De-Anon: Star Trek Fic "Surviving" Part 2/4
See Part 1 for warnings/disclaimer, all of which still, of course, apply.
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It’s late into gamma shift when Kirk finally confronts him. He’s in his office, still, because why bother pretending to go to sleep when he’s got stuff to do, and it’s easier to work than to think, anyway. He’s just surprised it’s taken Kirk this long to summon him. McCoy’s hiding, sure, but only in a completely obvious way and in plain sight. There was no point in doing otherwise, and whatever Spock might have to say about it, McCoy’s not completely irrational.
“What was that all about?” Kirk's voice is edged and demanding. It's not quite what McCoy was expecting, not when everyone's been tiptoeing around him for days. It's almost refreshing.
“What’s that?” Playing dumb is a fine strategy, he knows, but McCoy can't help himself.
“On the bridge. Earlier.” Jim sounds exasperated now.
“Nothing. I just … I’m a bit jittery, surely that’s to be expected, Jim. Cut me some slack.” It’s low, and it’s manipulative, and he doesn’t fucking care.
Jim’s face has gone all serious, and Bones knew he wasn’t frowning as hard as Kirk is now. He has learnt, over the past few weeks, not to let his thoughts show. It has been difficult-he had not been a man who kept his feelings to himself, but he has always been a man who has done what needs must. He is not as good as Spock at it, not by a long shot, but he is better than he had been.
He wishes, sometimes, he could tell Kirk. Tell someone. But wishes are foolish things, and he is a man in his thirties, a divorce with a failed marriage and a little girl he never sees, and he’s watched, helpless, while his fellow officers and crewmates died, unable to help them even when they’d begged, and leaving only himself, all the while knowing that any day, he’d be next. Yeah, McCoy knows, better than anyone, the difference between what is and what he wished would be.
A silence falls. Kirk is watching him. McCoy struggles not to fidget.
“Are you fit for duty?” It’s not the question McCoy expects.
“Yeah. I’m fine, Jim, I’ve told you …”
“I’m not asking as Jim. I’m asking as your Captain. I need to know. I … “
Technically, Kirk should be asking for a second opinion. He should be requesting a full medical and psychological evaluation, should require clearance before he lets McCoy continue in any capacity on his ship. He could replace McCoy as CMO, at least temporarily, and everything logical said he should.
“I’ve always trusted you Bones. Personally and professionally. I need to trust you now.”
And oh, it would destroy him completely if Kirk no longer had faith in him. Destroy him, because then he’d know he’d failed entirely, because Kirk’s belief in him was the last thing he had left.
But McCoy knows his judgement is flawed. Knows, if he were honest-with Jim, with himself-that he is no longer to be trusted, that if he were to be professional about it he’d have relieved himself from duty yesterday, days ago--die, they died while you watched, while you watched and were able to do nothing-but he doesn’t say this. He keeps his own face calm, impassive.
“Of course, Captain,” McCoy says instead. “Can I go now?”
Jim’s eyes are sad as he watches McCoy go, and McCoy tries not to notice.
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There is a night, almost a month later, when the nightmares are so bad-so bad, that he thinks maybe sex will help, make him stop thinking, even just for a moment. Let him feel something … else.
It’s a mistake. It’s a mistake, because even though he clearly is waking Jim up from a deep sleep, hair mussed and shirtless as he comes to the entranceway of his quarters, and even though after avoiding him for weeks Jim still smiles at him like the rising sun at nearly three in the morning, moving aside to allow McCoy to walk past him, and even though Jim is all warmth and smooth skin as he leads McCoy to the bed, the moment Jim reaches for him, McCoy shies away. Jim tries again, and McCoy just gets up.
“This feels wrong,” he says. Wrong, and he’s not sure how to do this anymore, and this …
“I don’t get it,” Jim says, after a long minute. There is frustration in his voice, and McCoy can’t fault him for it. Then, after a horrified moment, “They didn’t …”
“No! No. You know it all. I’ve told you. She kissed me a couple of times, like a pet, that was it. Nothing more.” He is shaking his head, and he reaches down for Jim’s hand, squeezing it in reassurance. Just because he’s fucked up, it’s no reason to drag Jim into it too, and he’s not even sure why he’s here. “No.”
“Then …”
“I don’t know, Jim. I don’t.”
Kirk looks at him, his eyes narrowed. “Come here.” He holds out a hand, and helplessly, feeling like an idiot, McCoy takes it. Kirk tugs until he sits on the bed, and then Jim wraps his arms around him.
McCoy hears his own voice speak into the silence, but it’s like he’s listening to someone else.
“There was a flash, and then one of us would be gone. We started … we waited for the flash, and knew we’d be one less. There were so many of us, and then … just like that, fewer and fewer. They’d come back, sometimes, they’d send whoever it was back. But she wouldn’t give me anything to help them, Jim. She just laughed. She thought it was goddamned cute that I would try. We were nothing more than animals to them.”
“I’m sorry, Bones,” Jim says then. “I’m sorry for all of you.” There is weariness in Kirk’s voice, and a world of sorrow. It’s out of place, a voice like that, from a man so young.
“They’d have killed me eventually, you know. She just … she picked me out, but sooner or later, they’d have killed me too. It was like … like we were an ant farm, and they’d squish us for fun, or cut off our legs, and one day … we’d just get thrown away, because we were no longer interesting. I don’t …” Bones paused, and then said, “Avery was only 21, you know. He was planning to propose to his girl. He even had a ring, carried it everywhere. He died holding on to it. Screaming, but wouldn’t let it go. He was one of the ones they sent back. And when she asked me what it was, later, I even told her. Because … I didn’t want to upset her, and Avery was dead anyway.” He paused, considering. Looked up. “You’d have spat in her face.”
“I don’t think I would have,” said Kirk.
But McCoy hears the lie in his voice, and doesn’t answer.
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Part 3
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It’s late into gamma shift when Kirk finally confronts him. He’s in his office, still, because why bother pretending to go to sleep when he’s got stuff to do, and it’s easier to work than to think, anyway. He’s just surprised it’s taken Kirk this long to summon him. McCoy’s hiding, sure, but only in a completely obvious way and in plain sight. There was no point in doing otherwise, and whatever Spock might have to say about it, McCoy’s not completely irrational.
“What was that all about?” Kirk's voice is edged and demanding. It's not quite what McCoy was expecting, not when everyone's been tiptoeing around him for days. It's almost refreshing.
“What’s that?” Playing dumb is a fine strategy, he knows, but McCoy can't help himself.
“On the bridge. Earlier.” Jim sounds exasperated now.
“Nothing. I just … I’m a bit jittery, surely that’s to be expected, Jim. Cut me some slack.” It’s low, and it’s manipulative, and he doesn’t fucking care.
Jim’s face has gone all serious, and Bones knew he wasn’t frowning as hard as Kirk is now. He has learnt, over the past few weeks, not to let his thoughts show. It has been difficult-he had not been a man who kept his feelings to himself, but he has always been a man who has done what needs must. He is not as good as Spock at it, not by a long shot, but he is better than he had been.
He wishes, sometimes, he could tell Kirk. Tell someone. But wishes are foolish things, and he is a man in his thirties, a divorce with a failed marriage and a little girl he never sees, and he’s watched, helpless, while his fellow officers and crewmates died, unable to help them even when they’d begged, and leaving only himself, all the while knowing that any day, he’d be next. Yeah, McCoy knows, better than anyone, the difference between what is and what he wished would be.
A silence falls. Kirk is watching him. McCoy struggles not to fidget.
“Are you fit for duty?” It’s not the question McCoy expects.
“Yeah. I’m fine, Jim, I’ve told you …”
“I’m not asking as Jim. I’m asking as your Captain. I need to know. I … “
Technically, Kirk should be asking for a second opinion. He should be requesting a full medical and psychological evaluation, should require clearance before he lets McCoy continue in any capacity on his ship. He could replace McCoy as CMO, at least temporarily, and everything logical said he should.
“I’ve always trusted you Bones. Personally and professionally. I need to trust you now.”
And oh, it would destroy him completely if Kirk no longer had faith in him. Destroy him, because then he’d know he’d failed entirely, because Kirk’s belief in him was the last thing he had left.
But McCoy knows his judgement is flawed. Knows, if he were honest-with Jim, with himself-that he is no longer to be trusted, that if he were to be professional about it he’d have relieved himself from duty yesterday, days ago--die, they died while you watched, while you watched and were able to do nothing-but he doesn’t say this. He keeps his own face calm, impassive.
“Of course, Captain,” McCoy says instead. “Can I go now?”
Jim’s eyes are sad as he watches McCoy go, and McCoy tries not to notice.
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There is a night, almost a month later, when the nightmares are so bad-so bad, that he thinks maybe sex will help, make him stop thinking, even just for a moment. Let him feel something … else.
It’s a mistake. It’s a mistake, because even though he clearly is waking Jim up from a deep sleep, hair mussed and shirtless as he comes to the entranceway of his quarters, and even though after avoiding him for weeks Jim still smiles at him like the rising sun at nearly three in the morning, moving aside to allow McCoy to walk past him, and even though Jim is all warmth and smooth skin as he leads McCoy to the bed, the moment Jim reaches for him, McCoy shies away. Jim tries again, and McCoy just gets up.
“This feels wrong,” he says. Wrong, and he’s not sure how to do this anymore, and this …
“I don’t get it,” Jim says, after a long minute. There is frustration in his voice, and McCoy can’t fault him for it. Then, after a horrified moment, “They didn’t …”
“No! No. You know it all. I’ve told you. She kissed me a couple of times, like a pet, that was it. Nothing more.” He is shaking his head, and he reaches down for Jim’s hand, squeezing it in reassurance. Just because he’s fucked up, it’s no reason to drag Jim into it too, and he’s not even sure why he’s here. “No.”
“Then …”
“I don’t know, Jim. I don’t.”
Kirk looks at him, his eyes narrowed. “Come here.” He holds out a hand, and helplessly, feeling like an idiot, McCoy takes it. Kirk tugs until he sits on the bed, and then Jim wraps his arms around him.
McCoy hears his own voice speak into the silence, but it’s like he’s listening to someone else.
“There was a flash, and then one of us would be gone. We started … we waited for the flash, and knew we’d be one less. There were so many of us, and then … just like that, fewer and fewer. They’d come back, sometimes, they’d send whoever it was back. But she wouldn’t give me anything to help them, Jim. She just laughed. She thought it was goddamned cute that I would try. We were nothing more than animals to them.”
“I’m sorry, Bones,” Jim says then. “I’m sorry for all of you.” There is weariness in Kirk’s voice, and a world of sorrow. It’s out of place, a voice like that, from a man so young.
“They’d have killed me eventually, you know. She just … she picked me out, but sooner or later, they’d have killed me too. It was like … like we were an ant farm, and they’d squish us for fun, or cut off our legs, and one day … we’d just get thrown away, because we were no longer interesting. I don’t …” Bones paused, and then said, “Avery was only 21, you know. He was planning to propose to his girl. He even had a ring, carried it everywhere. He died holding on to it. Screaming, but wouldn’t let it go. He was one of the ones they sent back. And when she asked me what it was, later, I even told her. Because … I didn’t want to upset her, and Avery was dead anyway.” He paused, considering. Looked up. “You’d have spat in her face.”
“I don’t think I would have,” said Kirk.
But McCoy hears the lie in his voice, and doesn’t answer.
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Part 3