Star Trek XI fic: McCoy/Spock
Title: The Friend
Series/Spoilers: Star Trek XI
Rating: NC17 I suppose
Characters/pairings: McCoy/Spock
Summary: Pre-slash, friendship, hurt/comfort. This contains mention of rape and is a continuation of ' The Doctor'.
Word count: 3731
A/N: This is a response to this prompt from the st_xi_kink meme: #mumble mumble# I sort of want Bones treating Spock for rape. UM. Please? . The series will switch from McCoy's and Spock's POV. I'm not sure how I feel about the second half of this chapter...Spock is difficult to write. Give me your suggestions and corrections! :) I have no beta.
Disclaimer: Do not own nor do I claim to. Also, this contains a Canadian-attempt at Southern...stuff. Sayings. Yeah, that's the ticket.
"Computer, end medical log." McCoy turned to Spock, who was slowly sliding off the table and carefully pulling on a set of replacement attire. With the shoulder and rib now healing, his motor skills were returning to normal. The rectal tearing, phaser burns, and knife wounds were reduced to scabbing or less. The only thing that remained was the slow throb of healing. A few more days, and there wouldn't be a mark on him, save for the bruises. McCoy had concentrated on the severe ailments, simply wanting to get Spock washed up and into bed.
"I'm taking you off duty for an indefinite period of time. So, basically whenever you feel you're ready to work and I approve, you're free to carry on. Fair?"
A sigh of exhaustion, "Yes, Doctor. That will be adequate."
"Okay. Now, the sick-bay should be cleared out at this hour. Chapel is the only one left, so we should be able to sneak you out. I'll escort you to your quarters..." McCoy trailed off as he observed the First Officer's eyes flit frantically around the room and his breathing hitched in panic.
"Spock." Upon getting no response, he pulled out his tricorder out and scanned the Vulcan's heart. Tachycardia. Blood pressure is through the roof. Christ, he's on the verge of arrest. "Spock, you need to calm down-Fuck." Abandoning the tricorder, he immediately paged Nurse Chapel.
"CHAPEL! I NEED SIX MILLIGRAMS OF BROMAZEPAM NOW!". He immediately grabbed Spock before he fell and held him down as he started convulsing. Nurse Chapel burst through the door and quickly administered the hypospray to Spock's neck, sighing as the body ceased trembling and the chest was moving at a more even pace. Furiously grabbing the forgotten tricorder, McCoy scanned for any lingering effects of arrest. Grumbling, he pocketed it and dismissed Chapel when she gestured to help lift Spock. Eyeing the doctor strangely, she disappeared through the doors.
McCoy sat down heavily next to the unconscious body and yanked on his hair, staring at the floor. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I can't leave him here in a bed, prone to the crew and questions. I won't just dump him in his room with no one. Oh, and, why am I not treating him like a patient? His eyes roamed over the figure: he was on his side, legs curled up and an arm attached to a delicate hand, was outstretched. His face was calm and open, free from thought as the sedatives worked their glorious magic. The traitorous part of his mind whispered, because he's not just another patient...
He was used to the pain of his work. Informing patients that there was nothing else he could do, noting the time of death, sliding the sheet over faces he'd never really forget. Death was inevitable. But if he could ease their passing, or try his damnedest to save them...Hell, it was worth it. His life was medicine and he owed it to patients, present and future, to do his best.
But this. This was something else. The slow throb began in his throat, and he tried to swallow around it., while the first sign of tears gathered at the corners of his eyes...What do I do?
Upon the sudden flood of self-questioning, he viciously stomped his turmoil back into nothingness. Objective, clinical, almost cold...is what saved lives. While his insides were alight with fiery passion, scientific curiosity, and always, always, in awe of the incredible things the body, alien and human, could do...his mind was focused, unwavering, unfeeling. He'd never shed a tear in his sickbay, he wasn't about to start now.
Grabbing a paper tissue from the drawer next to him, he stood and wet it before holding it close to his face, soothing his nerves. Throwing it absentmindedly into the bin, he turned and watched Spock as he made the decision. Grabbing his medical bag, he started filling it with the necessities as he spoke, "McCoy to Engineering".
A few seconds ticked by before the Scottish brogue filled the tiny room, "Evenin', Doc! Scotty here." McCoy was warmed inside by the man's cheery voice.
"Scotty, I need a favour...a favour that I need ya not to repeat to anyone. Medically confidential, understand?"
"Aye, I reckon, what'll it be?"
"I have Mr. Spock with me, and he's sustained injuries-" Before he could finish, a concerned Scotty interrupted.
"Aye, I heard. How is th'lad doing?"
"He's sedated right now. Patched 'im up good, not to worry. He'll be nagging our asses before you know it, so spread the word."
"Ah! Brilliant! Now, what is it ye need?"
"I need you to beam us both directly to my quar-" The sing-song voice interrupted once more, "No need to explain, Sir! Stay still". McCoy scowled at the smug grin he could hear in the voice. Those rumors are still goin' around?
He felt the sudden weightlessness filter throughout his body, and watched as his examination room slowly faded into the welcoming, familiar atmosphere of his quarters. "Computer, lights at fifty percent".
Sighing, he dropped his bag onto his desk and shed his outer uniform. Day went slower than a god damned June bug in molasses.
Content to pretend his commanding officer was not laying prone on his floor for a minute, he walked to the replicator. "Hot tea with lemon, honey, and a stick of cinnamon". Reaching to the nook where he kept the whiskey, he grabbed the bottle and poured a shot into the now steaming tea. Mixing it with the aromatic, brown stick, he brought the concoction to his nose and inhaled deeply.
Feeling relieved before even tasting it, he turned around and walked back toward Spock, sipping gently. He paused and smirked. Talk about bringin' your fuckin' work home with you. Trading his mug for a hypospray at his desk, he knelt beside the body and pressed the tool to the pale neck.
Light. The transporter room. Dinner with Nyota upon their return. Chess with the Doctor; he liked Leonard. Face smirking, but internally laughing at his Captain's antics on the transporter pad. "Energize". Phazers. Panic. Gone. Nero. Dark. Hurts. Table. Sneering. Cold. Alone. Fear. Where is Jim? Another mind. Melding. Nonoplease. Romulus, a pretty woman, Vulcan, his mother, his older Self, so much hate, pain, unhinged rage, savage lust. Tearing fabric. Knife. Legs and arms, strapped down. Save me. Opened. Exposed. Ripping, blinding pain...
Chekhov paging Leonard. Mr. Scott cursing. Jim shouting, holding him too tight. Light. Gentle. Hands of a doctor, eyes of a friend. Care. Safe. Cold table, warm fingers. "I need you to open your legs." Soft, clinical words. Panic. Darkness.
The onslaught of memory and emotion felt like an eternity, but Spock deduced that only seconds passed. He opened his eyes slowly, awareness settling over him. I am aboard the Enterprise, on the floor of someone's quarters. Not mine. Testing his previously injured shoulder, and feeling nothing more than a gentle throb, he arranged himself into a sitting position. Pressing his fingers to a sore temple, he raised his head to find a pair of legs standing approximately 3.27 feet away.
He watched Leonard stare at him for a few moments. Silence was finally broken with the deadpanned voice: "I was seconds away from being elbow-deep in your guts." The doctor's familiar grumbling and perpetual frown eased his nerves and he smiled inside. His nose picked up the scent of the doctor's drink and the curious part of his brain slowly awoke...however, his throat was loathe to catch on, when nothing but a croak escaped him.
"Ah, hang on." The good doctor immediately procured a glass of water and bent to his level. Their fingers brushed and Spock's arm tingled fuzzily from the contact. Openpainexposed. He quelled his thoughts, not allowing the emotional assault to betray his expression, and drank slowly as to not cause illness.
"Thank you, doctor. I appreciate your consideration for my privacy, but I must inquire as to why I am in your rooms and not my own?" He allowed an eyebrow to twitch slightly, knowing the doctor enjoyed his minute facial expressions.
He watched Leonard right himself and take a sip of his drink, talking down to him from where he stood, "Well, I hadn't exactly figured out what to do with you before your heart damn near exploded all over my sickbay, and I had to make a call since you were sedated. I wasn't gonna leave you there. I knew you wouldn't appreciate the... looks from nurses and questions from the crew. I didn't wanna dump you in your rooms, sedated, only to wake up alone and wonder what happened...Look, I'm rambling now. I brought you here because I'm a doctor, I can monitor you, assist you, and..." Spock noted the flushed and aggravated expression. Patiently waiting for the other to continue, he merely sipped his water and blinked. "And I'm your friend. I care about you", he finished weakly with a sour look.
Friend. Spock enjoyed this word, as it reminded him of the newly formed relationships he had made aboard the Enterprise. The bridge crew and Scotty had become familiar faces of his daily work routine, as well as personal. He and Uhura had parted amicably and remained close companions. Young Ensign Chekhov proved to be an enthusiastic student, often sharing theories and new data with him, eagerly awaiting his opinion. Sulu had taught him the noble art of fencing and they shared their thoughts and methods of meditation; Spock was currently engrossed in multiple texts of ancient Japanese techniques at Sulu's recommendation.
Scotty's explosive personality, humour, and story telling fascinated him every moment they were in each other's company. Having lost his own mother before joining Starfleet, he often shared stories of her life with him, while Spock himself tentatively spoke of trivial things regarding Amanda.
He couldn't help but feel warmed by thoughts of his Captain. Happy to serve under such a bright, young mind like his own, he was unable to think of his career anywhere else but at Jim's side...ready to haul him out of his next, great stunt.
His thoughts of friendship passed fleetingly in human seconds, but to his Vulcan mind, each individual had been carefully identified, and every moment spent with them caressed. Suddenly, his mind immediately retrieved a memory he was forcefully holding back while in Leonard's presence. A knife running along the crevice of groin and thigh, probing cold fingers. Spreading. Penetrating. "Please...". He frowned and swallowed heavily.
Leonard was oblivious to the internal turmoil and continued speaking, "Listen, the name of the game is get you washed, fed, and into bed."
He had at some point left and retrieved a set of towels and a robe. The brow was crinkled. He is expecting my injuries to impede cleansing.
Slowly, Spock lifted himself and attempted to stand straight. A piercing pain shot through his skull, hot fingers obscenely raking through his thoughts. He desperately clawed at his temples and bowed his head, letting out a shuddered sigh. Cool hands were immediately at his neck, and the beeping of a tricorder filled his ears.
The clinical voice was back, "I detected no cranial damage or hemorrhaging. No swelling, no rupturing. I don't understand what's causing this pain..." The doctor mumbled off a series of medical causes before Spock calmly explained...
"During my encounter with Nero, he forced..." Had he embraced a more human-way of life, he would have been unable to finish the thought. Shame. Violation. "He forced multiple mind-melds. There was substantial transference of memory and emotion, as well as slight manipulation on his part. My mind is simply reacting to an injury." His eyes avoided Leonard's face, unable to deduce if this explanation would be accepted in its entirety. I do not want him to look at me that way...
The doctor had turned to retrieve his mug and the bathing items. Taking a sip, he responded: "I know you're leaving a shit-load of...shit...out of that. We're talking about it later, believe you me. Now. We're getting you cleaned."
He slowly padded behind Leonard as he lead the way to his bathing facilities. He focused on the doctor's back in an attempt to ignore the tender pain he felt between his legs. Swallowing, he stopped at the threshold while a shower was prepared. He watched as the doctor tested the temperature of the spray before casually dropping the towels on the vanity and facing him.
Spock was aware that he would require assistance in disrobing. "You fucking halfbreed whore". It was logical to allow Leonard to aid him. He had already been laid bare to the man's eye and hand. He was a trained medical professional, as he often reminded the crew.
He nodded his silent consent and tried to control the confusing human flinch at the first sensation of cool hands at the hem of his shirt. Leonard appeared unsurprised at this, and his face was carefully arranged in a professional manner. Spock's arms immediately flew to cover himself when he was finally shirtless. Mentally scolding his reaction, he shakily lowered them, trying to understand why his body was rebelling.
The pull of loose, cotton pants broke the meticulous dam of control that had been already hanging by a thread. His hand snaked out, inhuman strength allowed him to yank the offending arm away from his person and pin it against the wall. Snarling into the face of his protector, he felt his heart stuttering to jump out of his chest and the rush of blood through his veins, as the other hand grasped at the tanned, cool throat.
As soon as the rage had spiked, it dissipated, leaving him exhausted, ashamed, and afraid. He watched as Leonard clutched his throat, coughing to regain breath. Collapsing to the floor, he breathed out frantically, "Doctor, please...please forgive my reaction. I do not...understand why I am being affected this way. I-" He stopped at the feel of hands on his shoulders. Keeping his head still bowed in shame, he continued: "It would be prudent to escort me to my quarters. I will see to my injuries and rest." He made to move away from those gentle hands, hands he did not deserve to feel after lashing out at their owner, so violently.
"Come on. Lean on me, I'll help you." Brown eyes met hazel. The urge to protest again died on his tongue. This face...
He swallowed and made to stand, leaning heavily on the doctor. The rest of his clothing was stripped from his body, and he was nudged into the steaming stall. He dipped his head under the spray and sighed with relief. Swaying slightly, he let his eyes drift down his body, noting the abrasions.
His throat felt tight at the hand print on his shoulder. The healing gash over his heart, the vicious bruises along his hips that curled into his inner thigh...The water swirling into the drain mixed with green...
"Spock..." He paused, almost abandoning his exploration at the warning tone of Leonard's voice.
His hand shakily reached down to feel around between his legs, gently brushing over his anus. Bringing his hand back into sight, a quiet, choked sob escaped his tight throat.
A quiet voice behind him. "Spock. I'm stepping in, okay? Behind you." Not coherent enough to form a response, he continued to gaze at the green staining his fingers. The clothed form, now wet from the spray, was close. With his logical mind temporarily out of commission, he leaned back against the doctor.
"C'mon, I got it. I have a master's degree in patient scrub downs." He could hear the slight smile in the voice. He was gently nudged sit in the alcove of the stall, as his hand was wiped clean by a cloth. "Computer, adjust shower head ten degrees". He was vaguely aware of a towel being laid across his lap.
Never once taking his eyes off of Leonard's face, he sat quietly as his body was cleansed of Nero. The fingers that should have been stroked by a lover, Nero had violently sucked on, inadvertently arousing him. The upper arms that might have been grasped in pleasure, admired for their deceiving strength, were pinned down by unrelenting hands that tore his flesh. He had often wondered of the sensations that would arise from having his neck caressed during mating. Nero had asphyxiated him during the forceful penetration, the pain unbearable.
The water streamed over him, his hair matted against his face. His quiet, broken voice was barely audible over the sound of the water, "Was it not enough?"
Leonard did not cease his ministrations, now gently stroking his left leg with the cloth. "What do you mean?"
"I was made to watch as my planet was destroyed. Disappearing into nothingness, as if it never existed to begin with. I witnessed my mother falling to her death. I now share the same fear and grief as he once did, and still does to this day." He blinked at his friend and pressed again, "Why was it not enough? I do not understand why he meant to-"
"Spock." The doctor had stopped and grasped his shoulders with both hands, hazel eyes eyeing him deeply, hair and clothing matted to his skin. The southern drawl soothed his ears, "Don't go down this road. This has been theorized about for centuries on Earth. The 'why' the 'how'...Power, sexuality, control, feelings of inadequacy, nature vs nurture...You ain't never gonna fully know why." The brown eyebrows knit together in angry sympathy. "It's the most...it's the ultimate violation a human can feel." The hands gripped him tighter as he pondered Leonard's words.
Neither of them spoke again as the doctor carefully washed him. Losing track of how much time had passed, he suddenly felt cold, noting that Leonard was now standing. His arm was outstretched, the cloth held in his hand, "I think you can take it from here. Let me know if you need help dressing, I'll just be outside the door." Nodding, Spock took the now green-tinged cloth and once the doctor had left, he removed the towel from his lap.
Gripping the edge of the alcove, he stared down at himself for a moment. A knife at his throat, a cold breath in his ear, "I want to see it." Ignoring his mind still, he allowed his penis to extend from its hidden cavity. Lathering the cloth, he meticulously scrubbed his inner thighs and around his genitalia. The faint scent of semen filled his nose and he felt the sudden urge to vomit. Furious with his body's betrayal, he began scrubbing spitefully, more and more cruel as his thoughts continued to focus on relieving himself of that scent. The pain was unregistered, his mind too gone in memory, and he was absently aware of the blood that now seeped from re-opened slices around his genitalia.
Until I am unable to scent it any longer. His vicious ministrations continued...
McCoy grimaced at the cold, wet fabric that clung to his skin. After peeling off the clothing, he pulled a button down shirt over himself and tied a towel around his waist. He fiddled with the buttons before abandoning them, content to leave it open. Heavily dropping down onto his bed, he picked up a PADD and opened a frequency with Jim:
>: Jim, I sent you the medical log. It's classified, so use medcode 'alpha-six-nine'. He's with me in my quarters, I just helped him shower. I think I should take some time outside sickbay and monitor him. Maybe a week? He needs privacy and he needs a firm hand. No doubt he'll be spouting protocol by morning and claim that he's fit for duty. Let me know what you think.
-Bones.
Waiting for Jim's reply, he mentally scanned various meat-free options, scowling at the replicator. God damned Vulcan hippie shit. "Computer, give me soup; no animal product, something with a light broth, and lentils or soy for protein. Nothing too heavy with dairy or carbohydrates. And water, two Celsius, with a vitamin C additive."
Carefully balancing the tray, he walked back to the small table near his bed and traded it for the blinking PADD.
>: This is turning into a shitshow with Starfleet, the Empire, and it gets even better...The Klingon high council. They've been all over each other, and me, all god damned day. I'll keep Spock out of it all for as long as I can. Bones, you have it on my authority to take as long as you want. If there's anything you need, you let me know ASAP. Anything, it's yours. Same goes to Spock. This ship needs both of you in perfect health, or we will surely perish. And by 'we', I mean 'I'.
I'll keep you posted.
-Jim.
McCoy rolled his eyes, chuckling at the captain's, admittedly true, sentiments. This ship wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell without me.
Erasing the messages, he looked up when Spock slowly strode into the room. He quickly took in the flushed, green skin and damp hair. Even with the bruises, McCoy appreciated the handsome face. All the times I thought of you being here with me... He rubbed his face, trying to clear his train of thought, and leaned his cheek on a fist.
Tentatively, the Vulcan lowered himself into the chair across from him. Perhaps a painkiller is in order before bed. "If I had it my way, you'd be eating a Kansas City steak. You need to get your protein up." He picked up the PADD and brought up the dish ingredients and origin, knowing Spock was incorrigibly curious. Sliding it toward the other man, he stood and pulled off his shirt.
"I'm going to take a proper shower, I'll be back in a few."
Spock nodded before bringing the spoon of the steaming liquid to his nose, trying to distract himself from the tanned, broad shoulders retreating the room. A pleasing scent, with a light green appearance. An intriguing array of lentils, perhaps of the Earth variety...
Chapter three
Series/Spoilers: Star Trek XI
Rating: NC17 I suppose
Characters/pairings: McCoy/Spock
Summary: Pre-slash, friendship, hurt/comfort. This contains mention of rape and is a continuation of ' The Doctor'.
Word count: 3731
A/N: This is a response to this prompt from the st_xi_kink meme: #mumble mumble# I sort of want Bones treating Spock for rape. UM. Please? . The series will switch from McCoy's and Spock's POV. I'm not sure how I feel about the second half of this chapter...Spock is difficult to write. Give me your suggestions and corrections! :) I have no beta.
Disclaimer: Do not own nor do I claim to. Also, this contains a Canadian-attempt at Southern...stuff. Sayings. Yeah, that's the ticket.
"Computer, end medical log." McCoy turned to Spock, who was slowly sliding off the table and carefully pulling on a set of replacement attire. With the shoulder and rib now healing, his motor skills were returning to normal. The rectal tearing, phaser burns, and knife wounds were reduced to scabbing or less. The only thing that remained was the slow throb of healing. A few more days, and there wouldn't be a mark on him, save for the bruises. McCoy had concentrated on the severe ailments, simply wanting to get Spock washed up and into bed.
"I'm taking you off duty for an indefinite period of time. So, basically whenever you feel you're ready to work and I approve, you're free to carry on. Fair?"
A sigh of exhaustion, "Yes, Doctor. That will be adequate."
"Okay. Now, the sick-bay should be cleared out at this hour. Chapel is the only one left, so we should be able to sneak you out. I'll escort you to your quarters..." McCoy trailed off as he observed the First Officer's eyes flit frantically around the room and his breathing hitched in panic.
"Spock." Upon getting no response, he pulled out his tricorder out and scanned the Vulcan's heart. Tachycardia. Blood pressure is through the roof. Christ, he's on the verge of arrest. "Spock, you need to calm down-Fuck." Abandoning the tricorder, he immediately paged Nurse Chapel.
"CHAPEL! I NEED SIX MILLIGRAMS OF BROMAZEPAM NOW!". He immediately grabbed Spock before he fell and held him down as he started convulsing. Nurse Chapel burst through the door and quickly administered the hypospray to Spock's neck, sighing as the body ceased trembling and the chest was moving at a more even pace. Furiously grabbing the forgotten tricorder, McCoy scanned for any lingering effects of arrest. Grumbling, he pocketed it and dismissed Chapel when she gestured to help lift Spock. Eyeing the doctor strangely, she disappeared through the doors.
McCoy sat down heavily next to the unconscious body and yanked on his hair, staring at the floor. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I can't leave him here in a bed, prone to the crew and questions. I won't just dump him in his room with no one. Oh, and, why am I not treating him like a patient? His eyes roamed over the figure: he was on his side, legs curled up and an arm attached to a delicate hand, was outstretched. His face was calm and open, free from thought as the sedatives worked their glorious magic. The traitorous part of his mind whispered, because he's not just another patient...
He was used to the pain of his work. Informing patients that there was nothing else he could do, noting the time of death, sliding the sheet over faces he'd never really forget. Death was inevitable. But if he could ease their passing, or try his damnedest to save them...Hell, it was worth it. His life was medicine and he owed it to patients, present and future, to do his best.
But this. This was something else. The slow throb began in his throat, and he tried to swallow around it., while the first sign of tears gathered at the corners of his eyes...What do I do?
Upon the sudden flood of self-questioning, he viciously stomped his turmoil back into nothingness. Objective, clinical, almost cold...is what saved lives. While his insides were alight with fiery passion, scientific curiosity, and always, always, in awe of the incredible things the body, alien and human, could do...his mind was focused, unwavering, unfeeling. He'd never shed a tear in his sickbay, he wasn't about to start now.
Grabbing a paper tissue from the drawer next to him, he stood and wet it before holding it close to his face, soothing his nerves. Throwing it absentmindedly into the bin, he turned and watched Spock as he made the decision. Grabbing his medical bag, he started filling it with the necessities as he spoke, "McCoy to Engineering".
A few seconds ticked by before the Scottish brogue filled the tiny room, "Evenin', Doc! Scotty here." McCoy was warmed inside by the man's cheery voice.
"Scotty, I need a favour...a favour that I need ya not to repeat to anyone. Medically confidential, understand?"
"Aye, I reckon, what'll it be?"
"I have Mr. Spock with me, and he's sustained injuries-" Before he could finish, a concerned Scotty interrupted.
"Aye, I heard. How is th'lad doing?"
"He's sedated right now. Patched 'im up good, not to worry. He'll be nagging our asses before you know it, so spread the word."
"Ah! Brilliant! Now, what is it ye need?"
"I need you to beam us both directly to my quar-" The sing-song voice interrupted once more, "No need to explain, Sir! Stay still". McCoy scowled at the smug grin he could hear in the voice. Those rumors are still goin' around?
He felt the sudden weightlessness filter throughout his body, and watched as his examination room slowly faded into the welcoming, familiar atmosphere of his quarters. "Computer, lights at fifty percent".
Sighing, he dropped his bag onto his desk and shed his outer uniform. Day went slower than a god damned June bug in molasses.
Content to pretend his commanding officer was not laying prone on his floor for a minute, he walked to the replicator. "Hot tea with lemon, honey, and a stick of cinnamon". Reaching to the nook where he kept the whiskey, he grabbed the bottle and poured a shot into the now steaming tea. Mixing it with the aromatic, brown stick, he brought the concoction to his nose and inhaled deeply.
Feeling relieved before even tasting it, he turned around and walked back toward Spock, sipping gently. He paused and smirked. Talk about bringin' your fuckin' work home with you. Trading his mug for a hypospray at his desk, he knelt beside the body and pressed the tool to the pale neck.
Light. The transporter room. Dinner with Nyota upon their return. Chess with the Doctor; he liked Leonard. Face smirking, but internally laughing at his Captain's antics on the transporter pad. "Energize". Phazers. Panic. Gone. Nero. Dark. Hurts. Table. Sneering. Cold. Alone. Fear. Where is Jim? Another mind. Melding. Nonoplease. Romulus, a pretty woman, Vulcan, his mother, his older Self, so much hate, pain, unhinged rage, savage lust. Tearing fabric. Knife. Legs and arms, strapped down. Save me. Opened. Exposed. Ripping, blinding pain...
Chekhov paging Leonard. Mr. Scott cursing. Jim shouting, holding him too tight. Light. Gentle. Hands of a doctor, eyes of a friend. Care. Safe. Cold table, warm fingers. "I need you to open your legs." Soft, clinical words. Panic. Darkness.
The onslaught of memory and emotion felt like an eternity, but Spock deduced that only seconds passed. He opened his eyes slowly, awareness settling over him. I am aboard the Enterprise, on the floor of someone's quarters. Not mine. Testing his previously injured shoulder, and feeling nothing more than a gentle throb, he arranged himself into a sitting position. Pressing his fingers to a sore temple, he raised his head to find a pair of legs standing approximately 3.27 feet away.
He watched Leonard stare at him for a few moments. Silence was finally broken with the deadpanned voice: "I was seconds away from being elbow-deep in your guts." The doctor's familiar grumbling and perpetual frown eased his nerves and he smiled inside. His nose picked up the scent of the doctor's drink and the curious part of his brain slowly awoke...however, his throat was loathe to catch on, when nothing but a croak escaped him.
"Ah, hang on." The good doctor immediately procured a glass of water and bent to his level. Their fingers brushed and Spock's arm tingled fuzzily from the contact. Openpainexposed. He quelled his thoughts, not allowing the emotional assault to betray his expression, and drank slowly as to not cause illness.
"Thank you, doctor. I appreciate your consideration for my privacy, but I must inquire as to why I am in your rooms and not my own?" He allowed an eyebrow to twitch slightly, knowing the doctor enjoyed his minute facial expressions.
He watched Leonard right himself and take a sip of his drink, talking down to him from where he stood, "Well, I hadn't exactly figured out what to do with you before your heart damn near exploded all over my sickbay, and I had to make a call since you were sedated. I wasn't gonna leave you there. I knew you wouldn't appreciate the... looks from nurses and questions from the crew. I didn't wanna dump you in your rooms, sedated, only to wake up alone and wonder what happened...Look, I'm rambling now. I brought you here because I'm a doctor, I can monitor you, assist you, and..." Spock noted the flushed and aggravated expression. Patiently waiting for the other to continue, he merely sipped his water and blinked. "And I'm your friend. I care about you", he finished weakly with a sour look.
Friend. Spock enjoyed this word, as it reminded him of the newly formed relationships he had made aboard the Enterprise. The bridge crew and Scotty had become familiar faces of his daily work routine, as well as personal. He and Uhura had parted amicably and remained close companions. Young Ensign Chekhov proved to be an enthusiastic student, often sharing theories and new data with him, eagerly awaiting his opinion. Sulu had taught him the noble art of fencing and they shared their thoughts and methods of meditation; Spock was currently engrossed in multiple texts of ancient Japanese techniques at Sulu's recommendation.
Scotty's explosive personality, humour, and story telling fascinated him every moment they were in each other's company. Having lost his own mother before joining Starfleet, he often shared stories of her life with him, while Spock himself tentatively spoke of trivial things regarding Amanda.
He couldn't help but feel warmed by thoughts of his Captain. Happy to serve under such a bright, young mind like his own, he was unable to think of his career anywhere else but at Jim's side...ready to haul him out of his next, great stunt.
His thoughts of friendship passed fleetingly in human seconds, but to his Vulcan mind, each individual had been carefully identified, and every moment spent with them caressed. Suddenly, his mind immediately retrieved a memory he was forcefully holding back while in Leonard's presence. A knife running along the crevice of groin and thigh, probing cold fingers. Spreading. Penetrating. "Please...". He frowned and swallowed heavily.
Leonard was oblivious to the internal turmoil and continued speaking, "Listen, the name of the game is get you washed, fed, and into bed."
He had at some point left and retrieved a set of towels and a robe. The brow was crinkled. He is expecting my injuries to impede cleansing.
Slowly, Spock lifted himself and attempted to stand straight. A piercing pain shot through his skull, hot fingers obscenely raking through his thoughts. He desperately clawed at his temples and bowed his head, letting out a shuddered sigh. Cool hands were immediately at his neck, and the beeping of a tricorder filled his ears.
The clinical voice was back, "I detected no cranial damage or hemorrhaging. No swelling, no rupturing. I don't understand what's causing this pain..." The doctor mumbled off a series of medical causes before Spock calmly explained...
"During my encounter with Nero, he forced..." Had he embraced a more human-way of life, he would have been unable to finish the thought. Shame. Violation. "He forced multiple mind-melds. There was substantial transference of memory and emotion, as well as slight manipulation on his part. My mind is simply reacting to an injury." His eyes avoided Leonard's face, unable to deduce if this explanation would be accepted in its entirety. I do not want him to look at me that way...
The doctor had turned to retrieve his mug and the bathing items. Taking a sip, he responded: "I know you're leaving a shit-load of...shit...out of that. We're talking about it later, believe you me. Now. We're getting you cleaned."
He slowly padded behind Leonard as he lead the way to his bathing facilities. He focused on the doctor's back in an attempt to ignore the tender pain he felt between his legs. Swallowing, he stopped at the threshold while a shower was prepared. He watched as the doctor tested the temperature of the spray before casually dropping the towels on the vanity and facing him.
Spock was aware that he would require assistance in disrobing. "You fucking halfbreed whore". It was logical to allow Leonard to aid him. He had already been laid bare to the man's eye and hand. He was a trained medical professional, as he often reminded the crew.
He nodded his silent consent and tried to control the confusing human flinch at the first sensation of cool hands at the hem of his shirt. Leonard appeared unsurprised at this, and his face was carefully arranged in a professional manner. Spock's arms immediately flew to cover himself when he was finally shirtless. Mentally scolding his reaction, he shakily lowered them, trying to understand why his body was rebelling.
The pull of loose, cotton pants broke the meticulous dam of control that had been already hanging by a thread. His hand snaked out, inhuman strength allowed him to yank the offending arm away from his person and pin it against the wall. Snarling into the face of his protector, he felt his heart stuttering to jump out of his chest and the rush of blood through his veins, as the other hand grasped at the tanned, cool throat.
As soon as the rage had spiked, it dissipated, leaving him exhausted, ashamed, and afraid. He watched as Leonard clutched his throat, coughing to regain breath. Collapsing to the floor, he breathed out frantically, "Doctor, please...please forgive my reaction. I do not...understand why I am being affected this way. I-" He stopped at the feel of hands on his shoulders. Keeping his head still bowed in shame, he continued: "It would be prudent to escort me to my quarters. I will see to my injuries and rest." He made to move away from those gentle hands, hands he did not deserve to feel after lashing out at their owner, so violently.
"Come on. Lean on me, I'll help you." Brown eyes met hazel. The urge to protest again died on his tongue. This face...
He swallowed and made to stand, leaning heavily on the doctor. The rest of his clothing was stripped from his body, and he was nudged into the steaming stall. He dipped his head under the spray and sighed with relief. Swaying slightly, he let his eyes drift down his body, noting the abrasions.
His throat felt tight at the hand print on his shoulder. The healing gash over his heart, the vicious bruises along his hips that curled into his inner thigh...The water swirling into the drain mixed with green...
"Spock..." He paused, almost abandoning his exploration at the warning tone of Leonard's voice.
His hand shakily reached down to feel around between his legs, gently brushing over his anus. Bringing his hand back into sight, a quiet, choked sob escaped his tight throat.
A quiet voice behind him. "Spock. I'm stepping in, okay? Behind you." Not coherent enough to form a response, he continued to gaze at the green staining his fingers. The clothed form, now wet from the spray, was close. With his logical mind temporarily out of commission, he leaned back against the doctor.
"C'mon, I got it. I have a master's degree in patient scrub downs." He could hear the slight smile in the voice. He was gently nudged sit in the alcove of the stall, as his hand was wiped clean by a cloth. "Computer, adjust shower head ten degrees". He was vaguely aware of a towel being laid across his lap.
Never once taking his eyes off of Leonard's face, he sat quietly as his body was cleansed of Nero. The fingers that should have been stroked by a lover, Nero had violently sucked on, inadvertently arousing him. The upper arms that might have been grasped in pleasure, admired for their deceiving strength, were pinned down by unrelenting hands that tore his flesh. He had often wondered of the sensations that would arise from having his neck caressed during mating. Nero had asphyxiated him during the forceful penetration, the pain unbearable.
The water streamed over him, his hair matted against his face. His quiet, broken voice was barely audible over the sound of the water, "Was it not enough?"
Leonard did not cease his ministrations, now gently stroking his left leg with the cloth. "What do you mean?"
"I was made to watch as my planet was destroyed. Disappearing into nothingness, as if it never existed to begin with. I witnessed my mother falling to her death. I now share the same fear and grief as he once did, and still does to this day." He blinked at his friend and pressed again, "Why was it not enough? I do not understand why he meant to-"
"Spock." The doctor had stopped and grasped his shoulders with both hands, hazel eyes eyeing him deeply, hair and clothing matted to his skin. The southern drawl soothed his ears, "Don't go down this road. This has been theorized about for centuries on Earth. The 'why' the 'how'...Power, sexuality, control, feelings of inadequacy, nature vs nurture...You ain't never gonna fully know why." The brown eyebrows knit together in angry sympathy. "It's the most...it's the ultimate violation a human can feel." The hands gripped him tighter as he pondered Leonard's words.
Neither of them spoke again as the doctor carefully washed him. Losing track of how much time had passed, he suddenly felt cold, noting that Leonard was now standing. His arm was outstretched, the cloth held in his hand, "I think you can take it from here. Let me know if you need help dressing, I'll just be outside the door." Nodding, Spock took the now green-tinged cloth and once the doctor had left, he removed the towel from his lap.
Gripping the edge of the alcove, he stared down at himself for a moment. A knife at his throat, a cold breath in his ear, "I want to see it." Ignoring his mind still, he allowed his penis to extend from its hidden cavity. Lathering the cloth, he meticulously scrubbed his inner thighs and around his genitalia. The faint scent of semen filled his nose and he felt the sudden urge to vomit. Furious with his body's betrayal, he began scrubbing spitefully, more and more cruel as his thoughts continued to focus on relieving himself of that scent. The pain was unregistered, his mind too gone in memory, and he was absently aware of the blood that now seeped from re-opened slices around his genitalia.
Until I am unable to scent it any longer. His vicious ministrations continued...
McCoy grimaced at the cold, wet fabric that clung to his skin. After peeling off the clothing, he pulled a button down shirt over himself and tied a towel around his waist. He fiddled with the buttons before abandoning them, content to leave it open. Heavily dropping down onto his bed, he picked up a PADD and opened a frequency with Jim:
>: Jim, I sent you the medical log. It's classified, so use medcode 'alpha-six-nine'. He's with me in my quarters, I just helped him shower. I think I should take some time outside sickbay and monitor him. Maybe a week? He needs privacy and he needs a firm hand. No doubt he'll be spouting protocol by morning and claim that he's fit for duty. Let me know what you think.
-Bones.
Waiting for Jim's reply, he mentally scanned various meat-free options, scowling at the replicator. God damned Vulcan hippie shit. "Computer, give me soup; no animal product, something with a light broth, and lentils or soy for protein. Nothing too heavy with dairy or carbohydrates. And water, two Celsius, with a vitamin C additive."
Carefully balancing the tray, he walked back to the small table near his bed and traded it for the blinking PADD.
>: This is turning into a shitshow with Starfleet, the Empire, and it gets even better...The Klingon high council. They've been all over each other, and me, all god damned day. I'll keep Spock out of it all for as long as I can. Bones, you have it on my authority to take as long as you want. If there's anything you need, you let me know ASAP. Anything, it's yours. Same goes to Spock. This ship needs both of you in perfect health, or we will surely perish. And by 'we', I mean 'I'.
I'll keep you posted.
-Jim.
McCoy rolled his eyes, chuckling at the captain's, admittedly true, sentiments. This ship wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell without me.
Erasing the messages, he looked up when Spock slowly strode into the room. He quickly took in the flushed, green skin and damp hair. Even with the bruises, McCoy appreciated the handsome face. All the times I thought of you being here with me... He rubbed his face, trying to clear his train of thought, and leaned his cheek on a fist.
Tentatively, the Vulcan lowered himself into the chair across from him. Perhaps a painkiller is in order before bed. "If I had it my way, you'd be eating a Kansas City steak. You need to get your protein up." He picked up the PADD and brought up the dish ingredients and origin, knowing Spock was incorrigibly curious. Sliding it toward the other man, he stood and pulled off his shirt.
"I'm going to take a proper shower, I'll be back in a few."
Spock nodded before bringing the spoon of the steaming liquid to his nose, trying to distract himself from the tanned, broad shoulders retreating the room. A pleasing scent, with a light green appearance. An intriguing array of lentils, perhaps of the Earth variety...
Chapter three