Night 58: M41-M50 Hallway

[corvus_veritas]

[M41]

For the first time that Byrne could remember in the four or five days he'd been here, the night began without any sort of dramatic fanfare. No mysterious intercom broadcast, no creepy static, no doctors coming in to drag him away again, no nothing. Just the usual unlocking of the doors and silence.

The staff were trying to find new ways to

Comments

[dual_worlds]

Although he had been fully prepared to enter the man's quarters and begin preparations for their meld, McCoy imposed his body in the doorway, apparently fixated and keeping him outside. Spock's eyebrows faintly knit together, but he gave no further outward reaction toward the scathing insults.

Perhaps it would have been better to wait to conduct a meld until Jim responded to his notes -- but, then, perhaps not. The doctor's mental condition would likely worsen if they delayed treating him for much longer; in fact, his mood swings had become much more pronounced since he and Jim initially discussed McCoy's situation. Even without performing a meld, Spock knew the prognosis was not good so long as they did nothing to help him.

That was why Spock didn't find their CMO's sudden change so unexpected. Even so, he couldn't immediately leave. McCoy wasn't fit for duty, and he was rapidly approaching the point where he wasn't fit to be left alone, either.

"Why have you changed your mind?" Spock calmly asked instead, dropping his hands to his sides as he adopted a more neutral posture. "Was there not a reason you asked for my help earlier today?"

[hes_deadjim]

Spock was supposed to leave. McCoy nervously shifted from one foot to the other when Spock remained where he was.

"Look, you half-breed," McCoy began. Either he'd get Spock to violence if he went far enough, which would probably leave McCoy dead: infinitely better than being rendered a vegetable, or he'd get him to leave. Seemed like a win-win considering the alternative. "What part of 'no' didn't you get?"

Even though Spock might be Vulcan (part Vulcan, not even a full one, McCoy thought viciously), he had enough human in there to have some pride, and nothing got to him quite like going after it, like pushing a finger into an entry wound. The doctor knew what made Spock tick, more than anyone else had any right to. He knew him well too, almost intimately, and he knew just what lay under the surface. Doubt, pride, and a whole lotta pesky human emotions, and above all, self consciousness and a low self-esteem brewing under the surface. All of which led to the burning need to be accepted, the very need that made him try to outdo every other Vulcan alive just to prove how Vulcan he really was. The sad truth was the Vulcans would never accept him as one of their own. He'd always be that mongrel oddity that happened to be the best officer in the Empire.

He hesitated despite himself. McCoy hadn't forgotten why he'd asked. How could he forget? Carter and the morphine. His brain not relaying the right tactile sensation from his hands or not translating the message right. The anger and frustration tinged itself with fear. He might have some damn good reasons to want Spock gone, but who was to say this wasn't the same problem? And when had he ever said these things to Spock? It wasn't like he'd never taken pot shots at his heritage, but he'd never meant it, not really. It never got this vicious. This was different. McCoy was aiming to hurt him as much as he could. His chest felt tight at just the thought. Was this really him all along or were his brain functions deteriorating even more? Hell, he might even be talking to thin air.

The doctor didn't drop his hand from the door, but his arm drooped a little. McCoy's jaw worked. He didn't want to admit to Spock he was terrified of the meld, or what could happen. As far as he was concerned, being in a permanent vegetative state was a fate worse than death. But even if it was Spock, he couldn't bring himself to hide what he'd nearly done, or why he'd asked.

"I asked you because I was desperate," he had to admit. "Something bad nearly happened last night because of me. I don't want to hurt anyone, and it's either you or asking the staff for help." Or waiting in his room for it get worse. But even that wasn't a safe bet. He could hurt Byrne. Or any of the staff.

[dual_worlds]

Although Spock recognized the malicious intent behind McCoy's words, he understood the doctor had already lost much of his capacity for rational thought. After what he'd experienced in the wake of Vulcan's destruction, it would take more than a few ill-crafted insults regarding his mixed heritage to draw an emotional reaction. Spock straightened his shoulders as he stayed alert, but his hands remained steady at his sides. After all, any sudden movements ran the risk of further provoking McCoy.

Despite McCoy's hesitation, however, the doctor eventually divulged his reasons for reaching out to Spock in the first place. The Vulcan silently listened. "Something bad nearly happened" held a myriad of potential meanings. Did he make an attempt on another patient's life? Did he nearly injure himself during one of his bouts of instability? Although he could have asked for clarification, Spock knew he likely wouldn't get any clear answers until McCoy returned to his normal mental state. Instead, he needed to keep the man's reasons for asking his help in the forefront of his mind.

"The staff will not help you," the Vulcan promptly pointed out, glancing toward McCoy's loosened arm. "In all likelihood, they would simply ignore your request, or outright refuse to provide adequate treatment for your condition." There was even a strong possibility they were responsible for what had happened to him, but Spock didn't have enough evidence to say for certain. Rather than delve into that, though, the science officer continued speaking.

"You are our Chief Medical Officer." His gaze burned with a quiet intensity as he focused on McCoy. "Neither Jim nor Lieutenant Uhura have responded to my messages. We have reached a point where your assistance is necessary for our escape, and perhaps even our survival."

Spock paused, his grip subtly tightening on his flashlight. "However, I did not come here to force my aid on you. If you insist that I leave, then I shall do so, and attempt to locate our missing crew alone. But know this, Doctor: your mental faculties will continue to deteriorate, and it will only be a matter of time before you hurt either yourself or someone else. The choice is yours."

[hes_deadjim]

Adequate treatment, as if Spock was guaranteed to give it instead, McCoy thought disdainfully. At least the medical staff, while unethical, or at least, their boss was, had actual training. But they had generally ignored his requests before. McCoy was banking on the new "management", who, aside from the drug trials last night, seemed less interested in experiment on them and more interested in keeping them in one piece for some purpose. The odds were better. Not a lot, but a little change was an improvement.

When Spock turned his gaze on him, McCoy found himself shrinking back. He stubbornly tried to meet the Vulcan's eyes, because dammit if he'd let himself get intimidated by the man. He lasted a grand total of five seconds.

They hadn't responded, which, no matter what McCoy thought of his qualifications, wasn't like Kirk. It certainly wasn't like Uhura, who lived and breathed professionalism, even with Sulu breathing down her neck. They could be in danger. Knowing Jim, he'd gone down to the basement on that fool's mission of his and dragged along Uhura for the ride, but what McCoy couldn't figure out was why he'd ignore Spock, much less not take the man with him. And now Spock was telling him flat out that they couldn't afford to wait on him anymore.

Despite the logic, Spock had it in him to leave if he insisted. McCoy's heart sank. This wasn't just about himself or his daughter. It was the rest of the crew, and Spock didn't need to say it any more clearly, the whole outweighed the few. It wasn't like McCoy hadn't put himself at risk to save a majority before anyway, and last time he knew he could have killed himself if he'd gotten the drug wrong, so why was this any different? Of course, the chances of going into a PVS at the time were comparatively low compared to death. And if he was already deteriorating past this point, he could easily hurt someone.

McCoy had to wrestle with the urge to tell Spock to get lost. After a long moment, McCoy dropped his arm and stepped aside to give Spock room to come in, a silent admission.

[dual_worlds]

McCoy had difficulty making eye contact, but so far he wasn't showing signs of becoming physically violent. Even so, Spock remained still as he patiently waited for the doctor to respond to his assessment. At this point, the Vulcan understood he needed to be ready to handle a variety of outcomes. If McCoy sent him on his way, then perhaps there would be future opportunities to correct his condition. But with his current instability, Spock believed the odds of McCoy approaching him again decreased with each passing day.

However, his words seemed to have some impact on McCoy's decision. Despite his initial reluctance, the doctor dropped his arm and silently granted him entrance into his quarters. Maintaining his neutral stance and expression, Spock slowly stepped in after him, glancing around the room. As he'd suspected, they were alone. In all likelihood, McCoy's assigned roommate had left for the evening. Provided their captors chose not to administer any facility-wide experiments this evening, they could work uninterrupted.

While under normal circumstances Spock would have liked to close the door behind him, he didn't want to risk provoking McCoy into another frenzy by giving the mistaken impression that he was trapped in here. Instead, he deliberately left the door somewhat ajar.

"I will guide you through the procedure in order to minimize any discomfort or surprise," Spock explained after a moment. "You may sit, lie down, or remain standing -- whichever you prefer."

[hes_deadjim]

McCoy couldn't help it. He started to tense like a overly wound spring as Spock came in. The urge to strike him, or at least, get that flash light and knock him cold, run, was strong. He could see it happening as clearly as if he'd only just gone through with it. It wouldn't be easy. Spock was fast, and he'd have to do it before he got nerve pinched again. Just make a mad dash for the flashlight,and turn on Spock, who'd probably be on him by then, bring it down his skull, just like Jim had with that ceramic in sickbay. McCoy felt his weight shift towards where he'd left the heavy light. He had to fold his arms across his chest to stop himself. After a moment, he let Spock go past him, keeping the door closer to McCoy's back as the First Officer settled inside the room.

The doctor looked back at the door, the open space between door and the frame like a breath of freedom. Last time they'd done this, in this very room actually, Spock had the door closed. Even had a single ensign and a doctor standing guard. He sincerely doubted that Spock just forgot to close it. He didn't know the logistics of a mind meld, much less the exact science behind it, but he didn't know if Spock could do anything while in the meld, which left him open to outside influences. There was a certain amount of privacy Spock wanted, but despite what he preferred, he'd left it open.

A fleeting, grateful look passed over the doctor's face before it was replaced with apprehension. Spock was waiting. McCoy wandered closer, slowly, as if coming up to a creature he wasn't sure was going to bite him.

"I saw you do it to Jim and Geller before," McCoy said uncomfortably, more to break the silence. He considered his options. As much as he preferred the option to be able to leave, and that was a lot easier standing, it also wasn't anyway to conduct any procedure when it came to a patient. If he'd had to operate on nervous patient ready to make a run for it off the table any moment, he'd probably have killed more than half of them. Lying down, that was too vulnerable. So was sitting. He decided to take the other option, "I'd rather kneel."

At least he'd be in that half-way state, so he could get up if he had to. McCoy knelt, legs resisting as if they were leaden and not flesh and blood.

[dual_worlds]

Although Spock would have preferred to keep the door shut for privacy reasons, he caught the grateful expression on McCoy's face. So far he was making every effort to proceed as delicately as possible, and it appeared he had yet to outright provoke the doctor. That did not mean he could let his guard down, however. During the course of the meld, they would both be in a vulnerable position.

The Vulcan knew he was taking a risk by initiating this form of contact without a third party present, but the situation he'd presented to McCoy applied to him as well: either he could refuse to help and let their CMO's condition further deteriorate, or he could lend his aid so they could continue to work together in the future. The choice was obvious.

When McCoy referenced Geller, Spock recalled the name from his previous mental exchange with Kirk. The doctor was clearly not eager to participate despite being familiar with what was involved, yet he at least agreed to kneel for now. "Very well," he quietly agreed, and he joined him on the floor, resting his knees against the hard surface. His movements were slow but precise, and he maintained his straight posture.

"As you may know," Spock added after a moment, "I have received formal training. Once we have determined the issue, the procedure should be quick and painless." He averted his gaze for a moment. "Please allow me a moment to prepare, so I am able to reduce the amount of emotional transference between us."

As long as he remained communicative during these crucial moments, Spock believed they could soon smoothly transition into the meld. He closed his eyes and centered himself.

[hes_deadjim]

McCoy didn't look at all reassured that Spock had "formal training". What was that supposed to even mean? By who? The Vulcan Science Institute? And what did that mean to everyone non-Vulcan, cause it didn't mean a damn thing to McCoy. It wasn't like the Vulcans were that forthcoming about their society or medical issues, like pon farr, so really, Spock could have said he was certified to sell Tiberian snake oil for all the good it did him.

Quick and painless. Hell, he didn't believe the meld itself was going to be "quick and painless", much less fixing the problem. Why didn't he believe that? Jim made it seem painless. Geller had too, in that zombie-fied kind of way, but who knew. At least he'd never done intrusive or especially delicate surgery while the patient was conscience, and in every single case he'd seen to date, each meld victim was conscious. And what the hell was he talking about? emotional transference? This Spock was so damned sure he didn't have emotions, that it seemed like all he had to worry about was whatever was coming from McCoy himself. Lord, he made it sound like McCoy was a leper.

While Spock gathered himself, McCoy looked back at the door desperately. The crack was looking awfully small, but even with Spock this close, McCoy was sure he could make it out before Spock got to his feet. He didn't have to do this. There was still time to back out. Spock's words paraded around the front of his mind again. The needs of the many.

Damn the man. Damn him to hell.

"Spock. Can we just get this over with?" McCoy broke in after a few seconds. This felt cruel, like drawing someone's blood the old fashioned way, and letting them watch and wonder when you were going to jab the needle in.

[dual_worlds]

Impatience would only increase the chances for mistakes later, which was why Spock was careful and deliberate during his preparations. Fortunately, McCoy didn't need to wait much longer. He opened his eyes and looked to the doctor. "Yes," he quietly answered. With their close proximity, it wasn't necessary to move much closer. "I will raise my hand to initiate the meld now."

Pale fingers brushed against the side of McCoy's face, until the tips settled upon the points located above and below his left eye, as well as near the corner of his mouth. "My mind to your mind," he murmured, staring straight ahead as he spoke. "My thoughts...to your thoughts..."

Like liquid from two glasses poured into a single container, the shift was smooth and quick. Two minds merged together into one consciousness. Fear, anxiety, paranoia -- such emotions immediately assaulted the Vulcan, as intensely as though they were his own. Although he had experienced a small amount of stress and apprehension during his meld with Kirk, such a strong reaction indicated that McCoy was indeed unwell. This was where Spock's training became crucial -- despite the tumultuous waves pulling him in, he managed to retain his sense of self enough to navigate the waters of McCoy's tortured mind.

His movement cautious, Spock carefully extended himself, reaching for any potential anomalies or injuries -- something that could cause him a great deal of pain, not unlike a venomous thorn stuck in his side. Even if they were the sorts of issues McCoy could not identify alone, Spock's own expertise and self-awareness could serve as a way for them to locate any disturbances.

For now, a single question permeated the waters of their joining, acting as a current that would lead them from here. Why are you so afraid?

[hes_deadjim]

Why did he open his big mouth? This was a bad idea. The worst idea he'd ever come up with, and that was saying a lot over his life time. McCoy couldn't help it. He started to recoil, just a little, when long fingers came at his face, and then, before he could scoot back on his butt, they were on his face.

It was instant. Their minds were one before Spock finished his sentence. Spock was like a three foot by three foot space of calm in a roiling landmass. McCoy couldn't stop the torrent of images that followed. He'd been just a simple motion away, all he had to do was depress the syringe, from overdosing Carter. The Empress wanted to say sorry, as if that was gonna put Clark's bones back together. How was he supposed to make this miracle happen, the one Clark needed, the one Spock and Jim expected, and McCoy didn't even have a clue where to start, if they had him wasting time as diplomat?!

Someone was leading him down the Enterprise corridors. It wasn't so much leading as dragging. McCoy was about as useful as a drunk, and he couldn't take a single step without stumbling. The only thing keeping him from going to the floor was the strong hand wrapped around his upper arm. He just wished he'd slow down. He could stop tripping the man up if he'd just give him five minutes to rest.

Spock flowed in along with him like a cool water. It was such a temperature change, that it was like being thrown into the Arctic. Why are you so afraid? His sense were starting to steady themselves. McCoy was able to walk a few steps, able to start hearing more and actually see something more than blurs. He looked at the Man dragging him. Took in the angular face and crisp cut hair, the pointed ears. Why are you so afraid? He knew this man. Hell, the man was helping him back!

The reaction was a violent one.

Because of you.

McCoy tried to resist the moment he felt Spock alongside him. It was a clumsy, knee jerk reaction to stop Spock from getting anything out of him. The violent attempt crumbled almost immediately. Once, he'd been able to put up more of a fight, but now, it was like trying to run on an ankle you'd recently broken, and for all your troubles, just ended up breaking it again. There was a jagged flash of pain down the link.

[dual_worlds]

Spock saw a flood of images -- snapshots of life aboard the other Enterprise they'd once visited together, as clear and real as if they were his own. This alone was not unusual, however, and the Vulcan allowed himself to soak in the new information.

When they were being led down the corridor by a man who bore a startling resemblance to Spock (who was Spock), he began to gain a clearer understanding of the irrational fears coloring McCoy's thoughts, feelings and actions. This man (this Spock) was the root of McCoy's pain. He had done something, something to upset the balance of McCoy's entire psyche, something that now sent powerful waves crashing against the corners of their joined minds.

Even in the face of McCoy's fitful reaction, though, Spock stood his ground and further extended his tranquil presence. Anyone less skilled could have been swept away, but he'd been prepared for this possibility.

Something happened. That much was clear, but Spock was still trying to sort through McCoy's scattered thoughts in order to gain a better perspective of where the damage rested.

[hes_deadjim]

The doctor felt Spock's presence settle over the chaos like a smothering blanket. McCoy wanted to rail against it, even as he calmed. He didn't want to share Spock's serenity. Maybe it would have been soothing any other time, but to McCoy, it was about the same as being hit with tranquilizer dart. Abrupt, invasive, and someone else's doing. Bad enough Spock even had the ability to get close to someone on this level in the first place, but to get someone to feel his mood? It wasn't right, he thought placidly.

Maybe I don't wanna, Spock, McCoy thought at him.

McCoy's mind turned in on itself, at a loss, going everywhere at once, although not quite at the same frantic pace. Carter, the morphine. Almost killed him. What about Joanna? If escape comes and she's not with us, I'm not goin'. Jim's probably long gone. I'm MIA for sure. I wonder who they picked to replace me?

Probably M'benga. Chapel would make a great CMO eventually. Wait, this wasn't what they were here for. Wished he knew. Of course, if he knew for sure, he wouldn't have to go to these lengths in the first place just to find out.

What am I supposed to do?

What was he supposed to do? Leave Spock to die or stay behind a few minutes? Vulcan or not, if he didn't get treatment, Spock would certainly die.

McCoy could see Jim's brain working, going through every single tactical angle within a few seconds as his eyes flicked between the two men. He knew the Captain well enough to know that inside, Jim briefly even considered ordering McCoy to go with them. To leave Spock for dead. This wasn't their Spock, and although he hadn't tried to kill them yet, he had figured out something was up.

Jim seemed to come to a decision a split second later. Do the right thing. Five minutes wouldn't hurt.

[dual_worlds]

McCoy had been the one to permit contact, and yet he wasn't acting terribly cooperative. That was another reason to go through his thoughts as quickly as possible. Normally it was an instantaneous process, like his meld with one of Nero's men, and more recently his joining with Kirk shortly after his lapse in identity. However, the CMO wasn't in his normal state of mind. They needed to proceed with caution.

More fragmented memories, some blending in and running into each other like the canvas of a chaotic painting. Thoughts of his daughter, his anxieties concerning his absence from the Enterprise, and the bearded Spock from a different universe flashed through their joined minds. Although they betrayed the mixture of emotions bubbling beneath the surface, they did little to help Spock assess the situation.

Something happened, he thought again, gently, as a way to steer their journey in a more steady direction. What was it?

[hes_deadjim]

You were hurt. Couldn't leave you there to die. McCoy thought back frantically. You were probably the only honorable one in that hell. Couldn't leave you to die. He could see it again, just as if it was only a few minutes ago. That other Spock out on the table while he promised Jim he'd be there in five minutes. Jim and the rest of the crew leaving them alone. 'd just administered the drug. The effects should only take a minute. He'd be gone before Spock could finish what he started.

McCoy looked up at the life signs above the bio bed. They'd suddenly shot up, far faster than he'd have thought possible in Spock's condition. It was the only warning that Spock was coming around. With a feeling that could only be dread, McCoy knew there wasn't any time to move away from the bio-bed, much less out of the room. He caught a sudden motion out of the corner of his eye. Even as McCoy started to back away, the Vulcan sat up. He did so with a grace that was inhuman and dangerous, swung his legs off the table as if he hadn't just been brained. McCoy found himself face to face with dark, glittering eyes. The dread intensified.

'Why did the captain let me live?" Spock demanded. His fingers wrapped around the doctor's wrist like a trap.

He didn't answer. Instead, McCoy tried to wrench his arm from that grasp. Spock wasn't having it, his fingers tightened, resisted. For a moment, McCoy thought he was going to break his wrist. A spasm of pain went right up it and to his shoulder. The Vulcan advanced on McCoy, his wrist flaring, forced him to follow where Spock led or risk his wrist breaking for real. The doctor found himself suddenly backed against a bulkhead, trapped between it and Spock. Spock was staring at him coldly. It reminded him of the way a man might stare at something to be dissected.

It looked like he wasn't going to be making that five minute mark now. McCoy kept his mouth shut. At the very least he could give Jim and the others enough time to escape. McCoy had no doubt that Spock would kill him when this was over. He'd get what he was looking for before then, but McCoy was going to damn well make sure it was too late to be of any use--

Spock raised his hand.

[hes_deadjim]

The Vulcan pressed his fingers to the doctor's face before he even had time to feel even the least bit surprised. Spock was pushing into his mind, probing with little regard for memories and thoughts. The first thing McCoy was aware of was how much it hurt. His mind felt like it was on fire, excruciating pain flooding him at the intrusion. His first instinct was to fight back with everything he had.

And Spock was already in there. He examined each memory and thought that McCoy had kept private, hidden or didn't want anyone else to know. Spock saw his father dying, saw what McCoy had done. He saw the niggling uncertainty McCoy sometimes harbored. He saw that occasional doubt that he may have gone too far now and then with ribbing his Spock on. McCoy flinched as Spock paused, examining the relationship he had with his Vulcan back home with something that felt like aloof disdain. Spock knew then. He wasn't from their universe.

It felt wrong, as if this was something he shouldn't be looking at and judging. It passed; Spock was moving on. He continued his searing path through his mind, dismantling every single barrier, peering into every dark corner. He saw the friendship he had with Jim. He analyzed this with the same scrutiny one would give an insect. Every single patient he saved popped up. Just as rapidly, the ones he couldn't. Spock saw the grief he felt at each lost patient and coldly dismissed it as sentimental, soft, illogical. He saw the pain of his divorce. Spock witnessed McCoy's joy at Joanna's birth. The Vulcan was even suddenly there, holding his daughter in his arms. Spock discarded it as useless, not relevant to the information he needed. He continued tearing through his mind, ripping raw holes right through. McCoy felt that memory weaken and slip away. He couldn't remember what Joanna's little hand felt like that day anymore. Terror filled him.

Everything that made him who he was, everything good and bad, it was all exposed to Spock. There was nowhere McCoy could retreat to. Spock knew everything about him. And he didn't care if any of it was damaged or destroyed as he searched for his answers about Jim's plan. Through the agony, McCoy knew Spock was just getting started. His mind was burning.

[dual_worlds]

As Spock relived McCoy's previous experiences, he could feel their CMO's anxiety and dread building up in the pit of his stomach as though it were his own. A forced mind meld was no trivial matter, and that was exactly what had happened to McCoy while he'd been fully conscious, fully exposed. Irrational as it may have been, McCoy's subconscious equation between this alternate Spock and himself felt real enough to him to become reality. His erratic behavior over the past several days began to make a degree of sense when viewed within that context.

It was strange that this Spock would show such little regard for McCoy's privacy, that he would feel entitled to rummage through his mind as if he had a claim to it. Had he possessed the necessary training in order to minimize the chances for damage? Perhaps he simply hadn't cared. Perhaps Landel's had somehow exacerbated McCoy's mental instability instead.

Regardless, there was no need to continue down this painful train of thought, no need to force McCoy to endure more than necessary. These memories had initially been blocked for a reason. I understand now. The thought was calm and serene, though a tinge of regret colored his message. As McCoy's commanding officer, he should not have allowed his condition to progress to this point. They should have intervened sooner.

But it was not too late. Spock could still restore order to McCoy's chaotic mind and repair the damage his counterpart had left behind. The brain was like a computer in many ways. If damaged or laden with errors, the correct functions still existed within its memory banks. It was possible to return it to working order.

Spock's fingers slowly shifted against the points on McCoy's face as he redirected his energy from sifting through the man's memories. Instead, he focused on repairing the injury the other Spock had inflicted, weaving the tears within the fabric of his mind. It was a relatively simple process for someone with his background, but still one that required a great deal of concentration.