Introduction (as of 4/2/14)

Hi guys! Thanks for stopping by to check out this story. It's long and rambling and super-sweet, if you hang in there. Looking back, the first few chapters are a bit hard to get through, but as usual, hindsight is always 20/20. Read, have fun, and reviews/constructive criticism always welcome!

Disclaimer: I, of course, own none of these characters.

Rated M for language and mature situations. It is a slashfic, so read at your own risk.

This particular story features a pairing that I feel doesn't get enough attention. With that said, it is challenging to write, and I will continue this story if you guys want me to. But you have to tell me! Read and review, and consider yourself warned. I am hopeless when it comes to writing romance.

Chapter 1

McCoy groaned and flexed his hands, trying to keep the blood flowing to his ever-numbing fingers. His wrists were chafed, but that wasn't as annoying as his nose. Which was rubbed raw by the stone wall he was chained up against. And it was damn clever of them to chain him up facing the wall instead of back to the wall, because first of all it was inconvenient as shit, and second of all, it added to the psychological torment of being chained. His neck had long since seized up from craning around to keep watch on the door, and all he could stare at now was a grey. stone. wall. He tried counting the cracks, and then tracing in the duct with his nose, and then just banging his head against the wall. Which distracted him from the constant pain of the hole in his leg. That was still leaking blood. Which was making him more and more tired and weak. Which was making it hard to stand up straight. Which was chafing his wrists. It was a vicious damn circle. And as he closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at that fucking wall, he began to think about how he had gotten into this situation in the first place. And he came to the conclusion, like all the other times he had ended up tied up in some hell-hole, that it was abso-fucking-lutely not his fault.

So they were off, traipsing through God knows where doing God knows what, fresh off their last mission and gallivanting through space, when they happened upon a lovely little planet. With a lovely little civilization on it. But, it was a lovely little new planet. With a lovely little new civilization. So naturally they had to check it out. And McCoy was of course a little more than leery, because he knew better than most that when they find lovely little new planets with lovely little new civilizations was usually when shit hits the fan. So of course they had to check it out. And their resident pointy-eared sarcastic son-of-a-bitch green-blooded Vulcan looked at his sciency tools and did some sciency things, all the while muttering his little catchphrases like "interesting" and even busting out "fascinating," which he usually reserved for phenomena that gave McCoy minor heart palpitations. And of course Jim had to go bounding over like an eager puppy because ooo science and pretty shiny new things and Mr. Spock said fascinating and now I have to know. So they murmured for a bit, heads together, while McCoy seethed, and then Jim stood back to let Mr. Spock announce his findings, and it turns out that this little planet in the middle of bumblefuck nowhere was having a civil war. Between the Greeks and the Romans.

McCoy shook his head as he followed Jim and Spock to the conference room. For once they were taking his advice and actually thinking before beaming down to the surface with nothing but a smile and a wave. But he realized that, as they took their seats with a shudder, perhaps it wasn't so much his advice, but the memories of past experiences with such historic figures. But then again, they never learn, do they?

It was decided that caution was the word with this planet. A shuttle would be flown into low orbit first to make some clearer observations. If all was clear, the shuttle would proceed into the lower atmosphere to observe the planet and its people, hopefully out of harm's way. The party of two was the pilot, and Ensign Marshall, and an ancient Terran historian who's name escaped McCoy. It's not as if she had much reason to go on many missions. Lieutenant Something. Helena? That's ironically appropriate. Anyway, those two made their way down to the shuttlebay, and McCoy prayed that, for once, nothing would go wrong.

Oh fuck me. Fuck me, McCoy thought as he raced down the corridor. "Doctor McCoy, please report to the bridge. Urgent, McCoy to the bridge." He ignored it and continued his mad dash to the transporter room.

He knew shit would go down, he knew it. He had been waiting, tense, in his office for the inevitable. When Nurse Chapel burst in and told him that the shuttle had been hit with an anti-aircraft missile and crashed and that he was wanted on the bridge, he stood up, grabbed an emergency med kit, and took off. Fuck their procedural bullshit, he was pulling some CMO strings and going down there now. A fucking anti-aircraft missile. Jesus Christ. I hate those damn Greco-Roman fuckers. He made it down to the transporter room and vaulted onto the pad. The security guy at the console started to say, "Sir, I am not authorized to beam anyone-" but McCoy cut him off and yelled, "Beam me down to the crash site now!" And as the transporter room disappeared he hoped that they landed somewhere unoccupied.

Ok, yeah, the transporter thing was a stretch, but I needed something, all right? If you want me to continue I will, otherwise I guess I'll just leave the cliffhanger. And nobody needs that, right?