Shards
Izzyaro
Yes, it's a post-'Mirror, Mirror' fic. You can't love Bones, whump, and Bones whump, and not cover this episode. It's been going round in my head for ages, and I had to get it out somewhere. I can't promise regular updates, but I hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
He rematerialises and its all he can do to keep from collapsing on the pad. His hands shake and his vision blurs, and for once it isn't because of the ordeal of having his atoms scattered across dimensions. He's pathetically grateful that Jim is too preoccupied with getting every last detail of what happened while they were gone from Spock to notice him practically flee from the room.
A relentless grip on his wrist, pinning him in place, icy hands on his face, fingers in his mind searching, pinching, breaking...
He forces the memories away. He's the CMO of the Federation's flagship; he doesn't have time to be scared. He can't afford to be weak, not when Jim depends on him to look after over four hundred lives.
Pain. Memories examined and discarded with no regard for his safety, let alone comfort, unable to fight or run or even scream, unable to do anything but watch...
He can't fight it. The pain is too raw, too fierce. His head is pounding and the walls are starting to spin. It's pure luck that he makes it back to his quarters, but the silence that greets him as he locks the door is overwhelming.
Cold brown eyes, familiar yet completely different, he never thought he would have cause to fear this, not from him, even a different him...
He never makes it to the bed. He slides down the wall like the victim he was reduced to and fights to keep his mind from shattering.
Weak. Lost. Helpless.
He loses the fight.
How long he stays there he doesn't know. All the memories he had thought dealt with and laid to rest are racing through his mind, overwhelming him in a seemingly endless storm of terror and despair. His father's death, Jocelyn leaving, losing Joanna, watching Jim and Spock nearly kill each other... They spin round and round in his head, and there is absolutely nothing he can do to stop it.
And through it all he feels those icy fingers in his mind, ripping out the deepest most private parts of himself and throwing them out for the whole world to see. The violation sickens him to his very core, and before he knows what he's doing he's retching and convulsing more violently than he ever has in his life. He can't move, can't call for help, so he just curls up and endures.
It seems like it lasts forever, but eventually the horror dulls to a numbness that isn't really much better. He finds himself sprawled on the floor in a pile of his own vomit, and then all he can think of is getting into the shower. He flings himself himself in fully clothed, turns the sonic up as high as it can go and tries desperately to scrub away the filth of what has happened.
It works about as well as he had expected. He ends up curled in a ball, staring at the wall in front of him, because doing anything else, even turning off the shower, would require energy that he simply doesn't have to spare. Not if he wants to avoid falling to pieces.
Eventually, he realises he'll be missed soon, if he hasn't been already, and forces himself to his feet and over to the sink. His reflection stares back at him, face pale and drawn, but his eyes... He has to look away.
If he can't hide it from himself, how is he supposed to hide it from anyone else?
He has to.
Leonard McCoy takes a deep breath, then another, and straightens up. He is a doctor, and a Starfleet officer. He can survive this. He will survive this.
But it will be a long time before he forgets.
Any feedback would be very much appreciated.