Fic: I Need You Whole
Title: I Need You Whole.
Author: flameish
Rating: NC-17 - for non-con.
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy preslash, Evil!Kirk/McCoy.
Warnings: Nonconsensual sex. Angst.
Summary: Written for this prompt at st_xi_kink A nu!Trek rewrite of the TOS episode 'The Enemy Within', where Evil!Kirk attacks McCoy instead of Yeoman Rand.
A.N.: I'm sort of terrified to post this here. It's my first serious piece of fanfiction for any fandom, let alone this one.
Now
It hurts, the way Bones flinches away from his touch and refuses to meet his eyes. To know that he caused the bruises on the doctor’s wrists and the purpling bite mark on his neck. Bones could have easily used a dermal regenerator to fix the damage, but he hasn’t and Jim doesn’t understand why. He wishes that Bones would, if only to relieve some of this guilt. And the worst part is that he doesn’t even remember what happened, so it’s hard to feel appropriately guilty. All he knows is what Spock, and Bones himself, told him. He saw his doppelganger, of course, but he doesn’t have memories of what the man did. And if he didn’t know that he needed that other half of himself to be a good captain, and to survive, he would have killed him for hurting his friend like this.
"Bones," he says, hesitating as he waits for the other man to react. Bones finally looks at him, but there’s something dead in his eyes that causes Jim’s stomach to drop as he wonders if the friendship that’s kept him going for the past five years has been destroyed by his double. "We’re okay, aren’t we?" It’s a selfish question, he knows that, but he needs to know that Bones doesn’t blame him.
"Of course, Jim." But it’s hard to believe it when Bones immediately looks away from him. Jim wants to touch his friend, do something to make it better, but he knows from experience that it won’t do any good. He’d made that mistake once already and Bones had looked like he was torn between running and being sick. He’d kept his hands to himself since then.
"Bones, did he-" It’s all he gets out before the other man gives him a sharp look.
"Leave it, Jim." And he’s off, heading toward his office and closing the door behind him. Jim could follow him, but he knows that would do more harm than good right now. So he just watches him go and feels something breaking with the knowledge that his best friend doesn’t trust him anymore.
Chapel is giving him a sympathetic look and if he was a lesser man he might have shouted at her by now. He doesn’t need sympathy, damn it, he needs Bones back. He needs his best friend. Bones doesn’t join him for drinks in the evening anymore, or bitch to him about his day and the general incompetence of almost everyone in his sickbay. The only time he sees the older man anymore is when he comes to the sickbay himself, and even then he practically has to corner him. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He shouldn’t have to sneak up on his friend just to talk to him. He shouldn’t have to see that haunted look on Bones’s face. Losing the closeness he and Bones have always shared is like losing a limb…or maybe another, more vital, body part…and the phantom pain in his chest when he sees how he’s hurt Bones is more than he can stand. It’s only been two days since everything changed, but already he feels a painful emptiness from Bones’s absence.
He needs to fix this.
Then
"Go on, get out of my sickbay, Fisher," Bones says, with more than a little good natured gruffness as he addresses the ensign. It’s a slow day, so he’s given Christine and the others the afternoon off, provided they keep their communicators handy in case of emergency, so it’s just him and the younger man in the sickbay. "I don’t have patience or sympathy for clumsiness." But his smile belies the harshness of his words.
The technician is just leaving when Jim walks in. Considering he normally has to resort to drastic measures to get the captain into the sickbay after a mission, Bones is torn between relief and worry. If Jim’s here of his own accord, then it has to be bad. But Jim’s just smirking, all easy arrogance, so it’s hard to see how anything could be wrong.
"Doctor," the captain says jovially, clapping him on the shoulder, "you look like you’ve got some time on your hands. Have a drink with me." And if there’s an edge of malice to his voice, Bones just puts it off to the stress of running a ship. Normally, he’d say no, but it is a slow day, and he has nothing better to do. Besides, it will be nice to catch up with Jim. So he gets out the Saurian brandy and lets Jim follow him into his office, paying Jim no mind as the door shuts behind his friend.
It’s easy and familiar, pouring two glasses and passing one to Jim, drinking slowly and talking about the planet and the incompetence of ensigns who ‘can’t even climb a damn rock without injuring themselves’. Bones is leaning against his desk and Jim is standing against the wall by the door and it’s the same as it always is. Until suddenly it’s not. Because Jim’s set aside his drink and now he’s so close, standing between Bones’s legs with one hand on the desk to either side of him, and Bones can practically taste it when Jim breathes.
"We’ve been friends a long time," Jim says casually, as if he hasn’t just invaded his personal space in a very big way. And Bones is finding it hard to breathe because, damn it, he’s not blind and you’d have to be not to see how gorgeous Jim is. He’s had feelings for Jim for a long time, but always with the expectation that they’d never be returned. This is more than he’s prepared to handle, and he’s ready to panic. "But we could be more than that. We could be amazing, Bones. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it." That mouth is closer now and he feels more than hears Jim’s words. "We’ve been ignoring this for too long. Stop pretending, Bones."
And then that mouth is on his and Bones wants to give in, but he can’t. Because he knows Jim, better than anyone else, and this isn’t like him. Something on that planet has clearly fucked with him in a major way and he can’t let himself take liberties, even though he wants to. So he brings his hands up to Jim’s chest and pushes his friend back.
"You aren’t thinking clearly, Jim," he says. "I need to check you over. You’ve been compromised by something on that planet."
He isn’t expecting the way Jim grabs his wrists and holds him down against the desk, his grip just the wrong side of painful, and he knows he’ll have bruises before this is done. He’s bigger than Jim, and it’s easy to forget that Jim was top of his class at advanced hand-to-hand combat, so he’s honestly surprised when he can’t break Jim’s grip. He’s torn between terror at the knowledge that Jim could probably kill him and a traitorous impulse to just give in.
"I’m thinking clearly, Bones," Jim breathes the words into his ear, licking along the shell in a way that really should be revolting. "I’m thinking clearly for the first time. Don’t fight this, Bones. Don’t fight me."
And Bones doesn't want to fight him, but the captain clearly isn't in his right mind, so he does the only thing he can. He pulls back just enough, then brings his head forward sharply to headbutt his friend. He pushes away from the desk as Jim lets go and backs up, holding a hand to his forehead, moving to the door to try and get away before the captain does something they'll both regret.
Now
Jim doesn’t know why he’s standing outside Bones’s door a week later, waiting in the vain hope that his friend will let him in. There was a time when he would have just overridden the lock, strolled in and flopped down with a bottle of alcohol to share with his friend. He can’t do that now. He can’t allow himself to take those sorts of liberties anymore. Even though it wasn’t really him, he hurt Bones. It’s not something he can forgive himself for while Bones is avoiding him, bruised and broken and so different from the brash, temperamental man whose friendship Jim has relied on for so long. He hates to think he might have destroyed that person.
The door opens and Bones is standing there, tired and pissed off in a pair of sleep pants, scratches marring his chest. From him. Jim quickly looks up, focusing on a bruise that’s grown faint along his friend’s cheek. Without anywhere to focus that doesn’t make his head swim with guilt, he looks away and hears Bones’s sigh of frustration. "Damn it, Jim," he snaps, "what do you want? I was trying to sleep. Haven’t you done enough?" It’s uncalled for and they both know it, but Jim can hardly deny Bones the anger that he needs to direct at someone. His attacker is gone, inside Jim, and Jim is the only one left he can be angry with.
"I’m sorry." It’s cheap, but he doesn’t know what else to say. "I hate that you’re afraid of me...and don’t say you’re not because I can see it. You don’t fucking look at me anymore, Bones! You flinch if I touch you and this is the first time we’ve spent more than five seconds alone since...you’re my best friend, Bones! I don’t want to lose you."
"I’m not afraid of you, Jim," Bones tries to assure him, but the words are forced. “Look...just...come in. I don’t want to talk about this out here." And then he’s walking into his room, grabbing and pulling on a shirt from the floor and turning on the lights, and there’s nothing for Jim to do but follow him.
"Don’t tell me you’re not afraid of me, Bones. I can see it." Jim ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration, pacing back and forth. "You’re afraid of me or you hate me. Maybe both. And you have every right after what happened. But it wasn’t me! I would never hurt you like that."
"I know." It's just two quiet words, but Bones sounds so shattered as he speaks. "I know you wouldn’t, Jim. And I really don’t...I’m not afraid of you...and I don’t hate you. I could never hate you." He stares at one spot of floor until Jim is sure he’s going to wear a hole in it, before he finally speaks again. "I hate the way it made me feel. Because I was scared and angry and I just wanted it to stop...but part of me just...wanted it...him." He pauses for an impossibly long moment. "You."
Then
He doesn't quite get to the door before he's tackled to the floor, the back of his head hitting hard enough that he sees stars for a moment. And Jim is on top of him, grabbing his wrists again and holding them over his head. His grip is tight enough that Bones is worried about something breaking, and he can feel Jim’s arousal pressing against his hip through their clothes. He’s ashamed at the knowledge that he himself is half hard, and Jim’s expression tells him the younger man knows it. It’s enough to make him feel ill, because who in their right mind would be remotely turned on at a time like this? Clearly there’s something wrong with him. Something fucked up and disturbing and just plain wrong.
Jim’s mouth is forced against his again in a way that’s more painful than anything, before his mouth moves down to Bones’s neck to bite hard and rip a shout from the doctor’s throat because damn it that hurts! Jim just bites harder, sucking a mark into the skin like he’s claiming Bones as his. And maybe he is. Bones doesn’t know what to think about any of this anymore, but he’s still fighting. He tries to bring a knee up to hit Jim in the groin, but all it gets him is a backhand across the face as Jim transfers the grip on his wrists to one hand. The free hand travels down to slip under his shirt and undershirt, nails scraping over his skin and leaving marks in their wake.
His hand trails lower, forcing its way into Bones’s slacks and wrapping around him. And he hates the needy noise he makes, because when the hell did he become some pathetic damsel who couldn’t defend himself? He kicks uselessly at Jim and the hand around his cock squeezes painfully before Jim lets go to shove his pants down. He closes his eyes and starts diagnosing damage, forcing himself to keep breathing because there’s no way this can really be happening.
After that, it’s sort of a blur of fear and pain and oh god, stop! This isn’t Jim. It can’t be Jim. His friend, his captain, his…Jim…he wouldn’t do something like this. He keeps telling himself that while he self-diagnoses, slipping into a doctor mode to cope with what’s happening. Contusions to articulatio radiocarpalis, with possible ligament damage, anterior collum and coxa. Ano-rectal trauma. Potential for post-traumatic stress. Will follow up at a later date.
His own release is somehow more sickening than Jim’s, the very idea that he had gotten any pleasure from what just happened making him lean to the side and vomit. And there is Jim’s voice, sickly sweet in his ear. “I always knew you were a slut for me, Bones,” he says. And what can he say to that? Stumbling to his feet, Bones backs away from him, limping toward his desk to lean against it and tug his pants back up, face red with shame.
There’s a hypospray on the desk, one he hadn’t noticed before, but he doesn’t think to use it. This bastard who can’t possibly be Jim thinks he’s broken by what just happened, so he doesn’t expect the hard punch that lays him out, unconscious on the floor. It’s only then that Bones gives him the sedative. Then he cleans up and straightens his uniform, until he’s convinced that he passes as Doctor McCoy again, and calls Spock on the communicator.
Now
Jim finds it hard to breathe in the face of that confession. He doesn’t know what to say, or if there’s anything he can possibly say that will be right. Maybe there is no right thing to say. There has to be a reason they don’t make greeting cards for this sort of situation. He just stares at Bones and prays that his friend will say something. Anything.
Bones laughs, a sharp bitter sound like broken glass that tears at Jim."How fucked up is that, Jim? How fucking screwed up does that make me that I still...who the fuck wants...who the fuck can get off when that’s happening? I should have fought back harder, Jim. I should have done something...I should have been able to-"
"No." The word is snapped sharply enough that it startles him and makes Bones jump with the force of it. "You don’t get to do this to yourself, Bones. You don’t get to blame yourself. There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing. You fought back. You didn’t give in and you did not deserve what happened to you. Nobody deserves that." He looks at Bones’s wrists and then his throat, finally returning his gaze back to his face. "Is that why you haven’t healed the damage?" The silence tells him everything he needs to know. "Damn it, Bones! You can’t keep punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault. I need you whole, Bones."
Bones looks like he’s about to protest, but Jim just puts a hand against the side of his face and forces his friend to look at him. "Listen to me, Bones," he says, soft but firm, his tone brooking no argument. "It. Was. Not. Your. Fault. Nobody thinks so and you shouldn’t either. What happened to you was a violation and if you’re going to move past this, you need to accept that you were the victim here. You didn’t do anything to deserve this. You couldn’t have done anything that would possibly deserve that. It was his fault. Not yours. Okay?"
"It wasn’t my fault," Bones tells him dully, and it doesn't sound like he fully believes it. But it’s a start.
Then
Bones sits in his office, staring blankly at the wall as he tells Spock and Jim the abridged version of what happened. And even knowing that man strapped to the bed isn’t his captain, not really, he can’t look at Jim. Because that isn’t Jim either. It’s a pale shadow of his captain, and he needs his Jim right now. The words come easily. Too easily. Just as long as he doesn’t look at them.
"Jim...the double...came in just as I finished patching up Fisher," he recalls. "He wanted to have a drink, and there was no work to be done, so I agreed. It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Then he..." He pauses and chooses his words carefully, even as his mind is screaming things like rape and sexual assault which he carefully ignores. He can’t tell them that. Jim can’t know about that. And, more than that, saying it makes it real in a way he can’t quite handle right now. "Then he attacked me. I wasn’t expecting it and he...eventually, I managed to get a good hit in. That’s when I sedated him and called you, Commander."
Spock nods in a way that suggests he really doesn’t believe this recounting, but he can go fuck himself if he thinks just that look is going to get Bones to spill what happened. "Perhaps," the Vulcan says calmly, "it might help if you let me see what happened? With your consent, of course, Doctor."
Bones wants to say no. That he doesn’t want that green-blooded hobgoblin poking around in his head. That he’s been violated enough today, thanks ever so much. But this way he doesn’t have to say it. And he knows that Spock won’t tell. So he nods stiffly, flinching at the too warm touch of the Vulcan’s fingers against his face. "Relax, Doctor," Spock instructs him, talking to him the way he used to talk to the fillies down in Georgia when he didn’t want to spook them, all soft words and reassurance. Bones forces himself to just breathe and let Spock in.
He knows he has to be overwhelming Spock with the rush of shockfearpainstopitstopitSTOPIT mixed with hatewantdisgusthelplessNOplease as Spock sees what happened and what he felt while it was happening and Bones is pretty sure he’s going to throw up again until he feels a sudden calm that has to come from Spock, because he doesn't think he has any of that left. And then Spock is gone from his mind and he’s back in the here and now, the First Officer looking at him with a strange expression he can’t quite place. But it isn’t pity and it isn’t disgust, so he can handle it. Something passes between them that Bones doesn’t quite understand, and Spock nods. "Thank you, Doctor. I understand now."
Jim’s looking at them both, confused, and Bones wants to explain but he can’t, so he looks away instead.
And when the time comes to decide what to do, Bones wants to scream or tell them to throw the bastard out an airlock. But instead, all that comes out of his mouth is "We need you whole, Jim." I need you whole.
Now
Bones doesn’t protest as Jim grabs the dermal regenerator from his dresser, the one he keeps for all the times Jim comes by his room instead of the sickbay, just gives Jim instructions in a heavy tone and watches with some apathy as the bruises and scratches are mended. And when Jim runs a careful hand over his wrist, he doesn’t pull away. He just lets Jim pull him into a lose hug and collapses against the younger man, the dam breaking as he gives in to the overwhelming pain that he’s been bottling up for days. And Jim holds him, letting him sob in an unmanly way that neither of them will speak of later, whispering soothing nonsense in his ear and promising that he’ll find a way to make it better. That he’ll never leave him. That they’ll get through this. Somehow.
And Bones believes him.
For the first time in over a week, he sleeps soundly. And Jim holds him through the night.
He's not whole yet. Neither of them are. But they'll get there.
They’ll get through this. Somehow.
Author: flameish
Rating: NC-17 - for non-con.
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy preslash, Evil!Kirk/McCoy.
Warnings: Nonconsensual sex. Angst.
Summary: Written for this prompt at st_xi_kink A nu!Trek rewrite of the TOS episode 'The Enemy Within', where Evil!Kirk attacks McCoy instead of Yeoman Rand.
A.N.: I'm sort of terrified to post this here. It's my first serious piece of fanfiction for any fandom, let alone this one.
Now
It hurts, the way Bones flinches away from his touch and refuses to meet his eyes. To know that he caused the bruises on the doctor’s wrists and the purpling bite mark on his neck. Bones could have easily used a dermal regenerator to fix the damage, but he hasn’t and Jim doesn’t understand why. He wishes that Bones would, if only to relieve some of this guilt. And the worst part is that he doesn’t even remember what happened, so it’s hard to feel appropriately guilty. All he knows is what Spock, and Bones himself, told him. He saw his doppelganger, of course, but he doesn’t have memories of what the man did. And if he didn’t know that he needed that other half of himself to be a good captain, and to survive, he would have killed him for hurting his friend like this.
"Bones," he says, hesitating as he waits for the other man to react. Bones finally looks at him, but there’s something dead in his eyes that causes Jim’s stomach to drop as he wonders if the friendship that’s kept him going for the past five years has been destroyed by his double. "We’re okay, aren’t we?" It’s a selfish question, he knows that, but he needs to know that Bones doesn’t blame him.
"Of course, Jim." But it’s hard to believe it when Bones immediately looks away from him. Jim wants to touch his friend, do something to make it better, but he knows from experience that it won’t do any good. He’d made that mistake once already and Bones had looked like he was torn between running and being sick. He’d kept his hands to himself since then.
"Bones, did he-" It’s all he gets out before the other man gives him a sharp look.
"Leave it, Jim." And he’s off, heading toward his office and closing the door behind him. Jim could follow him, but he knows that would do more harm than good right now. So he just watches him go and feels something breaking with the knowledge that his best friend doesn’t trust him anymore.
Chapel is giving him a sympathetic look and if he was a lesser man he might have shouted at her by now. He doesn’t need sympathy, damn it, he needs Bones back. He needs his best friend. Bones doesn’t join him for drinks in the evening anymore, or bitch to him about his day and the general incompetence of almost everyone in his sickbay. The only time he sees the older man anymore is when he comes to the sickbay himself, and even then he practically has to corner him. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He shouldn’t have to sneak up on his friend just to talk to him. He shouldn’t have to see that haunted look on Bones’s face. Losing the closeness he and Bones have always shared is like losing a limb…or maybe another, more vital, body part…and the phantom pain in his chest when he sees how he’s hurt Bones is more than he can stand. It’s only been two days since everything changed, but already he feels a painful emptiness from Bones’s absence.
He needs to fix this.
Then
"Go on, get out of my sickbay, Fisher," Bones says, with more than a little good natured gruffness as he addresses the ensign. It’s a slow day, so he’s given Christine and the others the afternoon off, provided they keep their communicators handy in case of emergency, so it’s just him and the younger man in the sickbay. "I don’t have patience or sympathy for clumsiness." But his smile belies the harshness of his words.
The technician is just leaving when Jim walks in. Considering he normally has to resort to drastic measures to get the captain into the sickbay after a mission, Bones is torn between relief and worry. If Jim’s here of his own accord, then it has to be bad. But Jim’s just smirking, all easy arrogance, so it’s hard to see how anything could be wrong.
"Doctor," the captain says jovially, clapping him on the shoulder, "you look like you’ve got some time on your hands. Have a drink with me." And if there’s an edge of malice to his voice, Bones just puts it off to the stress of running a ship. Normally, he’d say no, but it is a slow day, and he has nothing better to do. Besides, it will be nice to catch up with Jim. So he gets out the Saurian brandy and lets Jim follow him into his office, paying Jim no mind as the door shuts behind his friend.
It’s easy and familiar, pouring two glasses and passing one to Jim, drinking slowly and talking about the planet and the incompetence of ensigns who ‘can’t even climb a damn rock without injuring themselves’. Bones is leaning against his desk and Jim is standing against the wall by the door and it’s the same as it always is. Until suddenly it’s not. Because Jim’s set aside his drink and now he’s so close, standing between Bones’s legs with one hand on the desk to either side of him, and Bones can practically taste it when Jim breathes.
"We’ve been friends a long time," Jim says casually, as if he hasn’t just invaded his personal space in a very big way. And Bones is finding it hard to breathe because, damn it, he’s not blind and you’d have to be not to see how gorgeous Jim is. He’s had feelings for Jim for a long time, but always with the expectation that they’d never be returned. This is more than he’s prepared to handle, and he’s ready to panic. "But we could be more than that. We could be amazing, Bones. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it." That mouth is closer now and he feels more than hears Jim’s words. "We’ve been ignoring this for too long. Stop pretending, Bones."
And then that mouth is on his and Bones wants to give in, but he can’t. Because he knows Jim, better than anyone else, and this isn’t like him. Something on that planet has clearly fucked with him in a major way and he can’t let himself take liberties, even though he wants to. So he brings his hands up to Jim’s chest and pushes his friend back.
"You aren’t thinking clearly, Jim," he says. "I need to check you over. You’ve been compromised by something on that planet."
He isn’t expecting the way Jim grabs his wrists and holds him down against the desk, his grip just the wrong side of painful, and he knows he’ll have bruises before this is done. He’s bigger than Jim, and it’s easy to forget that Jim was top of his class at advanced hand-to-hand combat, so he’s honestly surprised when he can’t break Jim’s grip. He’s torn between terror at the knowledge that Jim could probably kill him and a traitorous impulse to just give in.
"I’m thinking clearly, Bones," Jim breathes the words into his ear, licking along the shell in a way that really should be revolting. "I’m thinking clearly for the first time. Don’t fight this, Bones. Don’t fight me."
And Bones doesn't want to fight him, but the captain clearly isn't in his right mind, so he does the only thing he can. He pulls back just enough, then brings his head forward sharply to headbutt his friend. He pushes away from the desk as Jim lets go and backs up, holding a hand to his forehead, moving to the door to try and get away before the captain does something they'll both regret.
Now
Jim doesn’t know why he’s standing outside Bones’s door a week later, waiting in the vain hope that his friend will let him in. There was a time when he would have just overridden the lock, strolled in and flopped down with a bottle of alcohol to share with his friend. He can’t do that now. He can’t allow himself to take those sorts of liberties anymore. Even though it wasn’t really him, he hurt Bones. It’s not something he can forgive himself for while Bones is avoiding him, bruised and broken and so different from the brash, temperamental man whose friendship Jim has relied on for so long. He hates to think he might have destroyed that person.
The door opens and Bones is standing there, tired and pissed off in a pair of sleep pants, scratches marring his chest. From him. Jim quickly looks up, focusing on a bruise that’s grown faint along his friend’s cheek. Without anywhere to focus that doesn’t make his head swim with guilt, he looks away and hears Bones’s sigh of frustration. "Damn it, Jim," he snaps, "what do you want? I was trying to sleep. Haven’t you done enough?" It’s uncalled for and they both know it, but Jim can hardly deny Bones the anger that he needs to direct at someone. His attacker is gone, inside Jim, and Jim is the only one left he can be angry with.
"I’m sorry." It’s cheap, but he doesn’t know what else to say. "I hate that you’re afraid of me...and don’t say you’re not because I can see it. You don’t fucking look at me anymore, Bones! You flinch if I touch you and this is the first time we’ve spent more than five seconds alone since...you’re my best friend, Bones! I don’t want to lose you."
"I’m not afraid of you, Jim," Bones tries to assure him, but the words are forced. “Look...just...come in. I don’t want to talk about this out here." And then he’s walking into his room, grabbing and pulling on a shirt from the floor and turning on the lights, and there’s nothing for Jim to do but follow him.
"Don’t tell me you’re not afraid of me, Bones. I can see it." Jim ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration, pacing back and forth. "You’re afraid of me or you hate me. Maybe both. And you have every right after what happened. But it wasn’t me! I would never hurt you like that."
"I know." It's just two quiet words, but Bones sounds so shattered as he speaks. "I know you wouldn’t, Jim. And I really don’t...I’m not afraid of you...and I don’t hate you. I could never hate you." He stares at one spot of floor until Jim is sure he’s going to wear a hole in it, before he finally speaks again. "I hate the way it made me feel. Because I was scared and angry and I just wanted it to stop...but part of me just...wanted it...him." He pauses for an impossibly long moment. "You."
Then
He doesn't quite get to the door before he's tackled to the floor, the back of his head hitting hard enough that he sees stars for a moment. And Jim is on top of him, grabbing his wrists again and holding them over his head. His grip is tight enough that Bones is worried about something breaking, and he can feel Jim’s arousal pressing against his hip through their clothes. He’s ashamed at the knowledge that he himself is half hard, and Jim’s expression tells him the younger man knows it. It’s enough to make him feel ill, because who in their right mind would be remotely turned on at a time like this? Clearly there’s something wrong with him. Something fucked up and disturbing and just plain wrong.
Jim’s mouth is forced against his again in a way that’s more painful than anything, before his mouth moves down to Bones’s neck to bite hard and rip a shout from the doctor’s throat because damn it that hurts! Jim just bites harder, sucking a mark into the skin like he’s claiming Bones as his. And maybe he is. Bones doesn’t know what to think about any of this anymore, but he’s still fighting. He tries to bring a knee up to hit Jim in the groin, but all it gets him is a backhand across the face as Jim transfers the grip on his wrists to one hand. The free hand travels down to slip under his shirt and undershirt, nails scraping over his skin and leaving marks in their wake.
His hand trails lower, forcing its way into Bones’s slacks and wrapping around him. And he hates the needy noise he makes, because when the hell did he become some pathetic damsel who couldn’t defend himself? He kicks uselessly at Jim and the hand around his cock squeezes painfully before Jim lets go to shove his pants down. He closes his eyes and starts diagnosing damage, forcing himself to keep breathing because there’s no way this can really be happening.
After that, it’s sort of a blur of fear and pain and oh god, stop! This isn’t Jim. It can’t be Jim. His friend, his captain, his…Jim…he wouldn’t do something like this. He keeps telling himself that while he self-diagnoses, slipping into a doctor mode to cope with what’s happening. Contusions to articulatio radiocarpalis, with possible ligament damage, anterior collum and coxa. Ano-rectal trauma. Potential for post-traumatic stress. Will follow up at a later date.
His own release is somehow more sickening than Jim’s, the very idea that he had gotten any pleasure from what just happened making him lean to the side and vomit. And there is Jim’s voice, sickly sweet in his ear. “I always knew you were a slut for me, Bones,” he says. And what can he say to that? Stumbling to his feet, Bones backs away from him, limping toward his desk to lean against it and tug his pants back up, face red with shame.
There’s a hypospray on the desk, one he hadn’t noticed before, but he doesn’t think to use it. This bastard who can’t possibly be Jim thinks he’s broken by what just happened, so he doesn’t expect the hard punch that lays him out, unconscious on the floor. It’s only then that Bones gives him the sedative. Then he cleans up and straightens his uniform, until he’s convinced that he passes as Doctor McCoy again, and calls Spock on the communicator.
Now
Jim finds it hard to breathe in the face of that confession. He doesn’t know what to say, or if there’s anything he can possibly say that will be right. Maybe there is no right thing to say. There has to be a reason they don’t make greeting cards for this sort of situation. He just stares at Bones and prays that his friend will say something. Anything.
Bones laughs, a sharp bitter sound like broken glass that tears at Jim."How fucked up is that, Jim? How fucking screwed up does that make me that I still...who the fuck wants...who the fuck can get off when that’s happening? I should have fought back harder, Jim. I should have done something...I should have been able to-"
"No." The word is snapped sharply enough that it startles him and makes Bones jump with the force of it. "You don’t get to do this to yourself, Bones. You don’t get to blame yourself. There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing. You fought back. You didn’t give in and you did not deserve what happened to you. Nobody deserves that." He looks at Bones’s wrists and then his throat, finally returning his gaze back to his face. "Is that why you haven’t healed the damage?" The silence tells him everything he needs to know. "Damn it, Bones! You can’t keep punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault. I need you whole, Bones."
Bones looks like he’s about to protest, but Jim just puts a hand against the side of his face and forces his friend to look at him. "Listen to me, Bones," he says, soft but firm, his tone brooking no argument. "It. Was. Not. Your. Fault. Nobody thinks so and you shouldn’t either. What happened to you was a violation and if you’re going to move past this, you need to accept that you were the victim here. You didn’t do anything to deserve this. You couldn’t have done anything that would possibly deserve that. It was his fault. Not yours. Okay?"
"It wasn’t my fault," Bones tells him dully, and it doesn't sound like he fully believes it. But it’s a start.
Then
Bones sits in his office, staring blankly at the wall as he tells Spock and Jim the abridged version of what happened. And even knowing that man strapped to the bed isn’t his captain, not really, he can’t look at Jim. Because that isn’t Jim either. It’s a pale shadow of his captain, and he needs his Jim right now. The words come easily. Too easily. Just as long as he doesn’t look at them.
"Jim...the double...came in just as I finished patching up Fisher," he recalls. "He wanted to have a drink, and there was no work to be done, so I agreed. It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Then he..." He pauses and chooses his words carefully, even as his mind is screaming things like rape and sexual assault which he carefully ignores. He can’t tell them that. Jim can’t know about that. And, more than that, saying it makes it real in a way he can’t quite handle right now. "Then he attacked me. I wasn’t expecting it and he...eventually, I managed to get a good hit in. That’s when I sedated him and called you, Commander."
Spock nods in a way that suggests he really doesn’t believe this recounting, but he can go fuck himself if he thinks just that look is going to get Bones to spill what happened. "Perhaps," the Vulcan says calmly, "it might help if you let me see what happened? With your consent, of course, Doctor."
Bones wants to say no. That he doesn’t want that green-blooded hobgoblin poking around in his head. That he’s been violated enough today, thanks ever so much. But this way he doesn’t have to say it. And he knows that Spock won’t tell. So he nods stiffly, flinching at the too warm touch of the Vulcan’s fingers against his face. "Relax, Doctor," Spock instructs him, talking to him the way he used to talk to the fillies down in Georgia when he didn’t want to spook them, all soft words and reassurance. Bones forces himself to just breathe and let Spock in.
He knows he has to be overwhelming Spock with the rush of shockfearpainstopitstopitSTOPIT mixed with hatewantdisgusthelplessNOplease as Spock sees what happened and what he felt while it was happening and Bones is pretty sure he’s going to throw up again until he feels a sudden calm that has to come from Spock, because he doesn't think he has any of that left. And then Spock is gone from his mind and he’s back in the here and now, the First Officer looking at him with a strange expression he can’t quite place. But it isn’t pity and it isn’t disgust, so he can handle it. Something passes between them that Bones doesn’t quite understand, and Spock nods. "Thank you, Doctor. I understand now."
Jim’s looking at them both, confused, and Bones wants to explain but he can’t, so he looks away instead.
And when the time comes to decide what to do, Bones wants to scream or tell them to throw the bastard out an airlock. But instead, all that comes out of his mouth is "We need you whole, Jim." I need you whole.
Now
Bones doesn’t protest as Jim grabs the dermal regenerator from his dresser, the one he keeps for all the times Jim comes by his room instead of the sickbay, just gives Jim instructions in a heavy tone and watches with some apathy as the bruises and scratches are mended. And when Jim runs a careful hand over his wrist, he doesn’t pull away. He just lets Jim pull him into a lose hug and collapses against the younger man, the dam breaking as he gives in to the overwhelming pain that he’s been bottling up for days. And Jim holds him, letting him sob in an unmanly way that neither of them will speak of later, whispering soothing nonsense in his ear and promising that he’ll find a way to make it better. That he’ll never leave him. That they’ll get through this. Somehow.
And Bones believes him.
For the first time in over a week, he sleeps soundly. And Jim holds him through the night.
He's not whole yet. Neither of them are. But they'll get there.
They’ll get through this. Somehow.