Fic: The People He Sees (5/7)
Title: The People He Sees (5/7)
Author: EstelWolfe (posting on a shared art account)
Characters: McCoy, Sulu, Jim
Pairing: Chekov/Sulu-ish
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of torture and discussion of sexuality
Summary: How do you help someone move on after they tortured and nearly killed a close friend?
Notes: This is the fifth in a series of more-or-less loosely connected shorts featuring McCoy acting as doctor for various officers. I've linked to the other four (the newest is on the bottom). This segues directly from Part 4: Chekov. It's very much falling action from that section. Hopefully you enjoy! Cross-posted to trekfics.
Word Count: 4000
The People He Sees: Puri
The People He Sees: Scotty
The People He Sees: Spock
The People He Sees: Chekov
“You should see him.”
“No.”
McCoy stares down at his patient. Sulu sits in the far corner of his isolation room, knees drawn up, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. He’s in his uniform pants and black undershirt, but he’s left his gold tunic folded neatly on the end of the bed.
It’s tempting to say he’s huddling in the corner, but that’s not quite the right word. Bones has seen huddling in the last twenty-four hours. Jordan’s still huddled in the corner of his room, and Anders alternates between huddling in her bed and trying to find new and creative ways to kill herself.
No, what Sulu’s doing isn’t huddling. It’s too… tame. Too controlled.
Which doesn’t make it any less frustrating. He’d come to see Sulu because the man was being calm, being reasonable, and he’d incorrectly assumed that would make things easier.
How do you talk someone out of reasonably, calmly hating themselves?
Bones settles down on the edge of Sulu’s bed, continuing to stare at the obstinate man. He tries waiting for Sulu to break the silence between them, hoping the man will find being stared down on intimidating, but he doesn’t have the patience to outlast him.
“Damn it, why?”
Sulu just stares up at him, head tilted slightly to one side, expression stating very clearly that McCoy shouldn’t even have to ask that question.
“He wants to see you, though.” Drawing a slow breath, Bones releases it evenly. He’s finally finagled enough sleep that he’s capable of controlling his temper, but his nerves are still worn and shot from the hellish days that came before. Still, yelling at the traumatized man is unlikely to get the desired response. “He understands what happened and he wants to see you.”
“He shouldn’t.” Sulu’s voice is blunt, crisp. “Doc, unless he wants to come hit me, I don’t want to see him.”
“It wasn’t your fault. You weren’t in control of yourself.” They’re his favorite words today, words he’s been repeating over and over to the members of the landing party. They’ve started to sound hollow and untrue, not because they are but because they don’t help.
“I tortured him and I nearly killed him.” Sulu meets McCoy’s gaze evenly. “I remember it all. Every second of it. I can’t…”
Sulu’s voice cracks and he turns away. For the first time his hands are trembling.
Bones watches, because it seems to be all he can do. He doesn’t know what to say or what to point out or how the hell to help these people. They covered basic space psychology during third year at the Academy. Nothing in there prepared him to deal with something like this, though. The closest they came was a single class on helping crewmen who had been influenced by telepaths.
There isn’t anyone to blame here, though. No outside force directing their actions. No enemy to rally together against. Just an alien microbe, brainless, directionless, short-circuiting their mental processes in the most horrifying way possible, and five broken people trying to live with the results.
It’s not right. It’s not fair, and though he’s far too old to expect the universe to be fair, it still hurts.
“How long do you plan on punishing yourself?” The question comes out sharper than he’d intended, his frustration with the situation leeching into his voice.
Sulu doesn’t answer, still sitting calmly in his corner, face turned slightly away.
“Yeah, well, at least tell me when you decide to commit hara-kiri, all right?”
Annoyance tinges both Sulu’s expression and tone as he looks directly at McCoy again. “I’m from San Francisco, doc. If I want to commit ritual suicide, I’ll jump off a bridge.”
“I’m from Mississippi and I know what hara-kiri is, so assuming you do too isn’t being culturally insensitive.” It is, maybe, a little bit, but at least he got an emotional response other than self-loathing out of the man. “And please don’t jump off any bridges. Starfleet has us dissect the bodies from the bay in Academy, and I can guarantee it’s not worth it.”
Sulu sighs, and Bones would almost swear the man rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to kill myself. That wouldn’t be fair.”
“Now we’re talking.” McCoy narrows his eyes, taking in the subdued expression on Sulu’s face. “Except for the part where you’re thinking it wouldn’t be fair to Chekov but would be entirely fair to you.”
“I nearly killed him. I tortured him for six hours!” The agony in Sulu’s expression as he runs his hands through his hair is almost too painful to watch, but McCoy forces himself not to look away. “I knew who he was. I knew he was my friend, and I still…”
“You couldn’t make the mental connection that what you were doing was wrong. You physically couldn’t. You were driven to savagery. The smallest slight or insult or misplaced step could have set you off. Once it progressed far enough, just the presence of another person could have set you off. The violence felt good, and once you started you couldn’t stop. You literally couldn’t. The disease disrupted the neurophysiological processes that would have allowed you to.” Forcing intimate physical contact-it wouldn’t have been a bad way to spread itself from host to host.
Except for the fact that humans had no innate immunity to it, meaning contact of bodily fluids probably wasn’t even necessary.
Except for the fact that humans could still think for just a little bit too long, killing the next host before infection could be a problem.
Damn evolution and damn aberrant hosts and damn biology in general.
Sulu’s staring up at him still, black hair mussed, jaw stubbornly set. There must be an officer’s class spent on mastering that look, because they all know how to do it.
Bones meets the man’s eyes squarely, speaking slowly, clearly. “You didn’t kill him. It wasn’t you who tortured him. You even gave him an analgesic.”
“Which nearly killed him.” Sulu rubs at the back of his neck, shaking his head. “And I didn’t give him the trip-seed because it was an analgesic. I didn’t even intend for him to eat it. You want to know how he got it?”
He doesn’t, probably, but McCoy nods anyway, keeping his expression neutral.
“I thought it looked good.” Sulu bites down hard on his lip for a second. “I thought it looked amazing. I had to gag him, so he wouldn’t scream and stop the fun, but it didn’t look right. Too black. So I added some color. Because it looked… good.”
Sulu’s head droops as he says the last word, his gaze sliding down to the ground.
“Sulu…” Finding the right words doesn’t seem possible, so McCoy just talks. “God, it wasn’t you. It wasn’t anything you wanted. It wasn’t anything you planned.”
The pilot’s shoulders hunch, his hands tightening their hold on his knees.
McCoy tries not to let the sudden queasiness he feels show on his face. “Was it something you wanted?”
“No!” The veneer of control cracks as Sulu looks up at him again. Desperation and terror vie for control of the man’s features. “I didn’t. I didn’t want to hurt him. But I have… the roses, the trip-seed flowers, I thought… I’ve thought… that he’d look good…”
Oh.
Oh, hell.
“Doc, you keep saying it wasn’t me, it wasn’t me, but it was me.” Rocking forward so that he’s balanced on his hands and knees, Sulu stares up at McCoy. “It was me. Plants. Swords. The flowers, the designs, it was all me. I can’t-”
“Stop.” Sliding off the bed to sit at eye level with his patient, Bones reaches out a hand and tentatively sets it on the officer’s shoulder. “It wasn’t you. Of course the… little touches were yours. It was your nervous system. But you weren’t in control any more. You were a captive in your own mind. I’ve read your file, seen all your psych profiles, and you’re right. Torturing a lover to-”
“He’s seventeen, doc.”
Bones stubbornly refuses to blush despite the look Sulu’s giving him. “Eighteen. He’s eighteen, and he’s not a-” McCoy considers trying to wrap his tongue around the Russian word Chekov had thrown at him multiple times in the last two days and decides it’s not worth further embarrassing himself. “He’s not a child.”
“I know that.” Sulu almost smiles. “He’s a Starfleet officer.”
Bones waits for Sulu to continue, hoping maybe this will break them out of the guilty-not-guilty cycle they’ve gotten stuck in, but the man simply stares across the room. The almost-smile is still on his face, though. “You’re fond of him.”
Sulu shrugs, leaning back up against the wall. “He’s smart. A genius, when it comes to math and science and tech. And he’s not shy, you know, but he’s… awkward, sometimes. Being so much younger than the rest of us.”
McCoy can’t help a snort of laughter. “Oh, yes, infinitely younger than the rest of you. What are you, an ancient twenty-four?”
“Hey, we can’t all be old guys in our thirties.” For an instant Sulu legitimately smiles, a full-fledged grin, though the expression’s gone as quickly as it came.
“So… you’re interested in Chekov but haven’t done anything because he’s seventeen?” It’s not prying. It’s a medically relevant question, to figure out exactly how much more miserable this mess is going to get. There’s no need for embarrassment, and damn the social conventions that make this awkward. “Didn’t you pick up a girl on our last mission, though?”
“It’s called bisexuality, doc.” The conversation seems to be entertaining Sulu, if nothing else, another small smile playing about his face. “It’s the twenty-third century. I thought the general stance was everyone’s at least a little bi.”
“Actually, last time I checked the stance was that human sexuality is incredibly complicated, sometimes fluid, certainly influenced by environment, and we really don’t want to even start guessing at what introduction to alien cultures and alien genders is going to do to it.”
“Uh huh.” Sulu nods, still smiling slightly. “Everyone’s a little bi is a lot easier to say.”
If Bones had known all he had to do was embarrass himself to help his patients, the last twenty-four hours would have gone much better.
The moment of levity passes far too quickly, though, Sulu’s smile fading as he pulls his knees up and rests his elbows on them again. “I like working with Chekov. He’s competent, he doesn’t break under pressure, and when we’re not under pressure… he knows not to laugh on the bridge.”
Bones tries and fails to make sense of the sentence, leaning back to use the edge of the bed as a backrest. “Come again?”
“When we’re on bridge duty… a lot of times we draw shift with the captain and Commander Spock and Lieutenant Uhura. I don’t know how much you’ve heard about the three of them, but they…” Sulu considers for a moment. “It’s not debating and it’s not teasing. Somewhere in between, maybe, but you’ve got to be there to really understand. They have the most bizarre, convoluted conversations ever. They’re usually hilarious. Sometime they even manage deep. You can’t laugh, though, or Commander Spock stops… playing along, I guess. Chekov gets that. When we’re on the bridge, we just look at each other. We can laugh later, when it won’t disrupt the game.”
Bones understands perfectly. He’s been the third point in the triangle, though the game’s as much about teasing Jim as it is about teasing Spock. He’s even been in on the banter on the bridge, after a mission gone wrong goes back right.
He’s never thought about what it might look like to the rest of the crew, though.
Shaking his head, Sulu stares up at the ceiling. “I can’t go back there. I can’t face him. I can’t pretend nothing happened and just… I mean… He’s going to be scarred, isn’t he?”
It’s tempting to bend the truth, to say the things that will make Sulu feel better, but that won’t help in the long run. “Lightly. We did the best we could, but over his chest and abdomen he’ll have some light scarring.”
“Do you really think he’s going to want to sit for eight hours a day next to the guy who permanently scarred him?” Sulu answers his own question, shaking his head. “No. I appreciate the fact that you and Spock cured us. And I can never express how grateful I am you saved him. But I think this is it. I’m out. Starfleet doesn’t need-”
“Bull. Starfleet needs all the good officers she can get, and you’re a damned good one.” Bones resists the urge to rub at his eyes. “You can’t make snap decisions like that after something like this, anyway. You’ve put a lot of time and effort into Starfleet. You don’t just want to give it up.”
“No. I don’t.” Sulu studies the floor this time, head low, keeping McCoy from seeing most of his features. “I don’t want to leave, and I know I can’t stay. And I know what you’re going to say. It’s not my fault. But it is, partially. I need some time to think, all right?”
Bones studies the man for a moment before nodding and standing up. He hasn’t done what he came to do. But he’s done all that he can.
It’s not enough. He knows it, as he walks out the door, trying to decide which of his patients to see next. He just doesn’t have the background knowledge to help these people, though they need it badly.
Maybe if he’d been able to stay at Academy for that fourth year. Take the advanced psych courses. Stay for the extra year after that, complete a thesis, one of the various ideas he’d been toying with involving fear and camaraderie and high-stress situations. Maybe then he’d know what to say and how to say it to make the landing party understand that they were victims, too.
But there hadn’t been time to complete his training, there hadn’t been time to take extra classes, and there certainly hadn’t been time to consider thesis work. Starfleet was short on people, and Jim had a starship and needed a crew.
Jim’s leaning against the wall between Sulu’s room and Jordan’s. He’s in full uniform, the only one of the landing party to have taken all the proffered clothing, and he looks good. Great. No one would suspect that thirty-six hours ago he’d been at death’s door, trying with all his might to drag others along with him.
“Bones.” Jim falls into step with him. “I want to see Sulu.”
“Sulu doesn’t want to see anyone.” Checking the latest scans on all of the landing party, McCoy works his way down the isolation corridor. None of the landing party needs to be isolated anymore, but the individual rooms afford them privacy as they try to come to terms with what they did. They also allow for quick medical responses if needed, and McCoy hates the fact that it’s been needed.
“I want to see him.” Jim’s expression is set, stubborn, that damned officer’s glare that Bones is learning to hate. “I’m not letting him drop out of Starfleet.”
“You listened in on our conversation?” McCoy stops dead in his tracks. “Jim, that’s-”
“I didn’t listen in. I was going to use the com to call you out. It was the only thing I heard. I swear. My ethics aren’t that bad.” Holding up his hands in mock surrender, Jim slides around to stand in front of McCoy. “I assume you told him no. I’d like to try to talk him out of it, too.”
“He’s not really going to drop out of Starfleet. He’s just…” There isn’t a word to properly sum up what Sulu is. Exhausted, certainly, like the rest of the Enterprise’s crew. Disheartened, humiliated, ashamed, tormented, guilt-ridden, all of those could probably find some use, as well.
Jim nods. “I know what he is. Better than just about anyone, I know what they’ve all gone through. What could it hurt, Bones?”
It could hurt a lot. The landing party were all mentally fragile right now, and Jim pushing in the wrong direction could snap someone.
On the other hand…
If there’s anyone who can make miracles happen, it’s Jim. Bones sighs, walking around his friend. “I’ll ask Sulu. And if he says yes I’ll watch to make sure no one ends up hurt.”
“I’ll do you one better. You can listen, and if I’m stepping out of line you can step in.”
“This isn’t a joke, Jim.”
“I know, Bones.” Grim determination suddenly fills Jim’s tone and face.
McCoy blinks. “All right. Fine.”
Returning to Sulu’s room, he uses the com system to announce his presence. “Sulu, the captain was wondering if he could talk to you for a moment.”
After nearly a full minute Sulu raises his head from his arms enough to nod.
The door slides open, and Jim steps forward just enough to keep it open. “Sulu, mind if the doctor watches and listens? He wants to make sure I’m not up to something dangerous.”
“That’s fine, sir.” Sulu sits up a little straighter, though otherwise his position doesn’t change much.
McCoy starts to follow Kirk into the room, but the captain waves him back with a simple gesture. Grumbling to himself, McCoy hits the com button and goes to stand outside the window.
Jim settles down on the ground next to his navigator, mimicking the other man’s position almost perfectly. The two men stare at a point on the ground, though Sulu’s eyes occasionally flick over to scan his captain.
It’s Sulu who breaks the silence first. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“I did. I see you haven’t put your uniform on.”
Silence stretches taut again before Sulu answers. “No, sir. I’ve been considering resigning my commission. I don’t feel that-”
“It’s not what you did that you hate, it’s how you felt while you did it.”
Sulu’s face pales, his body stiffening.
“I know.” Jim’s voice is soft, barely registering over the com. “Believe me, I know.”
“With all due respect, sir.” There’s a hard edge to Sulu’s voice that makes it debatable how much respect he thinks that is. “I don’t think you do. You didn’t hurt anyone.”
“No. Not for lack of trying, but you’re right. I didn’t actually hurt anyone.” Jim shrugs. “But I wanted to. Badly. Thinking about hurting someone was the most intense and pleasurable experience I have ever had in my life. I had it all planned out. And I know he’s going to see it someday.”
“Sir?”
“You know about the whole alternate reality thing? And that I met an old version of Spock?” Jim allows his head to settle down on his hands, a wry, sad quirk to his smile. “He mind melded with me. There was a lot of information there, but one thing I definitely saw clearly is that Spock and I are going to end up melding multiple times. It’s inevitable that one of those times he’s going to see what I had planned.”
“Sir, I don’t-”
“I didn’t hate him. I felt just like I normally do towards him. But it was wrong, him sitting in my chair, and I had to teach him a lesson. A long lesson. I’d start by punching him a few dozen times. Break his nose, crack a few ribs, nothing too brutal. Then I’d cut those damned ears of his so he wouldn’t look so alien. I’d lick the blood off the knife, lick it out of the wounds, and then-”
“Sir, please.” Sulu leans away from his captain, back pressed hard against the wall, knees pulled tight against his chest.
Bones starts for the door, planning on ending the conversation, because Jim’s making things worse. He doesn’t need anyone else huddling in the corner and wailing.
“I hate it.”
The self-loathing in Jim’s voice stops Bones in his tracks. That can’t be right. Jim’s been doing so well, taking everything so calmly and in stride, and he can’t-
“I hate the fact that I planned anything like that. I hate the fact that I meticulously plotted out the details. I hate the fact that I enjoyed it, every moment of it, without a single thought that maybe it was wrong. That a friend shouldn’t be thought of as an art board, a toy to be taken apart, a means to get at blood.”
“I… understand, sir.” Sulu’s voice is calmer but hesitant, and the emotion in it could almost be… well, hell, who’s supposedly comforting who in there? “I can handle what I did. It’s horrible. I’ll have nightmares about it for a long time. But I can handle that. The way I felt, though… that I wish I could forget. Need to forget. I wish I could just replace it with loathing, with horror, with everything I feel now and should have felt then.”
“But we can’t.” Jim’s voice is steady again, resolute. “We can’t forget. But we can let them forget. We can apologize and we can go back to our jobs and we can do our best to act like it didn’t happen. Like it wasn’t us. That’s what they keep saying, right? That it wasn’t us? So we make it true.”
“I don’t think it’ll be that easy, sir.”
“Maybe not. But we can try.” There’s a distinctive clap that can only be Jim slapping his officer on the shoulder. “We were rabid dogs, Mr. Sulu. We bit at the people closest to us simply because they had the gall to be there. They understand that-Chekov certainly understands that. He went through it, too. Let’s try and help him forget it, all right?”
Bones retreats away from the door, thumbing the com system off. He’s barely finished when Jim comes through, a slight smile on his face.
McCoy glares at him. “Captain, I’m not really sure that trying to ignore the problem is the proper psychological advice.”
“Not ignore the problem, Bones. Find a way to dissociate it from our lives. Because it wasn’t us… but it was. And that paradox is hell.” Jim leans against the wall, smile fading. “If it’s not what he needs, then you’ll find another way to help him. But I know him. Believe me, I wouldn’t try a stunt like that on someone I don’t know.”
Studying his friend, Bones finds himself somewhat taken aback by what he sees.
He’s never considered Jim to be a child. Jim’s young, but if he’s ever been innocent and naïve, it was long before McCoy met him. Cocky, arrogant, brash, obnoxious, sometimes annoying, those are all things Jim can be. A teenager, though he’s a bit old for the appelation. A kid.
But McCoy doesn’t see any of that in the man standing across from him in the hall. The man with him now is firm, steady, indomitable but cautious about choosing his battles. He wears his Starfleet uniform well, proudly, but not vainly.
“Bones?” Jim’s smile is still the same as always, teasing, light. “See something… fascinating?”
“Yeah.” Bones sighs, returning a half-smile. “Somewhere along the line my best friend became a damn good starship captain. I was trying to figure out when.”
Jim laughs, smile growing, image of the dour captain falling away as if it had never been. “C’mon, Bones. You know I was born this way.”
McCoy is saved from answering by the door to Sulu’s isolation room sliding open again.
Sulu stands awkwardly in the doorway, his gold tunic catching the light. “Doc… if he’s still around… I’d like to see Chekov.”
It’s not a big victory. It doesn’t necessarily mean that Sulu’s doing better. It has no bearing at all on what Bones is going to do with his other patients.
It doesn’t mean everything’s going to be all right.
Still, at that moment, they’re the sweetest words McCoy has ever heard.
On a tangent, my beta found a song that she felt really fit this work of mine:
To Dance with Death
The song's "So She Dances" by Josh Groban, and can be seen here:
Josh Groban singing "So She Dances"
Author: EstelWolfe (posting on a shared art account)
Characters: McCoy, Sulu, Jim
Pairing: Chekov/Sulu-ish
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of torture and discussion of sexuality
Summary: How do you help someone move on after they tortured and nearly killed a close friend?
Notes: This is the fifth in a series of more-or-less loosely connected shorts featuring McCoy acting as doctor for various officers. I've linked to the other four (the newest is on the bottom). This segues directly from Part 4: Chekov. It's very much falling action from that section. Hopefully you enjoy! Cross-posted to trekfics.
Word Count: 4000
The People He Sees: Puri
The People He Sees: Scotty
The People He Sees: Spock
The People He Sees: Chekov
“You should see him.”
“No.”
McCoy stares down at his patient. Sulu sits in the far corner of his isolation room, knees drawn up, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. He’s in his uniform pants and black undershirt, but he’s left his gold tunic folded neatly on the end of the bed.
It’s tempting to say he’s huddling in the corner, but that’s not quite the right word. Bones has seen huddling in the last twenty-four hours. Jordan’s still huddled in the corner of his room, and Anders alternates between huddling in her bed and trying to find new and creative ways to kill herself.
No, what Sulu’s doing isn’t huddling. It’s too… tame. Too controlled.
Which doesn’t make it any less frustrating. He’d come to see Sulu because the man was being calm, being reasonable, and he’d incorrectly assumed that would make things easier.
How do you talk someone out of reasonably, calmly hating themselves?
Bones settles down on the edge of Sulu’s bed, continuing to stare at the obstinate man. He tries waiting for Sulu to break the silence between them, hoping the man will find being stared down on intimidating, but he doesn’t have the patience to outlast him.
“Damn it, why?”
Sulu just stares up at him, head tilted slightly to one side, expression stating very clearly that McCoy shouldn’t even have to ask that question.
“He wants to see you, though.” Drawing a slow breath, Bones releases it evenly. He’s finally finagled enough sleep that he’s capable of controlling his temper, but his nerves are still worn and shot from the hellish days that came before. Still, yelling at the traumatized man is unlikely to get the desired response. “He understands what happened and he wants to see you.”
“He shouldn’t.” Sulu’s voice is blunt, crisp. “Doc, unless he wants to come hit me, I don’t want to see him.”
“It wasn’t your fault. You weren’t in control of yourself.” They’re his favorite words today, words he’s been repeating over and over to the members of the landing party. They’ve started to sound hollow and untrue, not because they are but because they don’t help.
“I tortured him and I nearly killed him.” Sulu meets McCoy’s gaze evenly. “I remember it all. Every second of it. I can’t…”
Sulu’s voice cracks and he turns away. For the first time his hands are trembling.
Bones watches, because it seems to be all he can do. He doesn’t know what to say or what to point out or how the hell to help these people. They covered basic space psychology during third year at the Academy. Nothing in there prepared him to deal with something like this, though. The closest they came was a single class on helping crewmen who had been influenced by telepaths.
There isn’t anyone to blame here, though. No outside force directing their actions. No enemy to rally together against. Just an alien microbe, brainless, directionless, short-circuiting their mental processes in the most horrifying way possible, and five broken people trying to live with the results.
It’s not right. It’s not fair, and though he’s far too old to expect the universe to be fair, it still hurts.
“How long do you plan on punishing yourself?” The question comes out sharper than he’d intended, his frustration with the situation leeching into his voice.
Sulu doesn’t answer, still sitting calmly in his corner, face turned slightly away.
“Yeah, well, at least tell me when you decide to commit hara-kiri, all right?”
Annoyance tinges both Sulu’s expression and tone as he looks directly at McCoy again. “I’m from San Francisco, doc. If I want to commit ritual suicide, I’ll jump off a bridge.”
“I’m from Mississippi and I know what hara-kiri is, so assuming you do too isn’t being culturally insensitive.” It is, maybe, a little bit, but at least he got an emotional response other than self-loathing out of the man. “And please don’t jump off any bridges. Starfleet has us dissect the bodies from the bay in Academy, and I can guarantee it’s not worth it.”
Sulu sighs, and Bones would almost swear the man rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to kill myself. That wouldn’t be fair.”
“Now we’re talking.” McCoy narrows his eyes, taking in the subdued expression on Sulu’s face. “Except for the part where you’re thinking it wouldn’t be fair to Chekov but would be entirely fair to you.”
“I nearly killed him. I tortured him for six hours!” The agony in Sulu’s expression as he runs his hands through his hair is almost too painful to watch, but McCoy forces himself not to look away. “I knew who he was. I knew he was my friend, and I still…”
“You couldn’t make the mental connection that what you were doing was wrong. You physically couldn’t. You were driven to savagery. The smallest slight or insult or misplaced step could have set you off. Once it progressed far enough, just the presence of another person could have set you off. The violence felt good, and once you started you couldn’t stop. You literally couldn’t. The disease disrupted the neurophysiological processes that would have allowed you to.” Forcing intimate physical contact-it wouldn’t have been a bad way to spread itself from host to host.
Except for the fact that humans had no innate immunity to it, meaning contact of bodily fluids probably wasn’t even necessary.
Except for the fact that humans could still think for just a little bit too long, killing the next host before infection could be a problem.
Damn evolution and damn aberrant hosts and damn biology in general.
Sulu’s staring up at him still, black hair mussed, jaw stubbornly set. There must be an officer’s class spent on mastering that look, because they all know how to do it.
Bones meets the man’s eyes squarely, speaking slowly, clearly. “You didn’t kill him. It wasn’t you who tortured him. You even gave him an analgesic.”
“Which nearly killed him.” Sulu rubs at the back of his neck, shaking his head. “And I didn’t give him the trip-seed because it was an analgesic. I didn’t even intend for him to eat it. You want to know how he got it?”
He doesn’t, probably, but McCoy nods anyway, keeping his expression neutral.
“I thought it looked good.” Sulu bites down hard on his lip for a second. “I thought it looked amazing. I had to gag him, so he wouldn’t scream and stop the fun, but it didn’t look right. Too black. So I added some color. Because it looked… good.”
Sulu’s head droops as he says the last word, his gaze sliding down to the ground.
“Sulu…” Finding the right words doesn’t seem possible, so McCoy just talks. “God, it wasn’t you. It wasn’t anything you wanted. It wasn’t anything you planned.”
The pilot’s shoulders hunch, his hands tightening their hold on his knees.
McCoy tries not to let the sudden queasiness he feels show on his face. “Was it something you wanted?”
“No!” The veneer of control cracks as Sulu looks up at him again. Desperation and terror vie for control of the man’s features. “I didn’t. I didn’t want to hurt him. But I have… the roses, the trip-seed flowers, I thought… I’ve thought… that he’d look good…”
Oh.
Oh, hell.
“Doc, you keep saying it wasn’t me, it wasn’t me, but it was me.” Rocking forward so that he’s balanced on his hands and knees, Sulu stares up at McCoy. “It was me. Plants. Swords. The flowers, the designs, it was all me. I can’t-”
“Stop.” Sliding off the bed to sit at eye level with his patient, Bones reaches out a hand and tentatively sets it on the officer’s shoulder. “It wasn’t you. Of course the… little touches were yours. It was your nervous system. But you weren’t in control any more. You were a captive in your own mind. I’ve read your file, seen all your psych profiles, and you’re right. Torturing a lover to-”
“He’s seventeen, doc.”
Bones stubbornly refuses to blush despite the look Sulu’s giving him. “Eighteen. He’s eighteen, and he’s not a-” McCoy considers trying to wrap his tongue around the Russian word Chekov had thrown at him multiple times in the last two days and decides it’s not worth further embarrassing himself. “He’s not a child.”
“I know that.” Sulu almost smiles. “He’s a Starfleet officer.”
Bones waits for Sulu to continue, hoping maybe this will break them out of the guilty-not-guilty cycle they’ve gotten stuck in, but the man simply stares across the room. The almost-smile is still on his face, though. “You’re fond of him.”
Sulu shrugs, leaning back up against the wall. “He’s smart. A genius, when it comes to math and science and tech. And he’s not shy, you know, but he’s… awkward, sometimes. Being so much younger than the rest of us.”
McCoy can’t help a snort of laughter. “Oh, yes, infinitely younger than the rest of you. What are you, an ancient twenty-four?”
“Hey, we can’t all be old guys in our thirties.” For an instant Sulu legitimately smiles, a full-fledged grin, though the expression’s gone as quickly as it came.
“So… you’re interested in Chekov but haven’t done anything because he’s seventeen?” It’s not prying. It’s a medically relevant question, to figure out exactly how much more miserable this mess is going to get. There’s no need for embarrassment, and damn the social conventions that make this awkward. “Didn’t you pick up a girl on our last mission, though?”
“It’s called bisexuality, doc.” The conversation seems to be entertaining Sulu, if nothing else, another small smile playing about his face. “It’s the twenty-third century. I thought the general stance was everyone’s at least a little bi.”
“Actually, last time I checked the stance was that human sexuality is incredibly complicated, sometimes fluid, certainly influenced by environment, and we really don’t want to even start guessing at what introduction to alien cultures and alien genders is going to do to it.”
“Uh huh.” Sulu nods, still smiling slightly. “Everyone’s a little bi is a lot easier to say.”
If Bones had known all he had to do was embarrass himself to help his patients, the last twenty-four hours would have gone much better.
The moment of levity passes far too quickly, though, Sulu’s smile fading as he pulls his knees up and rests his elbows on them again. “I like working with Chekov. He’s competent, he doesn’t break under pressure, and when we’re not under pressure… he knows not to laugh on the bridge.”
Bones tries and fails to make sense of the sentence, leaning back to use the edge of the bed as a backrest. “Come again?”
“When we’re on bridge duty… a lot of times we draw shift with the captain and Commander Spock and Lieutenant Uhura. I don’t know how much you’ve heard about the three of them, but they…” Sulu considers for a moment. “It’s not debating and it’s not teasing. Somewhere in between, maybe, but you’ve got to be there to really understand. They have the most bizarre, convoluted conversations ever. They’re usually hilarious. Sometime they even manage deep. You can’t laugh, though, or Commander Spock stops… playing along, I guess. Chekov gets that. When we’re on the bridge, we just look at each other. We can laugh later, when it won’t disrupt the game.”
Bones understands perfectly. He’s been the third point in the triangle, though the game’s as much about teasing Jim as it is about teasing Spock. He’s even been in on the banter on the bridge, after a mission gone wrong goes back right.
He’s never thought about what it might look like to the rest of the crew, though.
Shaking his head, Sulu stares up at the ceiling. “I can’t go back there. I can’t face him. I can’t pretend nothing happened and just… I mean… He’s going to be scarred, isn’t he?”
It’s tempting to bend the truth, to say the things that will make Sulu feel better, but that won’t help in the long run. “Lightly. We did the best we could, but over his chest and abdomen he’ll have some light scarring.”
“Do you really think he’s going to want to sit for eight hours a day next to the guy who permanently scarred him?” Sulu answers his own question, shaking his head. “No. I appreciate the fact that you and Spock cured us. And I can never express how grateful I am you saved him. But I think this is it. I’m out. Starfleet doesn’t need-”
“Bull. Starfleet needs all the good officers she can get, and you’re a damned good one.” Bones resists the urge to rub at his eyes. “You can’t make snap decisions like that after something like this, anyway. You’ve put a lot of time and effort into Starfleet. You don’t just want to give it up.”
“No. I don’t.” Sulu studies the floor this time, head low, keeping McCoy from seeing most of his features. “I don’t want to leave, and I know I can’t stay. And I know what you’re going to say. It’s not my fault. But it is, partially. I need some time to think, all right?”
Bones studies the man for a moment before nodding and standing up. He hasn’t done what he came to do. But he’s done all that he can.
It’s not enough. He knows it, as he walks out the door, trying to decide which of his patients to see next. He just doesn’t have the background knowledge to help these people, though they need it badly.
Maybe if he’d been able to stay at Academy for that fourth year. Take the advanced psych courses. Stay for the extra year after that, complete a thesis, one of the various ideas he’d been toying with involving fear and camaraderie and high-stress situations. Maybe then he’d know what to say and how to say it to make the landing party understand that they were victims, too.
But there hadn’t been time to complete his training, there hadn’t been time to take extra classes, and there certainly hadn’t been time to consider thesis work. Starfleet was short on people, and Jim had a starship and needed a crew.
Jim’s leaning against the wall between Sulu’s room and Jordan’s. He’s in full uniform, the only one of the landing party to have taken all the proffered clothing, and he looks good. Great. No one would suspect that thirty-six hours ago he’d been at death’s door, trying with all his might to drag others along with him.
“Bones.” Jim falls into step with him. “I want to see Sulu.”
“Sulu doesn’t want to see anyone.” Checking the latest scans on all of the landing party, McCoy works his way down the isolation corridor. None of the landing party needs to be isolated anymore, but the individual rooms afford them privacy as they try to come to terms with what they did. They also allow for quick medical responses if needed, and McCoy hates the fact that it’s been needed.
“I want to see him.” Jim’s expression is set, stubborn, that damned officer’s glare that Bones is learning to hate. “I’m not letting him drop out of Starfleet.”
“You listened in on our conversation?” McCoy stops dead in his tracks. “Jim, that’s-”
“I didn’t listen in. I was going to use the com to call you out. It was the only thing I heard. I swear. My ethics aren’t that bad.” Holding up his hands in mock surrender, Jim slides around to stand in front of McCoy. “I assume you told him no. I’d like to try to talk him out of it, too.”
“He’s not really going to drop out of Starfleet. He’s just…” There isn’t a word to properly sum up what Sulu is. Exhausted, certainly, like the rest of the Enterprise’s crew. Disheartened, humiliated, ashamed, tormented, guilt-ridden, all of those could probably find some use, as well.
Jim nods. “I know what he is. Better than just about anyone, I know what they’ve all gone through. What could it hurt, Bones?”
It could hurt a lot. The landing party were all mentally fragile right now, and Jim pushing in the wrong direction could snap someone.
On the other hand…
If there’s anyone who can make miracles happen, it’s Jim. Bones sighs, walking around his friend. “I’ll ask Sulu. And if he says yes I’ll watch to make sure no one ends up hurt.”
“I’ll do you one better. You can listen, and if I’m stepping out of line you can step in.”
“This isn’t a joke, Jim.”
“I know, Bones.” Grim determination suddenly fills Jim’s tone and face.
McCoy blinks. “All right. Fine.”
Returning to Sulu’s room, he uses the com system to announce his presence. “Sulu, the captain was wondering if he could talk to you for a moment.”
After nearly a full minute Sulu raises his head from his arms enough to nod.
The door slides open, and Jim steps forward just enough to keep it open. “Sulu, mind if the doctor watches and listens? He wants to make sure I’m not up to something dangerous.”
“That’s fine, sir.” Sulu sits up a little straighter, though otherwise his position doesn’t change much.
McCoy starts to follow Kirk into the room, but the captain waves him back with a simple gesture. Grumbling to himself, McCoy hits the com button and goes to stand outside the window.
Jim settles down on the ground next to his navigator, mimicking the other man’s position almost perfectly. The two men stare at a point on the ground, though Sulu’s eyes occasionally flick over to scan his captain.
It’s Sulu who breaks the silence first. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“I did. I see you haven’t put your uniform on.”
Silence stretches taut again before Sulu answers. “No, sir. I’ve been considering resigning my commission. I don’t feel that-”
“It’s not what you did that you hate, it’s how you felt while you did it.”
Sulu’s face pales, his body stiffening.
“I know.” Jim’s voice is soft, barely registering over the com. “Believe me, I know.”
“With all due respect, sir.” There’s a hard edge to Sulu’s voice that makes it debatable how much respect he thinks that is. “I don’t think you do. You didn’t hurt anyone.”
“No. Not for lack of trying, but you’re right. I didn’t actually hurt anyone.” Jim shrugs. “But I wanted to. Badly. Thinking about hurting someone was the most intense and pleasurable experience I have ever had in my life. I had it all planned out. And I know he’s going to see it someday.”
“Sir?”
“You know about the whole alternate reality thing? And that I met an old version of Spock?” Jim allows his head to settle down on his hands, a wry, sad quirk to his smile. “He mind melded with me. There was a lot of information there, but one thing I definitely saw clearly is that Spock and I are going to end up melding multiple times. It’s inevitable that one of those times he’s going to see what I had planned.”
“Sir, I don’t-”
“I didn’t hate him. I felt just like I normally do towards him. But it was wrong, him sitting in my chair, and I had to teach him a lesson. A long lesson. I’d start by punching him a few dozen times. Break his nose, crack a few ribs, nothing too brutal. Then I’d cut those damned ears of his so he wouldn’t look so alien. I’d lick the blood off the knife, lick it out of the wounds, and then-”
“Sir, please.” Sulu leans away from his captain, back pressed hard against the wall, knees pulled tight against his chest.
Bones starts for the door, planning on ending the conversation, because Jim’s making things worse. He doesn’t need anyone else huddling in the corner and wailing.
“I hate it.”
The self-loathing in Jim’s voice stops Bones in his tracks. That can’t be right. Jim’s been doing so well, taking everything so calmly and in stride, and he can’t-
“I hate the fact that I planned anything like that. I hate the fact that I meticulously plotted out the details. I hate the fact that I enjoyed it, every moment of it, without a single thought that maybe it was wrong. That a friend shouldn’t be thought of as an art board, a toy to be taken apart, a means to get at blood.”
“I… understand, sir.” Sulu’s voice is calmer but hesitant, and the emotion in it could almost be… well, hell, who’s supposedly comforting who in there? “I can handle what I did. It’s horrible. I’ll have nightmares about it for a long time. But I can handle that. The way I felt, though… that I wish I could forget. Need to forget. I wish I could just replace it with loathing, with horror, with everything I feel now and should have felt then.”
“But we can’t.” Jim’s voice is steady again, resolute. “We can’t forget. But we can let them forget. We can apologize and we can go back to our jobs and we can do our best to act like it didn’t happen. Like it wasn’t us. That’s what they keep saying, right? That it wasn’t us? So we make it true.”
“I don’t think it’ll be that easy, sir.”
“Maybe not. But we can try.” There’s a distinctive clap that can only be Jim slapping his officer on the shoulder. “We were rabid dogs, Mr. Sulu. We bit at the people closest to us simply because they had the gall to be there. They understand that-Chekov certainly understands that. He went through it, too. Let’s try and help him forget it, all right?”
Bones retreats away from the door, thumbing the com system off. He’s barely finished when Jim comes through, a slight smile on his face.
McCoy glares at him. “Captain, I’m not really sure that trying to ignore the problem is the proper psychological advice.”
“Not ignore the problem, Bones. Find a way to dissociate it from our lives. Because it wasn’t us… but it was. And that paradox is hell.” Jim leans against the wall, smile fading. “If it’s not what he needs, then you’ll find another way to help him. But I know him. Believe me, I wouldn’t try a stunt like that on someone I don’t know.”
Studying his friend, Bones finds himself somewhat taken aback by what he sees.
He’s never considered Jim to be a child. Jim’s young, but if he’s ever been innocent and naïve, it was long before McCoy met him. Cocky, arrogant, brash, obnoxious, sometimes annoying, those are all things Jim can be. A teenager, though he’s a bit old for the appelation. A kid.
But McCoy doesn’t see any of that in the man standing across from him in the hall. The man with him now is firm, steady, indomitable but cautious about choosing his battles. He wears his Starfleet uniform well, proudly, but not vainly.
“Bones?” Jim’s smile is still the same as always, teasing, light. “See something… fascinating?”
“Yeah.” Bones sighs, returning a half-smile. “Somewhere along the line my best friend became a damn good starship captain. I was trying to figure out when.”
Jim laughs, smile growing, image of the dour captain falling away as if it had never been. “C’mon, Bones. You know I was born this way.”
McCoy is saved from answering by the door to Sulu’s isolation room sliding open again.
Sulu stands awkwardly in the doorway, his gold tunic catching the light. “Doc… if he’s still around… I’d like to see Chekov.”
It’s not a big victory. It doesn’t necessarily mean that Sulu’s doing better. It has no bearing at all on what Bones is going to do with his other patients.
It doesn’t mean everything’s going to be all right.
Still, at that moment, they’re the sweetest words McCoy has ever heard.
On a tangent, my beta found a song that she felt really fit this work of mine:
To Dance with Death
The song's "So She Dances" by Josh Groban, and can be seen here:
Josh Groban singing "So She Dances"