Wander Darkling 1/?
Doom/Star Trek XI/Heroes Crossover
The others were out cold--covered in bruises, phaser burns, blood. John couldn't help them, not with his medical supplies dropped down a cliff and the Enterprise out of reach. He'd bandaged and re-set what he could, but at least three of the away team would be dead by morning (and he felt so very selfish that he cared more about the fact that Jim would survive than others would die).
He heard their attackers approaching the shelter they'd managed to find, could feel the thrum of renewed violence wafting through the forest. Another check, senses flowing over the room, convinced him that if he was ever going to break character, now was the opportune moment.
John slipped out into the shadows, stalking his enemies with skills he hadn't used in decades, but never forgot. Muscle memory took him around trees, under brush, silently. Taking them out was ridiculously easy, he didn't think they were expecting any resistance, and certainly not a human-looking doctor to be the one that gave it. He didn't use weapons, bare hands more than effective, and kept any of them from firing a shot.
When he returned, at first he thought he'd succeeded in being just quiet enough. The heartbeats and breathing were the same as before he left, but in the darkness there was a pair of feral brown eyes staring him down.
"Spock."
Lips twisted into what looked ridiculously like a smirk, considering how unemotional Spock tended to be. "I assume all of our attackers have been taken care of...Doctor?"
He shifted, running through all the possible answers, all the meanings behind Spock's reaction. It wasn't quite what he was expecting, but then...there had always been something a little off about Spock, something that couldn't be explained away by him being a halfling raised as a Vulcan.
"What are you, Spock?" He paced forward, keeping his steps and voice light despite the tension thrumming through him.
The smirk only seemed to deepen, the dark eyes glittering in what little light there was. "I could ask you the same thing. You're not the simple, caustic healer you make yourself out to be, are you?"
A moan came from nearby and they both stopped talking, John kneeling down to check on the ensign. It wouldn't be long until he was dead, but if he woke up John would have to sedate him, making sure he went out easily. He hoped he wouldn't have to, he'd already killed more today than he had in years. Shuddering, he felt at the pulse and relaxed.
"Doctor." John stiffened, realizing that Spock was right behind him and he hadn't even noticed. "What are you?" A hand brushed over the back of his neck and he wondered what Spock had planned--there was no way he could know that a broken neck or torn artery wasn't going to end John's life, after are. "I'll admit: you fascinate me. The way you move when you think no one else is watching, the darkness that wells up in your eyes when you're truly angry--part of me thinks we're kindred, Doctor. Do you feel the connection like I do?"
John stood, brushing the hand away, but Spock only stepped closer, body pressed against John's back, lips brushing against his ears. Hands and ears, John thought wildly, I wonder if he's Vulcan-flirting with me.
"I think it's fate. That we ended up on the same ship, at the same time."
"What are you?" John repeated, desperately needing to know what he was facing.
Spock twisted him around with Vulcan strength and something else, something that seemed to push at John even where Spock's hands weren't touching. "My name is Sylar."