Klingon Problems
Title: Klingon Problems
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry, the reboot belongs to JJ Abrams. Doom belongs to whomever owns it.
Warnings: Crossover (Doom), language, violence, torture
Summary: McCoy has a bad day.
Author's Notes: This is for the hc_bingo prompt of "Scars" (and yes, there is a reference to Castle in this).
McCoy winced as the Klingon ran what looked vaguely like a sword (Sulu probably could have identified what type of sword if he had been in the room) through the doctor's right shoulder, biting back his screams of pain.
"You are surprisingly strong for a human doctor," the Klingon remarked.
McCoy was tempted to reveal his true identity, but the risk of turning into a Klingon guinea pig was too high.
"It comes from having to deal with a stubborn Captain Kirk on a regular basis," the doctor quipped instead.
The Klingon giggled at this, making McCoy wonder if he had finally lost it--because dammit, Klingons don't giggle.
"My doctor tells me that you are not human," the Klingon informed McCoy, "which is strange, as my contacts in your Federation insist that you are human."
Shit, they know about my extra chromosome, McCoy groaned. Jim had better hurry up and find me.
~*~
Elsewhere on the Klingon vessel, Kirk was standing guard as Chekov hacked the ship's computer database, assisted by the raven-haired half-human communications officer Ensign Katherine Beckett.
"Ze Doctor! He is being tortured," the Russian tactical officer announced.
"Ensign Beckett, can you get us there?" Kirk inquired.
"Of course I can, sir," replied Beckett.
~*~
The sword was still in his shoulder, but that was the least of McCoy's worries, as the Klingon approached him with a gruesome-looking dagger coated in the dried blood of many species.
"Are you going to kill me with that unsanitary weapon?" McCoy inquired, hiding his fear behind his sharp tongue.
The Klingon laughed.
"Why would I want to kill you, human?" the Klingon asked. "You are very amusing to have around."
"My captain will figure out where I am and rescue me," McCoy informed him.
"Let him try," the Klingon challenged. "He is a normal human weakling, not at all like you."
"Do you need a head start?" a familiar voice called from behind the Klingon.
"I must admit that I am quite impressed, Captain Kirk," the Klingon declared. "Your death shall be bittersweet to me."
"That's of course presuming that you won't be already dead," Kirk boldly replied. "Beckett, release the doctor from his bonds."
The Klingon whirled around and a female voice cried out in agony. McCoy struggled against the manacles that held him down, but it was no use.
Then he felt cold hands brush against his ankles, loosening the straps holding him down. More cold hands loosened the other straps, their icy touch soothing the fiery agony of the pain the restraints caused the doctor.
"If you're hoping for help to come, it's not coming," Kirk was saying in a voice colder than Delta Vega to the Klingon as the cold hands disappeared.
"The Captain wants you to catch the Klingon off-guard, Doctor," a cold voice said in McCoy's mind.
"I don't need any help killing you, Captain Kirk," the Klingon growled.
"Good luck with that," Kirk dared the Klingon.
McCoy gritted his teeth as he pulled against the restraints once more. As soon as his hand was free, he yanked the sword out of his shoulder.
Thanks to his extra chromosome, the doctor was already lunging at the Klingon, wielding the sword like a spear, before the alien realized what was happening.
The Klingon was skewered to the floor by the sword like a helpless beetle pinned to a card in a museum collection.
"Is he dead, Bones?" Kirk asked.
McCoy nodded, scowling at the dead Klingon in annoyance.
"Keptin, we are about to have company!" called Chekov from the door.
"Can you walk, Bones?"
"I can walk, but running is definitely out of the question, Jim," McCoy replied, indicating his still-healing shoulder. "I need more time to heal before I can risk running."
Cold hands reappeared on McCoy's injured shoulder.
"Ensign Beckett?" Kirk asked. "Can you heal him?"
"Playing dead took too much out of me, Captain," Beckett replied. "I can either maintain my human form or heal his injury."
"Can't you drop your human form for a little bit, just long enough to heal him?" Kirk wondered.
Beckett must have shaken her head, McCoy could feel the icy tendrils of her hair brush the back of his head.
"Why not just dull the pain?" McCoy suggested.
"You could do more harm by ignoring your injury, Doctor," Beckett objected.
"I'll be fine, Beckett," the doctor insisted, "And we don't have time to argue, just do it!"
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry, the reboot belongs to JJ Abrams. Doom belongs to whomever owns it.
Warnings: Crossover (Doom), language, violence, torture
Summary: McCoy has a bad day.
Author's Notes: This is for the hc_bingo prompt of "Scars" (and yes, there is a reference to Castle in this).
McCoy winced as the Klingon ran what looked vaguely like a sword (Sulu probably could have identified what type of sword if he had been in the room) through the doctor's right shoulder, biting back his screams of pain.
"You are surprisingly strong for a human doctor," the Klingon remarked.
McCoy was tempted to reveal his true identity, but the risk of turning into a Klingon guinea pig was too high.
"It comes from having to deal with a stubborn Captain Kirk on a regular basis," the doctor quipped instead.
The Klingon giggled at this, making McCoy wonder if he had finally lost it--because dammit, Klingons don't giggle.
"My doctor tells me that you are not human," the Klingon informed McCoy, "which is strange, as my contacts in your Federation insist that you are human."
Shit, they know about my extra chromosome, McCoy groaned. Jim had better hurry up and find me.
~*~
Elsewhere on the Klingon vessel, Kirk was standing guard as Chekov hacked the ship's computer database, assisted by the raven-haired half-human communications officer Ensign Katherine Beckett.
"Ze Doctor! He is being tortured," the Russian tactical officer announced.
"Ensign Beckett, can you get us there?" Kirk inquired.
"Of course I can, sir," replied Beckett.
~*~
The sword was still in his shoulder, but that was the least of McCoy's worries, as the Klingon approached him with a gruesome-looking dagger coated in the dried blood of many species.
"Are you going to kill me with that unsanitary weapon?" McCoy inquired, hiding his fear behind his sharp tongue.
The Klingon laughed.
"Why would I want to kill you, human?" the Klingon asked. "You are very amusing to have around."
"My captain will figure out where I am and rescue me," McCoy informed him.
"Let him try," the Klingon challenged. "He is a normal human weakling, not at all like you."
"Do you need a head start?" a familiar voice called from behind the Klingon.
"I must admit that I am quite impressed, Captain Kirk," the Klingon declared. "Your death shall be bittersweet to me."
"That's of course presuming that you won't be already dead," Kirk boldly replied. "Beckett, release the doctor from his bonds."
The Klingon whirled around and a female voice cried out in agony. McCoy struggled against the manacles that held him down, but it was no use.
Then he felt cold hands brush against his ankles, loosening the straps holding him down. More cold hands loosened the other straps, their icy touch soothing the fiery agony of the pain the restraints caused the doctor.
"If you're hoping for help to come, it's not coming," Kirk was saying in a voice colder than Delta Vega to the Klingon as the cold hands disappeared.
"The Captain wants you to catch the Klingon off-guard, Doctor," a cold voice said in McCoy's mind.
"I don't need any help killing you, Captain Kirk," the Klingon growled.
"Good luck with that," Kirk dared the Klingon.
McCoy gritted his teeth as he pulled against the restraints once more. As soon as his hand was free, he yanked the sword out of his shoulder.
Thanks to his extra chromosome, the doctor was already lunging at the Klingon, wielding the sword like a spear, before the alien realized what was happening.
The Klingon was skewered to the floor by the sword like a helpless beetle pinned to a card in a museum collection.
"Is he dead, Bones?" Kirk asked.
McCoy nodded, scowling at the dead Klingon in annoyance.
"Keptin, we are about to have company!" called Chekov from the door.
"Can you walk, Bones?"
"I can walk, but running is definitely out of the question, Jim," McCoy replied, indicating his still-healing shoulder. "I need more time to heal before I can risk running."
Cold hands reappeared on McCoy's injured shoulder.
"Ensign Beckett?" Kirk asked. "Can you heal him?"
"Playing dead took too much out of me, Captain," Beckett replied. "I can either maintain my human form or heal his injury."
"Can't you drop your human form for a little bit, just long enough to heal him?" Kirk wondered.
Beckett must have shaken her head, McCoy could feel the icy tendrils of her hair brush the back of his head.
"Why not just dull the pain?" McCoy suggested.
"You could do more harm by ignoring your injury, Doctor," Beckett objected.
"I'll be fine, Beckett," the doctor insisted, "And we don't have time to argue, just do it!"