...Who Did Not Pick the Flowers by the Roadside (2/3)
Title: ...Who Did Not Pick the Flowers by the Roadside (2/3)
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Rating: R
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Summary: After returning from the mirror universe, McCoy is facing the consequences of the meld forced on him by the other Spock, and Kirk is failing to be helpful.
Word count: 6073
The moment of truth concerning his ability to function in an away team came much too soon, and under the worst possible circumstances. McCoy thought he would have refused to go on this mission, had he known Spock would be there as well, but the truth was, he couldn’t tell for sure because no one had told him. When he arrived at the transporter platform, he’d breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing only Jim, Sulu, Chekov and D’Amato around. He was able to handle it - his mind was set on concentrating on his work, and there was nothing around to distract him except his own mind. If he did well on this mission, he was certain he would be able to deal with anything in the end, and put this mess behind him.
And it was going so well.
Until Spock beamed down with a couple of the scientific department. He had been delayed analysing some data gathered on the planet before, but had been meant to be part of the team from the beginning. No one had told McCoy. He had had no chance to prepare himself. One moment he was doing fine, the next the appearance of the science officer socked him so badly he nearly threw up on the spot. It was hard not to simply run away, hard not to scream, hard not to hyperventilate and lose himself in a panic.
With effort, he managed to pull himself together, and no one noticed the cold sweat and fast breathing, or the fact that he would not turn his back on Spock. But had Spock not been there, or had McCoy been able to get a hold on himself, he would have paid better attention and not overlooked the danger to Jim’s life.
But he did overlook it, and Jim, being the careless idiot he was, had needed to touch the gleaming, shiny surface of that obelisk before McCoy, or anyone else, thought of scanning it. He became the focus of the CMO’s attention, at least, when he was thrown backwards by an energy charge and landed hard on the floor.
He had everyone else’s attention as well. The only people not paying attention were Scotty and his team up on the ship, to which they had lost contact. They couldn’t beam their captain up to the Enterprise and all her equipment, and he wasn’t breathing.
All other thoughts disappeared from McCoy’s mind as he tried to save his friend’s life. Without their equipment, there was not much he could do except perform basic CPR. Alternately pounding at Jim's chest and pressing his lips onto Jim’s to force his own breath into the captain’s lungs, McCoy felt an all consuming rush of desperation at the lack of result his actions were having. Jim was going to die, was already dead, was gone from his life.
But even this desperation existed only in the back of his mind. A part of McCoy was lost in hopelessness and sadness, but the other part was focused on his job, on registering medical facts and performing medical actions.
His own lungs soon burned from the exertion of sharing his breath, and he didn’t seem to have enough strength to stimulate Jim’s heart to any use. But he kept going, thinking of nothing else, until Spock pushed him aside and took over the cardiac massage. McCoy checked for a pulse again, and found still nothing. (They were losing Jim. He was losing Jim.)
Distantly, he registered Sulu and a woman from the science team urgently trying to establish communication with the ship, but the communicators were as useless as the tricorders. He didn’t pay attention to them. His task was here, right before him.
It took long, so long until Jim’s heart finally started beating again. He was breathing on his own, but McCoy was unable to bring him back to full consciousness. They needed to get back to the ship and proper medical equipment.
Jim had a good chance now, but he was not yet saved. McCoy stayed with him, monitoring his vital signs, always ready to help him if needed, and hoping that they would finally re-establish the goddamn connection to the ship. And then Spock put a hand to his shoulder. A gesture of reassurance perhaps - there was no practical use for it. It wasn’t logical, a rare display of friendship. It pulled McCoy back to the awareness that Spock was there, that he was standing behind him, that he was touching him.
Suddenly blind with panic, he bolted and ran away, leaving the unconscious captain behind.
-
No one had been prepared for Doctor McCoy to jump up and run away without warning. He ran out of the old temple they had been exploring, into the gloomy light of this dead planet, before anyone even realised what was going on.
Spock watched him disappear, surprised and confused. He did not understand this reaction; even for a human as emotional as McCoy it seemed random. But he had felt great distress, even fear coming form the doctor in the brief moment they had touched. It was worrying.
None the less he made no move to follow the CMO, deciding instead to stay with the captain, as he was the one best knowing how to care for him now their only medic was gone. Sulu and Smith left to look for the doctor, but were unable to retrieve him.
Only minutes later, Mr. Scott on the Enterprise managed to get through the interference that trapped them on this world without communication. Jim was beamed up first, along with D’Amato and Verrly. Spock stayed behind to join in the search for Doctor McCoy.
He was the one who found him, nearly an hour later. The CMO of the Enterprise was lying curled up just beside the path leading down into the valley, half hidden between rocks. He was clasping his hands around his head and shaking, barely aware of his surroundings, but when Spock touched him, he screamed.
There was no way of immediately determining how long he had been lying here like this. However, if Spock’s assumption was true and he had been running as fast he could until he fell, then the distance he had put behind him and the speed at which he’d been moving led the Vulcan to believe that it had been a considerable number of minutes.
McCoy passed out before the transporter beam took hold of them and returned them to the ship. Spock picked him up and carried the not particularly heavy body to sickbay, at a loss as to what had actually happened.
Jim was on one of the biobeds when he arrived with his unconscious burden. He was asleep, but Doctor Sanchez assured Spock that his state had stabilized and he had regained consciousness earlier. In a day he would be cleared for duty - two days at best.
Sanchez also assured him that there was nothing wrong with McCoy that could not be blamed on the low temperature on that planet. His unconsciousness had been caused, apparently, by a high level of emotional stress, and exhaustion. He, too, would recover quickly.
“He was in pain,” Spock pointed out. Unable to answer even his own questions, he did not mention the fear he had sensed, or the fact that this fear was specifically directed at him.
“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Sanchez promised. “The scanners show nothing wrong, but perhaps he will be able to tell us more when he wakes up.” Spock was not satisfied with this, but accepted there was little more the doctor could do under these circumstances. He paid a visit to Jim on the way out, but his friend was sleeping, and unwilling to disturb him, Spock left to take his place on the bridge.
As predicted by the doctor, Jim was back on duty the next day. Spock found him in his chair on the bridge when he arrived for his shift.
“I trust you are feeling well, Captain,” Spock said formally, clasping his hands behind his back. Kirk smiled at him.
“Quite well, Spock. Bones assured me there would be no long lasting effects. I’m planning to go back to the planet as soon as your department dealt with the data we managed to gather yesterday, before the tricorders died.” His expression turned sour. “At least now I know what not to touch.”
“Doctor McCoy treated you himself?” Spock was not quite able to hide his surprise, and it was reflected on Jim’s face as mild confusion.
“Yes, whyever not? It’s his shift, isn’t it?”
“Indeed it is. I merely had not expected him to recover this quickly.”
The captain’s face remained blank. “Recover? What was wrong with him?”
So McCoy had not thought it necessary to inform his captain. “He had some sort of emotional breakdown on the planet which caused him to pass out. In addition, he suffered mild hypothermia from lying in the cold for at least forty minutes.”
Now a frown appeared on his features. “Why wasn’t I informed about this?”
Why indeed? Spock could only speculate, and speculation without sufficient data was not a favourite activity of his. He decided to confront McCoy with his refusal to tell the captain of his condition as well as his strong reaction to Spock’s presence as soon as the opportunity presented itself.
But as McCoy stayed away from the bridge and from Spock, the opportunity never came.
-
The trouble with the transporter continued. It was another day before Mr. Scott found a way to ensure reliable communication with and a safe return to the ship. Captain Kirk had planned to beam down the same team he had chosen before, and was surprised to find M’Benga waiting in the transporter room instead of McCoy.
“Doctor McCoy declared himself unfit for duty,” M’Benga informed him. “He asked me to take his place with the landing party.”
“Why?” Kirk seemed confused and a little angered. “Is he ill?”
“His state is so that he doesn’t trust himself to do good work on the mission.”
“In which case it is logical to have someone more capable take over,” Spock agreed. He stood straight, his hands behind his back, and was looking directly at M’Benga as if asking him a question. It was one the doctor could not answer.
“You admit Bones did something logical, Spock? Too bad he missed that.” Kirk stepped onto the transporter platform, his mind obviously moving on to other matters as he gave the order to beam them down.
M’Benga didn’t get the impression the captain even remembered their brief exchange of words after they’d arrived at the alien city and started exploring the remains of the lost civilisation in earnest and other than two days before with the necessary caution. He was surprised when Kirk stepped up to him just as he knelt down to collect a sample of yellow, organic dust, a few metres away from the rest of the team.
“What exactly is wrong with McCoy?” Kirk asked, speaking quietly. “He seemed fine enough two days ago.”
“He wasn’t.” There was a hint of anger in M’Benga’s voice he didn’t care to hide. He had been quite annoyed with his colleague when he had learned that McCoy had discharged himself the moment he woke up in sickbay. It had all been over before M’Benga’s shift even started. Without Sanchez he wouldn’t even have learned that their CMO had had any trouble at all. “But he deemed himself well enough to go back to work.”
“And you didn’t check him over?” Kirk’s disapproval was obvious.
“There was nothing physically wrong with him, Sir,” the doctor explained patiently.
“And now there is?”
“I had no opportunity to examine him before the mission, but I trust him when he says he can’t do it. Doctor McCoy is not known for finding excuses to avoid work.”
“No, he isn’t,” Kirk agreed. Looking thoughtful, he turned and went back to the rest of his team, and M’Benga went back to wondering about the CMO.
He had read the report on McCoy after he’d found out what had happened. At that point, Leonard had already been back at work, treating patients and working in the lab as if nothing had happened, but he had seemed nervous and distracted all the time. According to the report, he had suddenly panicked and run away from the team. That wasn’t exactly typical behaviour for him, and M’Benga had a hard time accepting Sanchez’ diagnosis of stress. He’d known McCoy too long for that.
But there had been no opportunity to talk to the CMO about it before the mission, and when finally they beamed back to the Enterprise, there still was no opportunity. Leonard’s shift had ended long ago. According to the nurses, he had locked himself in the lab all day, never coming out unless he was absolutely needed. He didn’t look well, they said, and M’Benga believed them.
He wasn’t happy with his superior officer and friend. As CMO, Leonard couldn’t hide away like that and let others do the work. The entire department suffered if he did, and he knew that. Which was exactly what puzzled M’Benga so much; no one was more aware of his responsibility than Leonard McCoy. He worked harder than anyone, never allowing himself to take a break.
But he also knew that he couldn’t do a very good job is he wasn’t well himself. And for a doctor, not doing a very good job could get someone killed.
Perhaps that was why he preferred to stay away from patients, or anyone for that matter, and limited himself to working in the lab. It didn’t really lessen M’Benga’s annoyance with him. If Leonard wasn’t well enough to do his job properly, then he shouldn’t do anything but stay home and rest.
Come to think of it, he had been acting like this for a while now. Christine Chapel had mentioned that he didn’t appear to be sleeping well, or at all, and it was showing. He’d been nervous and withdrawn ever since they had returned from their adventure in the other universe.
Now there was a thought.
Chief Engineer Scott came for an inoculation an hour after the landing party had returned, and though M’Benga was officially off shift by then, he cared for Scott himself and took the opportunity to talk to someone who had been on that other Enterprise with McCoy.
“I don’t know,” Scott said when M’Benga asked him if anything had happened to McCoy over there. “We didn’t spend a lot of time together. But he did seem a little dazed when that Vulcan delivered him to the transporter room.”
“That Vulcan? You mean Spock?”
“Well, he was about as close to our Spock as a screwdriver is to a clamp, but yes, Spock.”
“Do you know what happened? There was nothing in the report.”
“No. I asked Len, but he said it was nothing. I must say, I was a little worried for a moment there, but he didn’t say anything.”
Still, the engineer said enough to give the doctor a clue. He remembered the question Leonard had had about Vulcan mild melds, and when he later asked Spock if the CMO had indeed approached him about this topic and received a negative answer, his suspicion turned to terrible certainty.
-
This time, Jim was kind enough to announce his visit beforehand, so McCoy had a chance to prepare and take a sedative before he showed up. He didn’t know if Jim was coming as friend, lover, or angered commanding officer, but he would need chemical help to get through either of the possible conversations.
As it turned out, Jim came as every one of those, if not at the same time. It was the captain who came in and demanded an explanation for his absence at the landing party. It was the friend who asked what was wrong after McCoy told him of his sudden panic attack the other day and his fear it might happen again. And when McCoy couldn’t come up with an explanation, it was all three of them who got angry and started an argument. In the end it was definitely the lover who took over and ended the argument by pressing him against the wall for a hungry, angry kiss, and then threw him on the bed to fuck him seven ways to Sunday - thought there was still a bit of the furious captain in it. McCoy offered no resistance, but Jim still thought it necessary to be rougher than usual, almost brutal. He was angry and confused, and McCoy allowed him to spend his anger in a way that didn’t hurt anyone.
It might have been easier for Jim if McCoy had fought him, invited him to a physical fight as a means to work off all that testosterone, but he was too tired, and the strong sedative took away his energy.
As he felt bruises form on his wrists, he was very glad he’d taken it.
Afterwards, it even allowed him to fall asleep. He dreamed of another hand closing around his wrist, with long fingers and hot skin, and woke up shivering and crying.
And alone. Jim didn’t stay every night he came here, because that would be suspicious. He only stayed when he felt like it.
Better this way. McCoy curled into a tight ball, hid his head between his arms and stayed awake for the rest of the night.
-
The next day, McCoy went to work as usual and found himself entirely unable to do anything useful. Even working alone didn’t go anywhere. His thoughts wandered beyond his control, leaving him feel sick and close to tears all day. He couldn’t be among people. At one point he heard Spock’s voice through the closed door of his office and ended up cowering behind his desk, his knees drawn to his chest like a little boy. His heart was beating so fast he thought his chest would bust, and he stopped breathing until Spock walked away.
There was no place in a spaceship for a doctor who couldn’t do his work. Before his shift was over, McCoy had sent his resignation to the captain, and another message to M’Benga, to let him know he was going to be CMO, starting tomorrow. At the next space station he would leave, and that would be it.
The pain in his head made it hard to think. He wasn’t even sure he had managed to make sense in his resignation, but if he hadn’t, it would only underline how much this ship didn’t need him.
Painkillers were useless. The pain as not physical; it was as if his mind were on fire. Perhaps it would stop hurting once he had surrendered the last of his sanity, but somehow he knew it wouldn’t. And he did not plan on living on like this for the rest of his natural life: suffering and useless. There was no benefit to anyone in that.
As he walked back to his quarters, people were staring at him. He had at least enough sense left to know that this was not actually true, because the people he was seeing weren’t really there. They couldn’t be there, because not a single one of them was still alive.
For a doctor it was important to be able to let go of patients he lost. McCoy had always been able to do that. He did everything he could for those he could help, but if someone died and he knew it was not due to any mistake or failure on his part, he moved on quickly. It was what he had to do not to lose his mind.
But they all remained in his memory, and now they came out to play. He had been thinking of them for days now, doubting himself, wondering about the lives they could have lived if only he’d worked a little bit harder. Now he saw them out of the corner of his eyes, in the faces of passing crewmen, and wanted to run and hide although he knew they would always find him.
Yet when he reached the privacy of his quarters, the only one waiting for him was Jim. He sat on a chair, an official looking document on the table before him, and gave the impression of a man who very hard tried to remain calm.
His self-control was fragile at best, however, and shattered the moment the doors closed.
“What the hell is this?” he exploded, throwing the document at McCoy. It was his resignation. Of course.
“You know what that is,” the doctor told him, too tired for this now. Why couldn’t Jim just accept it and leave him alone? “You need to sign it.”
“The hell I will! Not before you explained to me why you want to leave all of a sudden!”
“It’s written in there.”
“All that says is that you’re unable to perform you duties. Don’t you think a little more information would be helpful?” He stepped closer, took hold of McCoy’s shoulders hard enough to hurt and shook him. “Dammit, Bones, something’s wrong with you! I’ve been worried about you for days, and all you give me is this!”
McCoy had thought he was too tired to be angry, but something stirred inside him at those words. Jim had been worried. Touching. He was damn freaking good at hiding it.
“I can’t do my work anymore,” he said, with only a hint of impatience in his voice. “As captain you have to do what’s best for your ship, so sign that damn paper and give my job to someone else.”
“As captain, I have a right to learn why exactly I am losing my very capable CMO.” Jim was still holding him and standing far too close. “And as your friend and lover I have even more right to know what the hell is wrong with you!”
What had stirred in McCoy before finally snapped. “My Lover?” he hissed. “When exactly would that be? I think you and me, we have very different ideas of that concept.”
Startled by his outburst, Jim let go of his arms and stepped back, allowing McCoy to do the same.
“For your information, fucking someone isn’t enough to qualify as lovers. You only come to me when you’re horny and there happens to be no one else around. I’m not your lover, Jim, I’m your whore!”
According to the expression on Jim’s face he had not seen this coming. He looked pretty speechless. Which was good, because McCoy didn’t want him to say anything.
He wanted him to go, before the other thing he had carried around for far too long slipped out as well. He could imagine only too well how Jim would react to that.
Fortunately, Jim did him the favour. Fury twisted his handsome features, and for a second McCoy was convinced he would lunge at him, but in the end the captain only turned on his heels and walked out of his quarters and, quite possibly, his life.
-
The lights in the ship had dimmed, indicating night time. The corridors were nearly deserted, because everyone who didn’t have to work was in bed, sleeping. Like M’Benga should be. He wasn’t, because he had something to do that would not let him rest if he tried, and when he pressed the buzzer at McCoy’s door, he found out that the other doctor wasn’t sleeping either. It would have been a surprise if he had.
All through the past several days, McCoy had looked pretty miserable, but now he looked like a walking corpse. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, his face white and his cheeks hollow. His uniform was a crumbled mess. He looked as if he’d been crying.
“I was quite surprised when I received your message today and found out that I’m going to be CMO from now on,” M’Benga greeted him. “Do you mind explaining that to me?”
“Why is everyone asking me that?” McCoy’s voice sounded rough and hoarse.
“Because we honestly want to understand. I take it the captain was here already?”
“He was. And now he’s gone. Which I appreciate very much.”
That wasn’t exactly an invitation to stay. M’Benga stepped closer anyway, and McCoy stepped back instinctively, thus making room for his colleague to enter his quarters.
The lights inside were dim, even more so than in the corridor. M’Benga ordered them up and saw McCoy flinch and cover his eyes with his hand.
“Headache?” He had expected that. “I admit you look like hell. But don’t you think taking a week off would have been enough? Why do you have to end your career in Starfleet just because you’re not well for a while?”
“Because I nearly killed the captain.” There was no force behind Leonard’s words; it was a simple statement. “He was hurt and I ran off. He could have died then.”
It was true. To M’Benga, who knew how serious McCoy took his oath, that incident illustrated how badly he was affected by what must have happened to him in the other universe.
“And you think that might happen again?”
“I know it.” McCoy’s voice was still flat, toneless. “Is that all?”
“No. Sit down.” M’Benga gestured to the bed, but the other man couldn’t see it because he was still covering his eyes with his hand. “I need to check you over.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a doctor and you are obviously ill. And because I need to confirm that you are unfit for duty.”
“There’s nothing physically wrong with me.”
“I beg to differ. Now sit down and remove your shirt, or I’ll have you dragged to sickbay by your own orderlies.”
After another moment of indecision, Leonard finally moved. He swayed slightly but regained his balance before M’Benga had to step in to help him. The bright light seemed to leave him almost blind.
“I don’t need to remove my shirt for you to examine me.”
“Leave that to me. Also, your shirt needs washing.” McCoy sighed and did as he was told. He kept his eyes on the floor all the time, either unwilling or unable to look at the other doctor who pulled out his scanner to run it over the thin body.
“Your temperature is too high,” he noted. “You’re also malnourished. When did you last eat?”
McCoy didn’t answer that question, probably because he couldn’t.
“Are you feeling sick?”
“Not all the time.”
“Hm. What did Spock say about your sudden resignation?”
Once again Leonard took a while before he answered. His body tensed.
“Why would he care?” he asked. “I don’t think he even knows yet.”
“Why wouldn’t he? I thought you were friends.”
McCoy didn’t answer. Eventually he asked, “Aren’t you done yet?”
“Not quite.” M’Benga looked at the little display of his scanner. “You’ve took a sedative, not long ago. And there are traces of a lot of stimulants in your body. It’s no surprise you are feeling sick.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes you are.”
“Don’t tell me how the hell I’m feeling!” Leonard snapped. He made a move to retrieve his shirt, but M’Benga stopped him with a hand to his shoulder that nearly made him freeze.
“I will, because you won’t;” he said softly. “How long has this been going on? You should have come to me long ago instead of taking medication to keep going and running away when it didn’t work anymore.”
Leonard didn’t answer. He was trembling softly, although the air inside his rooms was warm enough - almost too warm to be comfortable.
The hand on his bony shoulder covered the bruises on his skin. There were matching ones on the other shoulder and around his wrists, finger shaped, and accompanied by hickeys and something that looked like bite marks all over his body.
“You’re involved with someone on the ship?” M’Benga asked casually. These were fresh, definitely younger than the latest shore leave. On McCoy’s back he discovered scratch marks and the bruises on his left wrist, he noted, covered older bruises, also left by a hand holding him too tightly. “I trust you know what you are doing.”
McCoy’s shoulders slumped. Suddenly, he looked just tired. “Yes. Don’t worry. It’s no one from our department.”
“That’s not what I meant.” M’Benga shut down his scanner and sat down on the bed beside his friend. “Leonard,” he said. “You haven’t been alright since your trip to the parallel universe. What happened to you over there?”
The other doctor still stared at the floor, where medical magazines and his bed sheets were strewn, together with the shard of a broken cup that had left stains of cold coffee on the wall it had been thrown against. His lips formed the word ‘Nothing,’ but no sound was heard.
“Scott told me you didn’t look well when that other Spock brought you to them. Was it him?”
“Don’t.” A whisper.
“You have to tell me, Leonard! Did he force a meld on you?”
Up until this moment, M’Benga still had hope he might be mistaken. But the way McCoy didn’t react to his words at all told him he was right.
After almost a minute, Leonard started to shake. “Leave me alone,” he whispered.
“No. Leonard, look at me! It’s going to be alright.”
“It’s not!” Leonard stood and backed away, but M’Benga was right with him, not letting him put any distance between them. “He… I couldn’t… I can’t…” McCoy took a shaking breath and for the first time looked at his colleague. His eyes were full of tears. “It doesn’t stop.” His words were strangled by a sob. Without hesitation, M’Benga pulled him into his arms.
“It’s okay,” he said soothingly as Leonard cried into his shoulder. “I know.”
But in truth he didn’t know. He couldn’t even begin to imagine.
And with all his knowledge about Vulcans, he still had no idea how to help his friend.
-
In his anger, Kirk had forgotten McCoy’s resignation in the doctor’s quarters, which was a pity, because in his anger he felt very much like signing it.
In the end, it was not a problem. The document had been a print out of the file McCoy had sent him. He could print it out again, and he did, and then he sat on his desk with the paper before him and a pen in his hand. For minutes.
Why did Starfleet so far in the age of computerisation still insist on official documents existing on actual paper? This was just making it hard for everyone involved, especially him.
The pen stubbornly refused to lower onto the paper.
Bones had had no right to speak to him like that. He was having problems, and obviously serious ones, and instead of talking to Kirk, be it as captain or friend of whatever, he chose to keep it to himself and use Kirk as an outlet for his frustration.
Just like Kirk had done to him countless of times before.
His anger was eating at the captain, but the more he thought about it, the more it was directed at himself. Because he knew Bones was right, even if he was overreacting. Their relationship truly didn’t qualify as lovers, more like occasional sex partners.
If he thought about it, it was also true that he only came to Bones when there was no one else around to still his desires. If there was a beautiful woman involved who was not part of his crew, Kirk would choose her, of course. He wouldn’t even think of Bones.
Because he didn’t need him.
Kirk had never thought there was anything wrong with this. After all, he preferred women, so there was no doubt he would pick one over his male best friend. And he’d never thought Bones would mind, or handle it any differently.
So why was he complaining now?
Kirk knew Bones’ sex life wasn’t as active as his. He also never initiated their encounters, though of course Kirk would have been there for him if he had, and the circumstances weren’t too inconvenient.
And as far as Kirk knew, Bones had few partners except for him, if any at all. It was not something he thought much about, naturally. After all, it was none of his business.
Kirk breathed out harshly in frustration and set the pen aside. He was letting his personal feelings influence his decisions as captain. There was a reason why Starfleet had rules against fraternisation, but so far he had believed his relationship with Bones was not presenting a problem in any way.
Right now, he suspected he was wrong. To make sure he did the right thing, he had to set his personal feelings of anger and rejection aside and make his decision based on professional considerations.
And professionally, it was important that he found out what the hell was wrong with his CMO.
Minutes later he was wandering through the corridor to McCoy’s quarters. He didn’t care if Bones was asleep, he’d wake him up and not go away until he had found out what was going on. And if Bones didn’t open the door, he still had his override to get in. The doctor could throw at him whatever he wanted, for once Kirk would shut down his temper and get beyond the insults to the heart of the matter.
But when he pressed the buzzer, it was not Bones who opened the door. It was Doctor M’Benga. He stepped out and let the doors close behind him.
“Doctor McCoy is asleep,” he said. “Whatever it is, Captain, it’ll have to wait.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“It’s complicated. I cannot tell you anything yet.”
“You can’t tell me? Do you remember that I am the captain? I have a right to know what’s going on on my ship.”
“And I’m currently acting CMO. It’s my decision what to tell you, Sir.” M’Benga managed to sound respectful as he said that. It was one thing in which he outclassed Bones.
“Like I said, I can’t tell you anything. Patient confidentiality. And you can’t speak to McCoy yet. He needs sleep. Also, I gave him a pretty heavy sedative.”
“Is he ill? Physically, I mean?”
“Yes, but that’s nothing to worry about. Listen, Captain, there’s nothing for you to do here at the moment. All you need to know right now is that Leonard is not going to be able to do his work anytime soon.”
Kirk did not miss that apparently M’Benga did not assume Bones would never return to his position at all, which was definitely a good sign. He also did not miss that he referred to McCoy by his first name, nor that he was not too subtly being dismissed.
“Very well. I’ll come back here before alpha shift. If you don’t mind.” He suspected that his voice sounded a little sour, but M’Benga only nodded and disappeared in Bones quarters. For a second Kirk caught a glimpse of his friend, dressed in civilian clothes and curled up on the bed, then the doors closed, shutting him out.
For almost a minute he remained standing in front of the CMO’s quarters, staring at the door, his expression darkening. Eventually he turned and briskly walked back to the turbo lift.
He wondered if M’Benga really had visited McCoy’s just for professional reasons. Perhaps this was Bones’ way of getting back at him, of showing him that he was fed up with Kirk’s behaviour. Bones and M’Benga - it was not something he had thought about ever before, and if he looked at it from a distance, it didn’t make much sense to think about it now. The only indication was M’Benga being at McCoy’s place and wanting Kirk to leave there, for both of which there were very good explanations. But right now Kirk couldn’t look at things from a distance, and the thought kept coming back to him.
At least he had the sense to know he was being irrational. What he did not understand was why the thought of them Bones being with anyone else bothered him so much.
- tbc
November 11, 2009
Chapter 1 <-> Chapter 3
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Rating: R
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Summary: After returning from the mirror universe, McCoy is facing the consequences of the meld forced on him by the other Spock, and Kirk is failing to be helpful.
Word count: 6073
The moment of truth concerning his ability to function in an away team came much too soon, and under the worst possible circumstances. McCoy thought he would have refused to go on this mission, had he known Spock would be there as well, but the truth was, he couldn’t tell for sure because no one had told him. When he arrived at the transporter platform, he’d breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing only Jim, Sulu, Chekov and D’Amato around. He was able to handle it - his mind was set on concentrating on his work, and there was nothing around to distract him except his own mind. If he did well on this mission, he was certain he would be able to deal with anything in the end, and put this mess behind him.
And it was going so well.
Until Spock beamed down with a couple of the scientific department. He had been delayed analysing some data gathered on the planet before, but had been meant to be part of the team from the beginning. No one had told McCoy. He had had no chance to prepare himself. One moment he was doing fine, the next the appearance of the science officer socked him so badly he nearly threw up on the spot. It was hard not to simply run away, hard not to scream, hard not to hyperventilate and lose himself in a panic.
With effort, he managed to pull himself together, and no one noticed the cold sweat and fast breathing, or the fact that he would not turn his back on Spock. But had Spock not been there, or had McCoy been able to get a hold on himself, he would have paid better attention and not overlooked the danger to Jim’s life.
But he did overlook it, and Jim, being the careless idiot he was, had needed to touch the gleaming, shiny surface of that obelisk before McCoy, or anyone else, thought of scanning it. He became the focus of the CMO’s attention, at least, when he was thrown backwards by an energy charge and landed hard on the floor.
He had everyone else’s attention as well. The only people not paying attention were Scotty and his team up on the ship, to which they had lost contact. They couldn’t beam their captain up to the Enterprise and all her equipment, and he wasn’t breathing.
All other thoughts disappeared from McCoy’s mind as he tried to save his friend’s life. Without their equipment, there was not much he could do except perform basic CPR. Alternately pounding at Jim's chest and pressing his lips onto Jim’s to force his own breath into the captain’s lungs, McCoy felt an all consuming rush of desperation at the lack of result his actions were having. Jim was going to die, was already dead, was gone from his life.
But even this desperation existed only in the back of his mind. A part of McCoy was lost in hopelessness and sadness, but the other part was focused on his job, on registering medical facts and performing medical actions.
His own lungs soon burned from the exertion of sharing his breath, and he didn’t seem to have enough strength to stimulate Jim’s heart to any use. But he kept going, thinking of nothing else, until Spock pushed him aside and took over the cardiac massage. McCoy checked for a pulse again, and found still nothing. (They were losing Jim. He was losing Jim.)
Distantly, he registered Sulu and a woman from the science team urgently trying to establish communication with the ship, but the communicators were as useless as the tricorders. He didn’t pay attention to them. His task was here, right before him.
It took long, so long until Jim’s heart finally started beating again. He was breathing on his own, but McCoy was unable to bring him back to full consciousness. They needed to get back to the ship and proper medical equipment.
Jim had a good chance now, but he was not yet saved. McCoy stayed with him, monitoring his vital signs, always ready to help him if needed, and hoping that they would finally re-establish the goddamn connection to the ship. And then Spock put a hand to his shoulder. A gesture of reassurance perhaps - there was no practical use for it. It wasn’t logical, a rare display of friendship. It pulled McCoy back to the awareness that Spock was there, that he was standing behind him, that he was touching him.
Suddenly blind with panic, he bolted and ran away, leaving the unconscious captain behind.
-
No one had been prepared for Doctor McCoy to jump up and run away without warning. He ran out of the old temple they had been exploring, into the gloomy light of this dead planet, before anyone even realised what was going on.
Spock watched him disappear, surprised and confused. He did not understand this reaction; even for a human as emotional as McCoy it seemed random. But he had felt great distress, even fear coming form the doctor in the brief moment they had touched. It was worrying.
None the less he made no move to follow the CMO, deciding instead to stay with the captain, as he was the one best knowing how to care for him now their only medic was gone. Sulu and Smith left to look for the doctor, but were unable to retrieve him.
Only minutes later, Mr. Scott on the Enterprise managed to get through the interference that trapped them on this world without communication. Jim was beamed up first, along with D’Amato and Verrly. Spock stayed behind to join in the search for Doctor McCoy.
He was the one who found him, nearly an hour later. The CMO of the Enterprise was lying curled up just beside the path leading down into the valley, half hidden between rocks. He was clasping his hands around his head and shaking, barely aware of his surroundings, but when Spock touched him, he screamed.
There was no way of immediately determining how long he had been lying here like this. However, if Spock’s assumption was true and he had been running as fast he could until he fell, then the distance he had put behind him and the speed at which he’d been moving led the Vulcan to believe that it had been a considerable number of minutes.
McCoy passed out before the transporter beam took hold of them and returned them to the ship. Spock picked him up and carried the not particularly heavy body to sickbay, at a loss as to what had actually happened.
Jim was on one of the biobeds when he arrived with his unconscious burden. He was asleep, but Doctor Sanchez assured Spock that his state had stabilized and he had regained consciousness earlier. In a day he would be cleared for duty - two days at best.
Sanchez also assured him that there was nothing wrong with McCoy that could not be blamed on the low temperature on that planet. His unconsciousness had been caused, apparently, by a high level of emotional stress, and exhaustion. He, too, would recover quickly.
“He was in pain,” Spock pointed out. Unable to answer even his own questions, he did not mention the fear he had sensed, or the fact that this fear was specifically directed at him.
“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Sanchez promised. “The scanners show nothing wrong, but perhaps he will be able to tell us more when he wakes up.” Spock was not satisfied with this, but accepted there was little more the doctor could do under these circumstances. He paid a visit to Jim on the way out, but his friend was sleeping, and unwilling to disturb him, Spock left to take his place on the bridge.
As predicted by the doctor, Jim was back on duty the next day. Spock found him in his chair on the bridge when he arrived for his shift.
“I trust you are feeling well, Captain,” Spock said formally, clasping his hands behind his back. Kirk smiled at him.
“Quite well, Spock. Bones assured me there would be no long lasting effects. I’m planning to go back to the planet as soon as your department dealt with the data we managed to gather yesterday, before the tricorders died.” His expression turned sour. “At least now I know what not to touch.”
“Doctor McCoy treated you himself?” Spock was not quite able to hide his surprise, and it was reflected on Jim’s face as mild confusion.
“Yes, whyever not? It’s his shift, isn’t it?”
“Indeed it is. I merely had not expected him to recover this quickly.”
The captain’s face remained blank. “Recover? What was wrong with him?”
So McCoy had not thought it necessary to inform his captain. “He had some sort of emotional breakdown on the planet which caused him to pass out. In addition, he suffered mild hypothermia from lying in the cold for at least forty minutes.”
Now a frown appeared on his features. “Why wasn’t I informed about this?”
Why indeed? Spock could only speculate, and speculation without sufficient data was not a favourite activity of his. He decided to confront McCoy with his refusal to tell the captain of his condition as well as his strong reaction to Spock’s presence as soon as the opportunity presented itself.
But as McCoy stayed away from the bridge and from Spock, the opportunity never came.
-
The trouble with the transporter continued. It was another day before Mr. Scott found a way to ensure reliable communication with and a safe return to the ship. Captain Kirk had planned to beam down the same team he had chosen before, and was surprised to find M’Benga waiting in the transporter room instead of McCoy.
“Doctor McCoy declared himself unfit for duty,” M’Benga informed him. “He asked me to take his place with the landing party.”
“Why?” Kirk seemed confused and a little angered. “Is he ill?”
“His state is so that he doesn’t trust himself to do good work on the mission.”
“In which case it is logical to have someone more capable take over,” Spock agreed. He stood straight, his hands behind his back, and was looking directly at M’Benga as if asking him a question. It was one the doctor could not answer.
“You admit Bones did something logical, Spock? Too bad he missed that.” Kirk stepped onto the transporter platform, his mind obviously moving on to other matters as he gave the order to beam them down.
M’Benga didn’t get the impression the captain even remembered their brief exchange of words after they’d arrived at the alien city and started exploring the remains of the lost civilisation in earnest and other than two days before with the necessary caution. He was surprised when Kirk stepped up to him just as he knelt down to collect a sample of yellow, organic dust, a few metres away from the rest of the team.
“What exactly is wrong with McCoy?” Kirk asked, speaking quietly. “He seemed fine enough two days ago.”
“He wasn’t.” There was a hint of anger in M’Benga’s voice he didn’t care to hide. He had been quite annoyed with his colleague when he had learned that McCoy had discharged himself the moment he woke up in sickbay. It had all been over before M’Benga’s shift even started. Without Sanchez he wouldn’t even have learned that their CMO had had any trouble at all. “But he deemed himself well enough to go back to work.”
“And you didn’t check him over?” Kirk’s disapproval was obvious.
“There was nothing physically wrong with him, Sir,” the doctor explained patiently.
“And now there is?”
“I had no opportunity to examine him before the mission, but I trust him when he says he can’t do it. Doctor McCoy is not known for finding excuses to avoid work.”
“No, he isn’t,” Kirk agreed. Looking thoughtful, he turned and went back to the rest of his team, and M’Benga went back to wondering about the CMO.
He had read the report on McCoy after he’d found out what had happened. At that point, Leonard had already been back at work, treating patients and working in the lab as if nothing had happened, but he had seemed nervous and distracted all the time. According to the report, he had suddenly panicked and run away from the team. That wasn’t exactly typical behaviour for him, and M’Benga had a hard time accepting Sanchez’ diagnosis of stress. He’d known McCoy too long for that.
But there had been no opportunity to talk to the CMO about it before the mission, and when finally they beamed back to the Enterprise, there still was no opportunity. Leonard’s shift had ended long ago. According to the nurses, he had locked himself in the lab all day, never coming out unless he was absolutely needed. He didn’t look well, they said, and M’Benga believed them.
He wasn’t happy with his superior officer and friend. As CMO, Leonard couldn’t hide away like that and let others do the work. The entire department suffered if he did, and he knew that. Which was exactly what puzzled M’Benga so much; no one was more aware of his responsibility than Leonard McCoy. He worked harder than anyone, never allowing himself to take a break.
But he also knew that he couldn’t do a very good job is he wasn’t well himself. And for a doctor, not doing a very good job could get someone killed.
Perhaps that was why he preferred to stay away from patients, or anyone for that matter, and limited himself to working in the lab. It didn’t really lessen M’Benga’s annoyance with him. If Leonard wasn’t well enough to do his job properly, then he shouldn’t do anything but stay home and rest.
Come to think of it, he had been acting like this for a while now. Christine Chapel had mentioned that he didn’t appear to be sleeping well, or at all, and it was showing. He’d been nervous and withdrawn ever since they had returned from their adventure in the other universe.
Now there was a thought.
Chief Engineer Scott came for an inoculation an hour after the landing party had returned, and though M’Benga was officially off shift by then, he cared for Scott himself and took the opportunity to talk to someone who had been on that other Enterprise with McCoy.
“I don’t know,” Scott said when M’Benga asked him if anything had happened to McCoy over there. “We didn’t spend a lot of time together. But he did seem a little dazed when that Vulcan delivered him to the transporter room.”
“That Vulcan? You mean Spock?”
“Well, he was about as close to our Spock as a screwdriver is to a clamp, but yes, Spock.”
“Do you know what happened? There was nothing in the report.”
“No. I asked Len, but he said it was nothing. I must say, I was a little worried for a moment there, but he didn’t say anything.”
Still, the engineer said enough to give the doctor a clue. He remembered the question Leonard had had about Vulcan mild melds, and when he later asked Spock if the CMO had indeed approached him about this topic and received a negative answer, his suspicion turned to terrible certainty.
-
This time, Jim was kind enough to announce his visit beforehand, so McCoy had a chance to prepare and take a sedative before he showed up. He didn’t know if Jim was coming as friend, lover, or angered commanding officer, but he would need chemical help to get through either of the possible conversations.
As it turned out, Jim came as every one of those, if not at the same time. It was the captain who came in and demanded an explanation for his absence at the landing party. It was the friend who asked what was wrong after McCoy told him of his sudden panic attack the other day and his fear it might happen again. And when McCoy couldn’t come up with an explanation, it was all three of them who got angry and started an argument. In the end it was definitely the lover who took over and ended the argument by pressing him against the wall for a hungry, angry kiss, and then threw him on the bed to fuck him seven ways to Sunday - thought there was still a bit of the furious captain in it. McCoy offered no resistance, but Jim still thought it necessary to be rougher than usual, almost brutal. He was angry and confused, and McCoy allowed him to spend his anger in a way that didn’t hurt anyone.
It might have been easier for Jim if McCoy had fought him, invited him to a physical fight as a means to work off all that testosterone, but he was too tired, and the strong sedative took away his energy.
As he felt bruises form on his wrists, he was very glad he’d taken it.
Afterwards, it even allowed him to fall asleep. He dreamed of another hand closing around his wrist, with long fingers and hot skin, and woke up shivering and crying.
And alone. Jim didn’t stay every night he came here, because that would be suspicious. He only stayed when he felt like it.
Better this way. McCoy curled into a tight ball, hid his head between his arms and stayed awake for the rest of the night.
-
The next day, McCoy went to work as usual and found himself entirely unable to do anything useful. Even working alone didn’t go anywhere. His thoughts wandered beyond his control, leaving him feel sick and close to tears all day. He couldn’t be among people. At one point he heard Spock’s voice through the closed door of his office and ended up cowering behind his desk, his knees drawn to his chest like a little boy. His heart was beating so fast he thought his chest would bust, and he stopped breathing until Spock walked away.
There was no place in a spaceship for a doctor who couldn’t do his work. Before his shift was over, McCoy had sent his resignation to the captain, and another message to M’Benga, to let him know he was going to be CMO, starting tomorrow. At the next space station he would leave, and that would be it.
The pain in his head made it hard to think. He wasn’t even sure he had managed to make sense in his resignation, but if he hadn’t, it would only underline how much this ship didn’t need him.
Painkillers were useless. The pain as not physical; it was as if his mind were on fire. Perhaps it would stop hurting once he had surrendered the last of his sanity, but somehow he knew it wouldn’t. And he did not plan on living on like this for the rest of his natural life: suffering and useless. There was no benefit to anyone in that.
As he walked back to his quarters, people were staring at him. He had at least enough sense left to know that this was not actually true, because the people he was seeing weren’t really there. They couldn’t be there, because not a single one of them was still alive.
For a doctor it was important to be able to let go of patients he lost. McCoy had always been able to do that. He did everything he could for those he could help, but if someone died and he knew it was not due to any mistake or failure on his part, he moved on quickly. It was what he had to do not to lose his mind.
But they all remained in his memory, and now they came out to play. He had been thinking of them for days now, doubting himself, wondering about the lives they could have lived if only he’d worked a little bit harder. Now he saw them out of the corner of his eyes, in the faces of passing crewmen, and wanted to run and hide although he knew they would always find him.
Yet when he reached the privacy of his quarters, the only one waiting for him was Jim. He sat on a chair, an official looking document on the table before him, and gave the impression of a man who very hard tried to remain calm.
His self-control was fragile at best, however, and shattered the moment the doors closed.
“What the hell is this?” he exploded, throwing the document at McCoy. It was his resignation. Of course.
“You know what that is,” the doctor told him, too tired for this now. Why couldn’t Jim just accept it and leave him alone? “You need to sign it.”
“The hell I will! Not before you explained to me why you want to leave all of a sudden!”
“It’s written in there.”
“All that says is that you’re unable to perform you duties. Don’t you think a little more information would be helpful?” He stepped closer, took hold of McCoy’s shoulders hard enough to hurt and shook him. “Dammit, Bones, something’s wrong with you! I’ve been worried about you for days, and all you give me is this!”
McCoy had thought he was too tired to be angry, but something stirred inside him at those words. Jim had been worried. Touching. He was damn freaking good at hiding it.
“I can’t do my work anymore,” he said, with only a hint of impatience in his voice. “As captain you have to do what’s best for your ship, so sign that damn paper and give my job to someone else.”
“As captain, I have a right to learn why exactly I am losing my very capable CMO.” Jim was still holding him and standing far too close. “And as your friend and lover I have even more right to know what the hell is wrong with you!”
What had stirred in McCoy before finally snapped. “My Lover?” he hissed. “When exactly would that be? I think you and me, we have very different ideas of that concept.”
Startled by his outburst, Jim let go of his arms and stepped back, allowing McCoy to do the same.
“For your information, fucking someone isn’t enough to qualify as lovers. You only come to me when you’re horny and there happens to be no one else around. I’m not your lover, Jim, I’m your whore!”
According to the expression on Jim’s face he had not seen this coming. He looked pretty speechless. Which was good, because McCoy didn’t want him to say anything.
He wanted him to go, before the other thing he had carried around for far too long slipped out as well. He could imagine only too well how Jim would react to that.
Fortunately, Jim did him the favour. Fury twisted his handsome features, and for a second McCoy was convinced he would lunge at him, but in the end the captain only turned on his heels and walked out of his quarters and, quite possibly, his life.
-
The lights in the ship had dimmed, indicating night time. The corridors were nearly deserted, because everyone who didn’t have to work was in bed, sleeping. Like M’Benga should be. He wasn’t, because he had something to do that would not let him rest if he tried, and when he pressed the buzzer at McCoy’s door, he found out that the other doctor wasn’t sleeping either. It would have been a surprise if he had.
All through the past several days, McCoy had looked pretty miserable, but now he looked like a walking corpse. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, his face white and his cheeks hollow. His uniform was a crumbled mess. He looked as if he’d been crying.
“I was quite surprised when I received your message today and found out that I’m going to be CMO from now on,” M’Benga greeted him. “Do you mind explaining that to me?”
“Why is everyone asking me that?” McCoy’s voice sounded rough and hoarse.
“Because we honestly want to understand. I take it the captain was here already?”
“He was. And now he’s gone. Which I appreciate very much.”
That wasn’t exactly an invitation to stay. M’Benga stepped closer anyway, and McCoy stepped back instinctively, thus making room for his colleague to enter his quarters.
The lights inside were dim, even more so than in the corridor. M’Benga ordered them up and saw McCoy flinch and cover his eyes with his hand.
“Headache?” He had expected that. “I admit you look like hell. But don’t you think taking a week off would have been enough? Why do you have to end your career in Starfleet just because you’re not well for a while?”
“Because I nearly killed the captain.” There was no force behind Leonard’s words; it was a simple statement. “He was hurt and I ran off. He could have died then.”
It was true. To M’Benga, who knew how serious McCoy took his oath, that incident illustrated how badly he was affected by what must have happened to him in the other universe.
“And you think that might happen again?”
“I know it.” McCoy’s voice was still flat, toneless. “Is that all?”
“No. Sit down.” M’Benga gestured to the bed, but the other man couldn’t see it because he was still covering his eyes with his hand. “I need to check you over.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a doctor and you are obviously ill. And because I need to confirm that you are unfit for duty.”
“There’s nothing physically wrong with me.”
“I beg to differ. Now sit down and remove your shirt, or I’ll have you dragged to sickbay by your own orderlies.”
After another moment of indecision, Leonard finally moved. He swayed slightly but regained his balance before M’Benga had to step in to help him. The bright light seemed to leave him almost blind.
“I don’t need to remove my shirt for you to examine me.”
“Leave that to me. Also, your shirt needs washing.” McCoy sighed and did as he was told. He kept his eyes on the floor all the time, either unwilling or unable to look at the other doctor who pulled out his scanner to run it over the thin body.
“Your temperature is too high,” he noted. “You’re also malnourished. When did you last eat?”
McCoy didn’t answer that question, probably because he couldn’t.
“Are you feeling sick?”
“Not all the time.”
“Hm. What did Spock say about your sudden resignation?”
Once again Leonard took a while before he answered. His body tensed.
“Why would he care?” he asked. “I don’t think he even knows yet.”
“Why wouldn’t he? I thought you were friends.”
McCoy didn’t answer. Eventually he asked, “Aren’t you done yet?”
“Not quite.” M’Benga looked at the little display of his scanner. “You’ve took a sedative, not long ago. And there are traces of a lot of stimulants in your body. It’s no surprise you are feeling sick.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes you are.”
“Don’t tell me how the hell I’m feeling!” Leonard snapped. He made a move to retrieve his shirt, but M’Benga stopped him with a hand to his shoulder that nearly made him freeze.
“I will, because you won’t;” he said softly. “How long has this been going on? You should have come to me long ago instead of taking medication to keep going and running away when it didn’t work anymore.”
Leonard didn’t answer. He was trembling softly, although the air inside his rooms was warm enough - almost too warm to be comfortable.
The hand on his bony shoulder covered the bruises on his skin. There were matching ones on the other shoulder and around his wrists, finger shaped, and accompanied by hickeys and something that looked like bite marks all over his body.
“You’re involved with someone on the ship?” M’Benga asked casually. These were fresh, definitely younger than the latest shore leave. On McCoy’s back he discovered scratch marks and the bruises on his left wrist, he noted, covered older bruises, also left by a hand holding him too tightly. “I trust you know what you are doing.”
McCoy’s shoulders slumped. Suddenly, he looked just tired. “Yes. Don’t worry. It’s no one from our department.”
“That’s not what I meant.” M’Benga shut down his scanner and sat down on the bed beside his friend. “Leonard,” he said. “You haven’t been alright since your trip to the parallel universe. What happened to you over there?”
The other doctor still stared at the floor, where medical magazines and his bed sheets were strewn, together with the shard of a broken cup that had left stains of cold coffee on the wall it had been thrown against. His lips formed the word ‘Nothing,’ but no sound was heard.
“Scott told me you didn’t look well when that other Spock brought you to them. Was it him?”
“Don’t.” A whisper.
“You have to tell me, Leonard! Did he force a meld on you?”
Up until this moment, M’Benga still had hope he might be mistaken. But the way McCoy didn’t react to his words at all told him he was right.
After almost a minute, Leonard started to shake. “Leave me alone,” he whispered.
“No. Leonard, look at me! It’s going to be alright.”
“It’s not!” Leonard stood and backed away, but M’Benga was right with him, not letting him put any distance between them. “He… I couldn’t… I can’t…” McCoy took a shaking breath and for the first time looked at his colleague. His eyes were full of tears. “It doesn’t stop.” His words were strangled by a sob. Without hesitation, M’Benga pulled him into his arms.
“It’s okay,” he said soothingly as Leonard cried into his shoulder. “I know.”
But in truth he didn’t know. He couldn’t even begin to imagine.
And with all his knowledge about Vulcans, he still had no idea how to help his friend.
-
In his anger, Kirk had forgotten McCoy’s resignation in the doctor’s quarters, which was a pity, because in his anger he felt very much like signing it.
In the end, it was not a problem. The document had been a print out of the file McCoy had sent him. He could print it out again, and he did, and then he sat on his desk with the paper before him and a pen in his hand. For minutes.
Why did Starfleet so far in the age of computerisation still insist on official documents existing on actual paper? This was just making it hard for everyone involved, especially him.
The pen stubbornly refused to lower onto the paper.
Bones had had no right to speak to him like that. He was having problems, and obviously serious ones, and instead of talking to Kirk, be it as captain or friend of whatever, he chose to keep it to himself and use Kirk as an outlet for his frustration.
Just like Kirk had done to him countless of times before.
His anger was eating at the captain, but the more he thought about it, the more it was directed at himself. Because he knew Bones was right, even if he was overreacting. Their relationship truly didn’t qualify as lovers, more like occasional sex partners.
If he thought about it, it was also true that he only came to Bones when there was no one else around to still his desires. If there was a beautiful woman involved who was not part of his crew, Kirk would choose her, of course. He wouldn’t even think of Bones.
Because he didn’t need him.
Kirk had never thought there was anything wrong with this. After all, he preferred women, so there was no doubt he would pick one over his male best friend. And he’d never thought Bones would mind, or handle it any differently.
So why was he complaining now?
Kirk knew Bones’ sex life wasn’t as active as his. He also never initiated their encounters, though of course Kirk would have been there for him if he had, and the circumstances weren’t too inconvenient.
And as far as Kirk knew, Bones had few partners except for him, if any at all. It was not something he thought much about, naturally. After all, it was none of his business.
Kirk breathed out harshly in frustration and set the pen aside. He was letting his personal feelings influence his decisions as captain. There was a reason why Starfleet had rules against fraternisation, but so far he had believed his relationship with Bones was not presenting a problem in any way.
Right now, he suspected he was wrong. To make sure he did the right thing, he had to set his personal feelings of anger and rejection aside and make his decision based on professional considerations.
And professionally, it was important that he found out what the hell was wrong with his CMO.
Minutes later he was wandering through the corridor to McCoy’s quarters. He didn’t care if Bones was asleep, he’d wake him up and not go away until he had found out what was going on. And if Bones didn’t open the door, he still had his override to get in. The doctor could throw at him whatever he wanted, for once Kirk would shut down his temper and get beyond the insults to the heart of the matter.
But when he pressed the buzzer, it was not Bones who opened the door. It was Doctor M’Benga. He stepped out and let the doors close behind him.
“Doctor McCoy is asleep,” he said. “Whatever it is, Captain, it’ll have to wait.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“It’s complicated. I cannot tell you anything yet.”
“You can’t tell me? Do you remember that I am the captain? I have a right to know what’s going on on my ship.”
“And I’m currently acting CMO. It’s my decision what to tell you, Sir.” M’Benga managed to sound respectful as he said that. It was one thing in which he outclassed Bones.
“Like I said, I can’t tell you anything. Patient confidentiality. And you can’t speak to McCoy yet. He needs sleep. Also, I gave him a pretty heavy sedative.”
“Is he ill? Physically, I mean?”
“Yes, but that’s nothing to worry about. Listen, Captain, there’s nothing for you to do here at the moment. All you need to know right now is that Leonard is not going to be able to do his work anytime soon.”
Kirk did not miss that apparently M’Benga did not assume Bones would never return to his position at all, which was definitely a good sign. He also did not miss that he referred to McCoy by his first name, nor that he was not too subtly being dismissed.
“Very well. I’ll come back here before alpha shift. If you don’t mind.” He suspected that his voice sounded a little sour, but M’Benga only nodded and disappeared in Bones quarters. For a second Kirk caught a glimpse of his friend, dressed in civilian clothes and curled up on the bed, then the doors closed, shutting him out.
For almost a minute he remained standing in front of the CMO’s quarters, staring at the door, his expression darkening. Eventually he turned and briskly walked back to the turbo lift.
He wondered if M’Benga really had visited McCoy’s just for professional reasons. Perhaps this was Bones’ way of getting back at him, of showing him that he was fed up with Kirk’s behaviour. Bones and M’Benga - it was not something he had thought about ever before, and if he looked at it from a distance, it didn’t make much sense to think about it now. The only indication was M’Benga being at McCoy’s place and wanting Kirk to leave there, for both of which there were very good explanations. But right now Kirk couldn’t look at things from a distance, and the thought kept coming back to him.
At least he had the sense to know he was being irrational. What he did not understand was why the thought of them Bones being with anyone else bothered him so much.
- tbc
November 11, 2009
Chapter 1 <-> Chapter 3