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 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.

[hes_deadjim]

Spock didn't say much. He was always a man of few words if it could be helped, but his thoughts were so well well ordered and logical that there was something calming about it. Any extra words were unnecessary. The tranquility that followed wasn't all Spock's. A sense of peace settled over McCoy. He slumped. He understood too. It was going to be all right.

Anyway if it wasn't, he'd be in no position to notice the difference anyway. It was a load off his shoulders.

All that floated up to Spock was a wordless sense of relief and gratitude.

McCoy opened his eyes and found himself lying face up on the floor. He stared mutely up at the ceiling. Well now, he seemed to be alive still, so Spock hadn't killed him. Not brain dead. His head felt sore. So did his neck. The migraine was mercifully gone, replaced by a low, more manageable throb that was fading with each passing second. The burn that had been going through his brain was gone.

He remembered everything that had happened in that sickbay. Now he found himself almost wishing he hadn't.

"Well," McCoy began weakly then fell silent. Once again it struck him that he really was out of his element. At heart, he was just an old doctor from the South. He appreciated solid earth under his feet, simple food and good company. He wasn't meant to go running through transporters, time traveling, going through other universes or watching his own mind nearly collapse on itself. He felt tired and a little foolish. What did a man say after reliving one of the worst experiences in his life?

He should probably say something. McCoy's eyes searched then found Spock. "Vulcan interrogation, huh?"

[dual_worlds]

Spock remained sitting on his knees, his posture upright and straight as he assessed the doctor's condition. He believed his efforts to repair the damage were successful, and so he had severed the link once he'd finished. Naturally, however, he couldn't be certain of the result unless he observed McCoy's behavior afterward on a first-hand basis. At the very least, the CMO was no longer acting irrational or paranoid. Tired, and perhaps unsettled by what he'd learned during their meld, yes, but he no longer wore the wild, wide-eyed expression of a cornered animal.

Upon hearing his comment, the Vulcan's dark eyes shifted to meet McCoy's gaze. "Like any tool, a mind meld can be used for many purposes," he quietly explained. "Neither good nor bad, it simply is." He glanced away for a moment, his expression stoic. "That another version of myself used his ability in such a way, however, is...regrettable."

He had initiated a mind meld with an unwilling participant before, unfortunately -- but the circumstances were far different, and Spock only retrieved the information he'd needed to save Earth from destruction.

"How are you now?" Spock asked, deciding it would be better to focus on the matter at hand. Once he confirmed the doctor's physical condition, then they could move onto other topics as they saw fit.

[hes_deadjim]

It still felt strange looking at Spock, but the residual uneasiness was fading. The other Spock had a calculated edge, a cruelty under the surface, about him that this one didn't have, and frankly, this Spock just had a virtual free pass at his brain, and could have done anything or searched for anything. As far as McCoy knew, Spock hadn't. Even after all the mouthing off too. He really called the man a half-breed, didn't he? McCoy's mouth tugged into a grimace.

McCoy's eyes went back to the ceiling. Regrettable. Regrettable was not being able to save a limb or fully heal a bad break in a bone. He wouldn't call what happened to him just "regrettable", but that was Vulcan understatement for you. "I'm sure he would have said it was only the most logical course of action." Realizing he'd just implied this Spock could ever be in the same boat, McCoy muttered a sheepish "Sorry."

What a loaded question. McCoy was feeling exhausted, embarrassed he ever thought the other Spock had any honor in him, stunned by what happened, sore like he had whiplash; he could go on and on. He could still feel the memory of Joana's hand slipping away, just like he had the first time. He searched around and found it was still gone. So where some of his other memories. Spock couldn't restore something that had been clean burnt out, but he had done what he could. McCoy didn't think he could complain. The alternative, completely losing his mind, was much worse.

None of which were what Spock as asking. He'd be interested in the more literal aspect, the physical portion. What McCoy did emotionally wasn't something he'd be interested in. "Like I've got the mother of all hangovers. Help me up, will you?"

[dual_worlds]

As far as Spock was concerned, there wasn't any need to apologize. The Vulcan understood that he still retained his individual identity, regardless of what any counterpart of his did. Perhaps, in his own way, the bearded Spock believed his actions were the most logical. That did not, of course, mean Spock condoned what he did.

Even so, McCoy appeared to be in acceptable physical condition, despite some of his current symptoms. Under normal circumstances, such uncomfortable sensations were only momentary, but Spock did not know whether that remained the same within the institute's walls.

When McCoy requested his help, however, Spock brought himself to a stand. Unexpectedly, the sudden movement brought a wave of dizziness, and he actually wobbled as his body instinctively fought to keep balance. After a moment, his senses settled, and he reached out to grasp McCoy's arm as though it hadn't happened. In fact, he took care to angle himself in a way that the doctor could easily grasp onto Spock's own arm in turn for further support.

[hes_deadjim]

McCoy might be a lot of things right now, but he wasn't blind. He caught the wobble, the lightheaded sensation Spock must have just experienced. And Spock was the hardest out of the entire crew, and if he wasn't, he was the most stubborn when it came to acting like nothing got to him. If it was enough to slip out past his control, or take him by surprise, it was bad news.

He got to his feet, and quickly found his bearings just in case Spock had another wave of weakness. His legs felt stronger, or maybe it was his balance and coordination that had been out the window before. McCoy made sure he was ready to walk, holding onto Spock's arm whenever it felt shaky. He guided them to one of the beds, bracing himself to support Spock if the tables turned.

McCoy sat down the moment he could, hoping Spock would get the hint and sit down too. The doctor held his head for a moment. Universe's worst hangover was right, but unlike the migraines before, it wasn't growing in strength. He could feel it slowly, slowly tapering off. After a moment, McCoy looked up at Spock, studying his face, his eyes. What had the man done to himself in order help?

"Are you okay?" McCoy tentatively asked.

[dual_worlds]

Fortunately, their efforts to support one another as they moved proved adequate, and they reached a sturdy place to sit without any further incident. His body felt heavy as he sank onto the place beside McCoy, though the only outward indication he gave was a brief close of his eyes.

The question was not unexpected. Although Spock generally did not wish for others to concern themselves about his health, he took that as another sign that McCoy had returned to his senses after all. Provided their captors did not tamper with their efforts, Spock saw no reason that he wouldn't be fully recovered by tomorrow. With that finished, they could focus on making contact with Jim and Nyota.

"Yes, I am," he quietly answered. His voice didn't come out as strong as he would have preferred, and for a moment spots swam before his eyes. Signs of fatigue and overexertion, no doubt. Simple rest would likely set those right, which meant there was little reason to focus on that now. "My stamina is admittedly not what it was before our capture, but there is no cause for alarm, Doctor."