into marriage with Jocelyn. At the time it just seemed like the perfect romance, but hindsight's always 20/20, right?

Don't worry about me ratting you out to Starfleet about writing to me from your ready room - I've written to you from my office in sickbay more than a few times. Haven't ever actually jerked off in there, though it's been a close thing a couple times. And now I'd better veer away from that topic or I'll never finish responding to your letter.

So, horses. Chris, you make me laugh with your questions. Did I ride English or Western? I'd say: no. I rode bareback mostly, sometimes with a saddle blanket or a pair of stirrups if I was lucky, most often not. The horses we had, I think I mentioned, were ones that my mama picked up during the course of her duties as a vet - ones that were too old, or injured, or swaybacked, or whatever else, for their owners to bother taking proper care of them. She'd swoop them up and take them home and we'd both take care of them and coddle them 'til they probably thought they were in horse heaven. But we didn't have fancy equipment or anything, and I never took lessons. Some of those animals - not just the horses, but lots of the animals she brought home - started out downright vicious, not trusting people at all. The crap they went through at human hands, I don't blame them. Daddy was always teasing me and mama about our "projects," trying to get those animals to trust us. We very nearly always succeeded, though. I've got a hell of a lot more patience with animals than I do with people.

In some ways, I've got my daddy's way with people, and my mama's way with animals. She used to tell me I had her soft heart and my daddy's prickly exterior, which I guess is a good way of putting it. My daddy was a difficult man. A good man, but difficult. He was the epitome of an old country doctor - he made house calls, went to all the farms and all the tiny tumbledown shacks to treat everyone in his region - he was the assigned Federation doctor for our county, which wasn't a wealthy one. He got a stipend from the federation, of course, but he was supposed to supplement it by charging his patients on a sliding-credit scale. He would growl and grumble and snap at his patients, but he knew they had less than we did so he'd never take a credit from any of them. It's not like he was a pussycat underneath it all - he was rigid, in some ways cold. He just had a strong sense of right and wrong, and taking credits from people who had less than we did didn't fit his notion of justice. We got a lot of things in barter - jam or pickles if someone had been doing preserving, or socks and sweaters if someone else had been knitting. We never wanted for anything, but we never had a lot extra, either. It was a good way to grow up, I think.

Anyway, he's the reason I eventually became a doctor rather than a vet. If I'd followed my heart's true calling, I would've become a vet like my mama. But, Chris - I wanted so badly to please my daddy. In some ways, he'd never really paid much attention to me. His wife and his work were the most important things to him. I was a distant third, a scrawny, somewhat disappointing mama's boy. When I was an undergrad, I went pre-med, knowing that it would keep my options open; I could still go to veterinary school if I wanted. But for the first time, Chris, he really paid attention to me. When I'd come home for school breaks, he actually talked to me, asked me questions about what I was learning, shared some of the work he'd been doing. It was heady. I knew my mama would love me no matter what I did, but, well, I felt like in order to keep my daddy's approval, I had to become a doctor like he was.

And then - well, my mama died while I was in med school, my daddy pretty much just faded away after that, and then he became ill and it just seemed like none of it mattered. I'm not sorry that I chose to become a doctor, though. I'm a healer, through and through, whether I'm healing people or animals. And as I've gotten older, and there's been a few people I've loved who have needed my skills - you chief among them, Chris - well, now I bless the day I chose to become an M.D.

Good lord, that was quite a digression. Anyway, it ties in with what I wanted to say next, which is: thank you so much, Chris, for restoring the Georgia house. And for not changing anything, just putting it back how it was. You don't know how much that means to me.

I'm thinking we'll stay in the master bedroom. I know it's a bit odd, since that's where my parents lived at least until my mama died (you're right that my daddy changed bedrooms after she passed), but that house has been in the family for hundreds of years, and the head of the household has always had that room, with their spouse if they had one. I've always figured that one day I'd move into that room with my partner. The bed too. Generations of McCoys have loved and fought and slept and lived in that bed, and I want us to too. As for bedding, Annie can use whatever bedding she can scrounge up for now, and then when we get there, if we want to get new sheets or comforters or whatnot, we can. Most of those quilts were actually made by my Grandma Kamilla. Some of them are heirlooms that have been passed down from earlier, though.

You know, it actually doesn't surprise me at all that you were worse than Jim when you were his age. I would love to see some holos of you at that stage of your career if you've got any. I can just imagine the "I'm going to conquer the world" look in your eye.

Thanks for telling me about Robin, Chris, really. I'm so sorry that you lost her like that. I don't know what else to say, but you know I'm always here to listen if you want to talk about it anymore, all right?

In terms of your physical "type," and Sato not being it - Chris, you're sweet to reassure me, but I'm not worried about Sato. Haven't been for a while. I'm glad she's taken up with your chief engineer and that she's turned out to be a good first officer. Damn, though, the image of you on top of a woman, fucking her tits - shit, that's hot. It really shouldn't be that hot, but it is.

I have to laugh at your description of how you went about finding a wife. It's just so you. Just straight to the point, see what needs to be done, do it. No fripperies like waiting for "the right one" or any of that nonsense. I'm sorry it didn't work out for you, though. Well, that's a lie. I'm not sorry, because otherwise I wouldn't have you. I am sorry for any pain that either of you went through, though.

Oh, you said I could ask anything about your past lovers, and I do have one question - I gather from what you've said that you've been the love 'em and leave 'em type quite a lot. Have the tables ever been turned? I mean, have you ever had your heart broken? I don't mean the grief when Robin died - that's horrible, don't get me wrong, but it's not what I'm asking. Hopefully you know what I mean.

So, my marriage. So much went wrong I don't quite know where to start. To start with, we were both too young and too immature to be getting married. I met her at Ole Miss, in an art history class that I had to take. It was a general ed requirement for me, but she was an art history major. We were both sophomores. She was so passionate about art, and I was really attracted to that passion, even though I couldn't have cared less about the subject. We got coffee a few times, then went out to dinner a few times. I could just listen to her talk for hours about various things. I don't even remember what-all - how imperialism affected the neo-classical phase in Andorian sculpture, stuff like that. She wasn't beautiful in a conventional sense, but when she got to talking about something she really cared about, her eyes would just light up and you couldn't look away - or at least, I couldn't.

We were nineteen. I'm sure you remember that age - far more hormones than functioning brain cells. Our relationship was built largely on sexual chemistry and on mutual admiration - as I said, I liked her passion, and she liked the idea of me becoming a doctor. But like your wife, she found that the idea of it was more romantic than the reality. We got married when we graduated from college, then I started med school and she started a job at the University of Mississippi museum, as an assistant curator of the southern folk art collection. It was small potatoes, and she wanted something more prestigious, but I was still in school so it wasn't like we could move somewhere with bigger museums.

At first it worked well. She'd pack a picnic, we'd both grab a lunch break and eat together on the quad. But more and more, I was spending time studying. She'd want my attention when I was at home, and I'd tell her I needed to study, and she'd get pissed. Still, we were crazy in love then, and so the fights were bad but the making up was sweet. She was good to me when my mama died. That's one absolutely unqualified good thing I can say about her - she supported me and kept me together during that time. Without her, I would have been a mess - well, even more of a mess. So anyway, we made it through med school and into my residency period.

We moved to Atlanta then, and I did my residency at St. Joseph's. She got a job she loved at the High - the High Museum of Art in Atlanta. She was an assistant curator there, working with the permanent collections. It was exactly what she wanted to do, but of course it paid next to nothing. It was a tough time - I was working crazy shifts, all hours of the day and night, and when I was home I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep. Jocelyn wanted to do things - go out, spend time with me. I can't fault her for that, but I didn't have the energy for it after working two doubles in a row. She developed a circle of friends that she could do things with since I was never around or up for it. At first I was relieved. I even became good friends with one of them - Clay Treadway. He was a down-to-earth guy; he was actually an ex-boyfriend of Joss's, but I liked him.

Anyway, you already know where this story is going. We were drifting apart, spending less and less time together. My daddy became ill. When it became obvious that the end was near, I took a leave of absence from the hospital and went back home to the family place to be with him. Joss stayed in Atlanta. After he died, things were never the same. I was drinking a lot; she was distant and staying busy with other things. At some point, she took up with Clay. I don't know exactly when it started. She told me about it after it had been going on for a while - threw it in my face, actually, one time when we were fighting. She said I was never around and she deserved someone who would pay a little attention to her. She was right, of course, but she should've told me she wanted out before she looked elsewhere. Anyway, I'm a stubborn bastard, as you know. I told her we were married, and we should try our damndest to make it work. So we tried to pick up the pieces, go back to the way it had been at the beginning. We decided to have a baby. Then the miscarriage, and all the cracks that had already been there just started to widen. Less than a year after the miscarriage, she served me with divorce papers. Up to the day the divorce was finalized, I was still trying to make it work, when it was obvious to everyone else that it never would. I don't let go easily - it's just not who I am, I suppose.

I don't know if this means anything or not, but my mama never liked Joss. She didn't say anything to me, of course - she wouldn't have done that - but I could tell by the way she acted around her. Just a tad cooler than her usual self. My daddy loved her. They got on like a house afire. Maybe that shoulda told me something too.

Anyway, we didn't have that much to start with, and after the divorce there was practically nothing. I think the divorce lawyers ended up with more than either one of us. And since I'm a doctor and she's a museum curator, my salary's higher than hers so I got ordered to pay alimony, even though she moved in with Clay almost right after we split. Luckily, though, she couldn't lay a finger on the family property - that belonged to me only. She had no legal claim on it. Not sure she would've been low enough to try to take it from me even if she did have a claim, but I'm glad I'll never have to find out. She's not evil, Chris. We both did our share of ugly, mean things during both the marriage and the divorce.

Well, that kinda took it out of me, writing all of that. So I think I'll end this letter there, and get to the rest next time. I will respond to the rest, and damn, I'm looking forward to it, but I think I need a break first.

Take care of yourself, darlin', since I'm not there to do it for you.

Love always,
Len



To: Christopher Pike (cpike@starfleet.gov)
From: Leonard McCoy (lmccoy@starfleet.gov)

Hey darlin',

All right. Now it's morning and I feel like a new man. "A good night's sleep is the best medicine," my daddy used to say, and it's true.

I think that's the first time I've ever written about the whole mess of the marriage and divorce - I've talked about it, with Jim and with Dr. Pagao, but never put it down in black and white. Writing kind of forces you to think about a thing a bit more clearly; puts it in perspective, you know?

Anyway, enough of that topic. Let's get to the good stuff. God damn, Chris, I didn't realize how much I'd missed your dirty comms until I got that one. You've probably seen my crystal going purple and aqua several times since I got it, and every time I've been thinking about what you said in that letter.

To answer your question, no, I've never been with anyone in my childhood bed. Good god, though, I want to do what you described. I want you to make me come in my pants, then suck me off, then tie me to that headboard and fuck me right through the mattress. I've spent more time than I could possibly count jerking off in that bed, imagining various scenarios, but that'll be better than any of them. I've never been with anyone in that house at all, actually - always too much risk of discovery. But I want you to be my first. I want us to put our stamp all over the entire house. I want you to bend me over every damn surface in that house, in every room, and fuck me until I'm screaming your name. Then I want to start over and I'll do the same to you. Does that sound good, darlin'?

There are a couple spots around the property that I've had sex - some with Jenny, some with a couple boyfriends and girlfriends that I brought home during college. And yeah, Chris, I'll show them to you, and you'll fuck me in each one and make them yours. Plus, we'll pick out some new spots and you can claim those spots just for us. Fuck, I love your possessiveness. I don't know why I find it such a turn-on, but I do. So yeah, Chris, claim me. Make me yours, in every possible way. I don't ever want to be with anyone else, darlin', not ever again. I belong to you, Chris, and you belong to me. I'm not letting go of you.

I want to know what it's like to be so goddamn sore from taking your cock that I don't think I can take it one more time, and then have you fuck me again anyway, until the pleasure and pain are so intense I beg for mercy. Then I want you to wait just long enough for us to recover, and do it again. I want to spend hours exploring each other's bodies. I don't want your hands to leave me any more than absolutely necessary, the entire time we're together - in San Francisco and Florida, as well as in Georgia. I want you to touch me when we're out in public, let everyone know that I belong to you. Are you hearing me, hearing how badly I want you, how much I goddamn need you? It's like that song you sang to me last time we were together - you make me shameless. Totally and completely shameless, Chris, just for you. And I know I do the same for you, Chris, and that turns me on so fucking much I can't even tell you.

Speaking of being so fucking turned on, I've got to stop writing now so I can go stroke myself, come all over my hand, with my back arched and my head thrown back, while I'm saying your name, just how you like me. Then, Chris, I'm going to get out a dildo and fuck myself with it, imagining that it's your cock inside of me, until I get hard again. I'm not going to touch my cock, just going to fuck myself, find my prostate and nail it over and over again, and play with my nipples, pinching and twisting them, until I come from that alone, and I'll be dreaming that it's you doing all of those things to me. And after that, I'm going to fall asleep covered with my own come, and I'm going to have really goddamn sweet dreams of you.

I love you, Chris, and I belong to you, always.

Yours,
Len



To: Leonard McCoy (lmccoy@starfleet.gov)
From: Christopher Pike (cpike@starfleet.gov)

Dear Len,

So you liked that comm, huh? I thought you might, and I have to admit, it felt good to not just send it, but feel like sending it again. It comes and goes, but I want to believe I'm making progress. I've been talking with Dr. Rossen three times a week, trying to get some semblance of my mind back. No, it's probably not that bad, Len. I don't want you to be worrying about my state of mind, I'm just diligently doing what I need to do right now and it really helps to talk it out with someone.

Now, I'm going to start with the stuff at the end of your last comm first, because frankly I'm not feeling much right now, so maybe talking about it will help. I also want to warn you that I highly doubt this trip will be setting any new sexual markers for us, or at least me. This cold that I've had for almost three weeks is just about gone, thank god, but it's really slowed down the physical progress I was making. I've barely been able to exercise, couldn't breathe right to swim and was getting dizzy trying -- I know you'll tell me not to worry about it, and that it's just important that we're together -- I just want to be upfront, Len. Sexually, or physically, I may not be up for much this trip. Not like I hoped for.

However, there are two things I promise you. One, I think the first order of business when we get to the Georgia house -- Well, I want you to take me to the master bedroom. I want you to undress me, lie me in that bed, and fuck me. You have no idea how much I've been thinking about that. You fucking me in the bed that generations of McCoy men have bedded their partners in. God, Len, next month can't come soon enough.

Two, I promise I will take you in your childhood bed, just like I described. As for the rest, if I'm able, I do want to fuck you everywhere you've had sex on the property before, other than that, until I'm physically recovered, my ass is yours. Literally. Not that I'll mind at all, Len, believe me. I love having you in me, watching you, feeling all of you. So I think I might be the one who's too sore to walk this trip. I won't be complaining.

I also have another request. The night before the Exeter leaves, I want you to spend the night on the ship with me. I want you in my bed again before we head out to deep space. I want that memory of us together, and for your smell to linger on the pillow for as long as it can. I haven't even seen you yet, and I'm already -- Well, I'm not looking forward to spending six months in deep space and that says a lot, Len. Deep space, and those missions are -- Well, to me they used to be better than anything. They aren't anymore, because nothing compares to being with you.

Speaking of that mission. Starfleet is going to launch several relay beacons that should allow us to comm. My guess is that it will take ten days to two weeks for us to get them, but that's a hell of a lot better than six months without contact. I'm not going to like it any better than you do, but at least it's something.

Otherwise, it's been fairly quiet here in the neutral zone. There have been a couple Romulan D7 class battle cruisers skirting along the edge of their space and on the other side, a couple Klingon warbirds. We've been keeping an eye on their movements. Right now I think they are simply antagonizing each other, but it's hard to tell. The Romulans have been posturing ever since the Narada incident -- The Klingons are still looking for revenge for the forty seven ships they lost. Never a dull moment out here.

Now, back to the rest of your comms. I'm not sure how to say this to you without coming across as -- hell, I don't know -- I want to forgive you for what you said, Len. This isn't something I'm proud of, but as I've told you before, I'm a man who can hold a grudge. It takes me awhile to let go of things that really get under my skin, which that did. Jim was right in what he said, about how integrity and honor are important to me. If I was talking tactics, I would tell you that what you said hit right smack in my warp core and did a lot of damage. I'm not sure how to say it outside of that. And I don't want you to think that your apology doesn't mean anything; it does. It means a lot. I just need time, and I suppose proof, or what you would call reassurance, that it's not something that is going to happen again next time you're mad at me. Fair enough?

Yes, my grandfather snatched the preacher's daughter. She wasn't yet eighteen when they met, it was quite the scandal up there, even in those times, when her father found out. Took him awhile to forgive them both, but considering they were married so long, and they'd reached their fiftieth anniversary before her father passed, he really couldn't say much. I'm sure when we are in Florida, my parents will pull the holo-albums out so they can embarrass me with old pictures. I'm sure you'll enjoy that.

Well, I'm hoping we will both get a good chunk of shore leave after we come back from deep space in January. Hopefully some of it will overlap with the Enterprise's leave. I'd love to take you to Mojave then if it ends up being on earth. We certainly won't have to worry about heat then. I have a feeling though, it's going to be out in space somewhere. Either way, we'll make it work somehow.

Your reasons for going into medicine are perfectly understandable, and all I can say is thank God, because I doubt I'd be alive, and Jim probably wouldn't be either if not for you. I for one always believe if you follow what you're best at, you're right where you are supposed to be. Not that you wouldn't have made a good vet, Len, but you're one hell of a doctor and researcher, and the medical field is better because of that.

I'm glad that Commander Sato doesn't bother you anymore, Len. I'm relieved in fact. I'm always hesitant to say anything about her, not wanting to upset you. We've gotten pretty close on a professional level, Len. It might be a little personal too -- I've been mentoring her a bit, helping her fix her rough edges. She's been absolutely steadfast through all my problems, so I feel like I owe her. She also makes one hell of a bowl of chicken soup, from scratch, that her mother taught her to make from a passed down family recipe that goes back hundreds of years in Japan. I'm telling you these things, Len, because I don't want you to think I'm hiding anything from you. She does spend a fair amount of time in my quarters, as you would expect. I just don't want you to be surprised on earth, if we run into her. I know she's been invited to Matthew's wedding, so I just want you to be aware. She's still seeing my chief engineer, but I'm also pretty sure she and my helmsman have something going on now too. That I'm not thrilled about, because he's married. But it's not my place to get into the personal lives of my crew unless it interferes with their jobs.

I did chuckle at your reaction to how I found Lisa. It wasn't as cut and dry as that. It wasn't like she was the only person I went out with at the time. There were others. Something just clicked with us, and it was easy. Too easy, looking back now, but like you said, hindsight is 20/20.

Thank you for telling me about Jocelyn, Len. I know it's not easy to go down those roads. I'm sorry for the pain that it caused you, but I can't really say -- Well, if it hadn't happened the way it did, you wouldn't have been driven to Starfleet and I wouldn't have met you. So I like to think that brings us back to what my grandmother likes to say, or, to put my take on it, it was 'written in the stars.' Whatever the reason, I'm just glad the paths we've gone down have brought us to each other, and I mean that.

There might be something in your mother not liking Jocelyn. My mother never liked Lisa either. In fact, she was the one that insisted on the airtight pre-nuptial agreement, for which I'm grateful. For what it's worth, she did like Robin, and couple other people I dated over the years, so it's not like she didn't think anyone was good enough for her only child. She already loves you and she hasn't even met you, so please, don't be worried.

I suppose it will tie into the question you asked about me ever having my heart broken. Well, if you count the teenage angst, I was pretty upset when my first love left. Granted, since I threw myself into Marcella's arms a week later, I really don't think that counts. But I did do the whole moping, 'my life is over, I'll never love again' thing for that week.

Seriously though, I did truly have my heart broken once or twice. I'm not sure -- Well, I know I said I didn't mind talking about my past, but I think I'd rather not go into detail, if you don't mind. The simple answer, though, is yes, my heart has been broken once for sure, probably twice if I want to admit it. I swear it's nothing insidious, Len. Just silly dalliances in my younger years that obviously meant a lot more to me than to my partners at the time, and yeah, it hurt when they left me. Yes, they both broke it off with me. So I've been left before, Len. It's not fun. So yes, I get what Jocelyn did to you. I guess it doesn't bother me much now because both times happened so long ago. So I hope that's enough of an answer for you. If it's okay, I'd really rather not dredge up things from twenty years ago. But like I said before, if you really want to know, just ask. There are some things I just think are better left alone.

God, I don't want to end this comm on a deleterious note. So I'll simply say I love you, Len. The more time that passes, the more I talk to you and to Dr. Rossen, the more my brain is catching up with my heart. So let me leave you with one of my absolute favorite poems. The first time I read it, god, back in secondary school, it just stuck with me. And I remember thinking, and hoping, that -- Someday I would find someone to love like that. I have, Len. I finally have.

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving
but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.


I do love you without knowing how, when, or where, and sometimes that scares me, but like you told me once, I don't have a cowardly bone in my body. I'm learning to surrender to that love, Len. I promise. I'm learning as fast as I can.

Forever yours,
Chris


To part 21

Tags: fic: trek, pairing: pike/mccoy, series: to talk of many things
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