Dissociation: Chapter Nine

"Jim?"

Someone was talking to him. The voice sounded muffled.

"Jim, can you hear me?"

He shuddered as his eyes fluttered open. Whatever he was leaning against was rigid and cold. As he shifted his body, his muscles protested, sending waves of pain through him. His stomach ached with nausea.

"C'mon, kid. You gotta let me know you're okay."

Kirk exhaled deeply, his lungs burning. He tried desperately not to throw up. Swallowing hard, he finally forced his eyes completely open. He could see a figure in his peripheral vision.

"Bones?"

"Right here, Jim." The man's face was close to the transparent wall that separated them. His brows furrowed over his concerned hazel eyes. "Don't move around too much. Get your bearings."

Jim sighed and let his eyelids droop. He was so incredibly tired. All he wanted to do was sleep for days.

And then wake up and have the events of the last few months—the last week—just be part of a horrible nightmare.

"I don't think that'll be an issue. I feel like shit." Jim licked his dry lips and rubbed at his arm. He looked down to see a piece of white gauze taped to his skin. Moving his hand up his bicep, he massaged the healed-over phaser burn Nyota had given him. "What happened?"

McCoy hesitated long enough for Jim to open his eyes again and tilt his head in the Doctor's direction. Kirk immediately noticed the worry in his expression.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Jim swallowed hard. "Uhura…did I hurt her?"

"No. Just a few superficial scratches and bruises." McCoy leaned closer to the glass. He was seated on the floor, an arm draped over his raised knee. "I need you to think, Jim. What's the last thing you recall doing?"

"I made you chase me. I ended up…" He raised his eyes and scanned the brig. "…in here. I shot at everyone."

"Yeah, you did."

"Bones, I'm scared."

McCoy pressed his hand up to the barrier. "I know, kid. We all are."

"You should just put me out of my misery." Jim sighed and let his forehead thump against the partition.

"Now you listen to me, goddammit." McCoy's brows wrinkled sternly. "Things may seem like total shit right now—and believe me, they are. But it's nothin' we can't tackle head-on."

"You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

"Who says I'm lying?" McCoy drummed his fingers on his knee.

"Just forget about me, Bones." Jim's eyes were sad and defeated. "I don't want to drag you down with me."

"I'm not goin' anywhere, you little shit." He grabbed the PADD on the floor next to him and tapped in a few commands. The screen lit up and he turned it towards Jim. "You see this?"

Jim scanned the information on the screen. The brightness of the brig was starting to hurt his eyes, and looking at the PADD made it worse. After a moment, he turned away and hung his head. "So you think that's what I've got?"

Dissociative Identity Disorder.

I know there's another Jim in me…

He's trying to break free every chance he gets.

"Yes, I do." McCoy set the device down on the polished floor. "Are you ready to be honest with me? Tell me what I want to hear."

"And what's that?"

"I want you to admit that you've known about this 'other Jim'. That you've been hiding him from me."

Kirk finally raised his chin to look at the doctor. "You already seem to know the answer."

"But I want to hear it from your mouth. Jim…" His eyes were pleading. "…come clean, alright? Everything you volunteer now will help with treatment courses later. It might even work to save you with…" McCoy looked away.

"Starfleet?"

"Yes. We need you to cooperate, Jim. It's the only way I'm going to be able to do some mighty big convincing."

"We both know it won't matter. Nothing you can shove down their throats will change the fact that I'm a criminal."

"Don't say that. We've got to at least try!"

"Chekov is fighting for his life, Uhura will probably never want to come near me again, and Carol…I raped her. You can't tell me that you'll be able to make the brass believe that I wasn't at fault." Jim's voice was solemn. "They'll take my Captaincy, my ship—my life. And I deserve it."

"No one deserves mental illness, Jim. And I'm convinced that yours is treatable—maybe even curable."

"You can't back that up. What proof do you have?"

McCoy looked down at his boots, sighing deeply. "Not a lot right now, but give me some time."

Kirk snorted. "I don't think we have that luxury, Bones. In case you haven't noticed, I'm in the brig. My ship is no doubt heading back to Federation space right now to deliver me straight to the Admiralty. The love of my life is terrified of me, my crew hates me, and you're trying to tell me that you've 'got this'? What do you call this, huh?" Jim gestured broadly with his arms.

"I call it 'temporary'." McCoy sat silently for a second before continuing. "Have a little faith, Jim. I do."

"It's a lost cause. I'm…a lost cause."

"Would M'Benga and I have worked our asses off for the six hours you were out cold refining his serum if you were a 'lost cause'?" He pointed to the spot on Kirk's arm covered in a bandage. "It's been runnin' through your veins for just over an hour now. And you know what? No 'other Jim'."

Kirk absentmindedly rubbed the area, the adhesive of the securing tape pulling at the fine hairs on his upper forearm.

"It's holding, Jim. It's not going to cure the cells that have already mutated, but it'll keep new ones from popping up. It's slowing the enzyme." He managed a small smile. "I'm hopeful that it will hold up long enough for us to come up with something. I can't guarantee that it'll help with the manic effects of the already mutated cells, but I guess we'll just have to play that one by ear."

"So I could still turn? I could still lash out?"

"Yes. So you know why I can't let you out of here, right?"

Kirk nodded slowly, exhaustion creeping up on him. "I wouldn't want me roaming the halls if I had a choice."

"I'm going to figure this out Jim. That's a promise." He stood, gathering his belongings. "I'm not going to let you down. I'll hunt to the ends of the galaxy to cure this if I have to."

"You just might have to."

"You'd do the same for me."

Kirk nodded. "I would…I don't know about this other guy, though."

"That 'other guy' is going to be a distant memory soon. I'm going to go back to Sick Bay and get to work. I'll come back and check on you later."

Jim didn't offer a response. He just blew out a long, exhausted breath and closed his eyes.

XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX

McCoy didn't expect to find Carol Marcus outside of the brig.

She leaned against a bulkhead. Her eyes were puffy and swollen, her hair messy, her off-duty pants rumpled. She looked up at him, a mixed expression of sadness and fear on her face.

"I wouldn't go in there. He's pretty…" McCoy shook his head. "…pretty…Hell, I don't have a clue what he is. But I do know that seeing you probably wouldn't help right now."

"I don't quite know why I came down here, to be honest." She sighed deeply.

The Doctor drummed his fingers on the back of his PADD. "We all deal with things differently. Maybe you thought seeing him locked up would give you a sense of security? Knowing that he can't hurt you—or anyone else?"

"Maybe." She looked at the brig door.

"If you really wanted to see him, I'd go in with you."

She shook her head and looked down at her boots. "No. I…" She ran a hand through her golden locks. "…I don't know what I want right now."

"You want to go somewhere and talk privately?" He motioned towards the turbolift. "It might help."

Carol sniffled and wiped her nose on a lace handkerchief she held in her hand.

"That's beautiful. Looks old."

"It was my grandmother's. When I was a child, I used to hold onto it when I was feeling down or scared."

McCoy offered a warm smile. "Some things never change, huh?"

She nodded silently and followed after him as he began walking.

Within minutes, they ended up at McCoy's personal quarters. He knew that he should be working on Jim's treatment, but Carol had looked so lost and in need of a friend. And an hour spent off the clock wouldn't hurt anyway—it wasn't like Kirk was going anywhere.

He didn't know what exactly brought him to his cabin and not his office. Maybe to make her feel more at home? To avoid potential failures in Sick Bay?

To hide…

"C'mon in." He gestured into the dark stateroom with his hands. "Make yourself at home. Computer, lights fifty percent."

The lighting came up as the door closed behind them. Carol sat down on the couch, tucking her legs up under her body. She rubbed her hands up and down her biceps.

"Cold?"

"A little. I'm really not feeling all that great."

"You want a medical workup?"

She shook her head. "No, thank you. I think it's just stress."

McCoy adjusted the heat in the room before moving into the small kitchenette. Moments later, he returned with a mug of—replicated—hot cocoa. "It's not home-made, but Jim swears the marshmallows taste like the real deal."

Carol accepted the steaming cup, wrapping her dainty fingers around it. After taking a moment to blow away the steam, she sipped, a small smile crossing her lips. "Jim's right, it's not bad." Her eyes saddened at the mention of his name. "Is he…how is he?"

McCoy sat back into the plush couch, his own cup in hand. "Beside himself. Literally."

"Does he even realize what he's done?"

"Yes." McCoy blew out a long breath before continuing. "He's extremely remorseful…for now."

"You think he'll turn again, don't you?"

The Doctor nodded. "I can only tweak M'Benga's serum so much. It won't hold off the enzymes for long. For the moment he's stable, but I can't guarantee he'll stay that way."

"You know, I was thinking this morning, before everything went to Hell…" She sipped her cocoa. "…I remembered when Jim and I first began seeing each other. He was so caring, so romantic."

"He still is, Carol. That demon's just stifling him right now."

"He sings, you know. Country music." She wiped her eyes with her thumb. "He used to serenade me at night, in the darkness of his cabin. I'm afraid that I'll never get that again. I'm afraid…of him."

"I'm going to help him, I promise. I…" McCoy's communicator beeped. "Hang on a sec, Carol. McCoy here."

"Doctor, Ensign Chekov is awake. We thought you should know."

"Thanks. I'll be right down." He disconnected the signal. "Look, I've got to go. But I want to finish this conversation, alright? I think it'll do us both some good."

"If you say so."

"I know so." Leonard dropped his mug into the sink. "Feel free to stay and finish your cocoa. I trust you not to steal anything. Unless you want to lift that God-awful painting of the Gorn twins Jim insisted I 'had to have'." He winked.

Carol actually giggled as he left.

XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX

"Let's try again."

McCoy tapped his finger on the screen in front of him. M'Benga, working in tandem, zeroed in on the blood sample in question. With a flutter of his fingers, the computer removed a portion of the liquid from the test tube and placed it on a microscope slide. Within seconds, the image of the cells appeared on the vidscreen.

"Oh my God, look at them all." M'Benga held his hand over his mouth in awe. "They've doubled, maybe even tripled in number since the last one."

The tiny enzymes attached to the red blood cells were like a plague. Every surface of the cells was covered in them. Dozens of leucocytes tried desperately to latch on to the attackers, only to shrivel and fall to the wayside almost instantly.

"Len, this is insane."

McCoy sighed and grabbed his coffee mug, draining the remnants of his fourth serving in just under two hours. "You said it. What the hell made those scientists back then think jerking around with genetics would get them anywhere good?"

"I'm sure they were just trying to better the human race…in the beginning."

"Well, they sure fucked up." McCoy rubbed his aching neck muscles, feeling a knot at the base of his skull. He winced as his fingers prodded it. "Augments, my ass."

"What if we blast the enzymes with low-level radiation? Khan's blood still has a large enough effect on the Captain that he might be shielded from any side-effects."

"It's worth a shot." McCoy typed in a few commands and the isolated work area in front of them was bathed in a soft yellow light. They both looked up at the screen to see the results.

The enzymes ballooned in size and devoured the cells whole.

"Well, shit."

"At least now we know, though." M'Benga stood, popping his back with a satisfied sigh. "You want another cup of coffee?"

"Why not? It's not like we're going anywhere."

"I'll go to the mess and get us something to eat, too. I need to stretch my legs anyway."

McCoy just grunted his response and turned his attention back to his work. He removed another blood sample from the quickly dwindling on-hand supply and the computer prepared another slide. After the isolation chamber had been cleared and disinfected, the cells were placed inside.

He just stared at them.

He was so tired. It felt as if nothing he was doing was producing any results. True, he and M'Benga had worked to find a remedy to keep Jim at bay, but they were no closer to a cure. And time was running out.

For everyone.

Looking at his chronometer, he blew out a long, defeated breath. They would be back to Earth in six days. If he and M'Benga didn't come up with something—anything more—Jim would no doubt be removed from his position and be incarcerated.

Think, damn you!

There's got to be a detail you've overlooked.

Something that can keep these little asshole enzymes in check.

They had tried radiation. Nerve agents. Antibiotics. Hell, they had even tried acid.

Nothing worked.

Leonard hung his head in defeat. After a long maudlin moment, he straightened up and looked around the lab. Deciding to stand, he began to rifle through the cabinets and drawers, trying to find anything—no matter how absurd it may be—to use on the sample.

Several minutes passed, McCoy making his way around the room. While he hadn't managed to find anything suitable for their cause, he did come across a gold pen he thought he had lost. It was shoved in a drawer, underneath some petri dishes. He held the object in his hand, rolling the smooth casing over his skin.

It had been a present from Jim.

McCoy couldn't remember the occasion now, but he did know that Kirk had been so pleased with himself when he presented it. Kirk was always big on tangible items. He loved the smell of an old paper-bound book, the feel of a heavy traditional magnifying glass in his hand as he hunched over to read the small text. Leonard remembered their time at the Academy, how Jim would always find himself in possession of an actual magazine or leather-bound tome. McCoy never knew where he got them from, but the joy on Kirk's face as he read was undeniable.

In the age where technology ruled, there was something so simple about watching Jim with his nose in a book. He had given the Doctor a gift once of his favorite novel, and it was something that McCoy treasured.

When Jim had gifted him the gold pen, his reasoning was simple.

"You rely too much on the computer, Bones. Try writing down your thoughts the old-fashioned way. It's relaxing."

McCoy couldn't recall just how the pen had come to rest in the drawer—forgotten—but he was glad he had found it again. And he vowed to do just what Jim had encouraged him to do.

He would keep a journal.

Not medical logs, not patient charts.

His own thoughts.

But I'm not going to start until this is over.

I don't want to remember this when I'm old and gray.

Pocketing the pen, he kept moving. He opened a specially designed cooling cabinet and came face to face with an unexpected surprise.

It's better than nothing…

Who knows?

McCoy grabbed the glass beaker and dashed to the lab station. It was cold on his hands. Carefully opening the top, he loaded the liquid into the computer system with a shielded pipet. Within seconds, he had instructed the computer to administer his find.

A smile graced his lips as the enzymes began to lose their hold on the cells. They didn't fall off, but their influence over them was diminished greatly.

It wasn't a complete fix, but it might just buy them the time they needed to find one.

Preparing another sample, he tried again. He needed to make sure it wasn't a fluke.

And just like the first time, the enzymes lost some of their power.

Hot damn!

Now to find a way to keep this shit cold.

The door swished open behind him, producing M'Benga and a tray laden with food. "I didn't know what you were in the mood for so I just got a little of everything."

McCoy jumped up and rushed at his colleague. "No time! I think I may have found a temporary solution!" He pointed to the screen above the workstation.

"What happened? What did you do?"

"A little bit of Prycotase, that's what I did."

M'Benga looked at him in confusion. "Prycotase? What on Earth made you try that stuff? It's for treating Vulcan skin conditions."

"Hey, when you're at the end of your rope, even the weirdest things are worth a shot. Besides, I figured the extreme temperature might be a catalyst."

Both men stared at the screen for a long moment.

"We'll need to do some more research before we put it in the Captain's body. And we need to figure out a way to rig a delivery system that will keep it cold enough so it doesn't degrade."

McCoy grabbed a sandwich off of the tray. "Well, it's a good thing you brought back enough food. Let's get to work."

XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX

The Next Morning

"Hold still."

McCoy thumped his finger against a vein in Kirk's arm. When it plumped up, he inserted a long, thin needle into Jim's flesh and pushed the plunger on the syringe. Jim winced at the pressure and tried to pull his arm back through the iris in the prison wall, but the Doctor held firm.

"I'm almost done, just hang on." He finished pushing the meds and withdrew the needle. He held a small piece of gauze over the weeping wound. "Hold that on there for a minute or two."

"Why didn't you use a hypo?" Jim rubbed his arm.

"This suspension's too thick for a hypospray. Plus, it needs to be super-cooled and it would jam up the mechanism." He watched as Kirk shivered in his cell. "You want the heat turned up? You're gonna be cold for a while."

Kirk shook his head. "No. I deserve to suffer, anyway."

"Don't talk like that. No one deserves to be in pain. Well…maybe Khan."

Jim snorted. "I wish I would have gotten a crack at him."

"Spock gave him enough for all of us, believe me." He thrust a small scanner through the hole in the wall. "Hold this on your chest for a few seconds; I need to get a cardiac reading. And breathe steady."

Jim obliged, taking deep, even breaths. The device beeped after a quick moment and he handed it back. McCoy immediately handed him another medical scanner.

"Now press this one against your forehead."

Kirk huffed in annoyance. "Isn't this supposed to be your job?"

McCoy scowled and shook his finger at his imprisoned friend. "Well, I can't just let you out and into Medical for a proper exam, can I?"

Jim's eyes saddened. "No, I suppose not." The scanner finished its cycle and McCoy held out his hand. Kirk placed it in his palm. "Anything else?"

"Not right now."

Jim shivered again. "How long before we know if it worked?"

"Dunno, kid. I'll draw blood every two hours to analyze the components. I'm also going to stick around to keep an eye on your mental state. Let me know if you feel funny." He beckoned for Jim's wrist. As soon as Kirk slid his arm through, McCoy attached a thin bracelet.

"Funny? Bones, I've been feeling like shit for so long, I don't know if I can tell the difference." He looked down at his arm. "What's this?"

McCoy closed the iris on the cell and pushed it off to the side. "A bio-monitor. Since I can't have you on a biobed, it's the next best thing."

Jim moved away from the window and sat on the small bed. He drew his knees up to his body and rubbed his hands on his biceps. His teeth began to chatter, his lips turning blue.

The doctor tapped in a few commands on the side panel, raising the temperature of the cell. "The deep chill should abate within an hour, Jim. It's freezin' you because it was so cold going in."

"Why?"

"It's a compound that needs to be kept at a constant frigid temperature. Otherwise it disintegrates."

"Oh." Kirk's eyes closed for a moment. "I'm really tired, Bones."

"Yeah, we figured that might be one of the side effects." He pulled up a small rolling stool. "Try and get some rest, alright? I'm going to stick around for a while and get some scans."

Jim lay down on the bed, turning to face the wall. His voice trailed off as he fell asleep. "I'm sorry for everything …"

McCoy looked at the screen on his PADD, watching as Kirk's vitals began to even off as he was quickly pulled into his dreams. He minimized the medical readout and sent it to the corner of the screen. Grabbing for his lately ever-present cup of coffee, he settled in and went back to his research.

More than an hour passed, the Doctor engrossed in his work, pausing every once and a while to peek in on his patient—his friend—or check this statistics. Jim slept fitfully for quite a while, tossing and turning until his body finally succumbed to exhaustion.

Nose-deep in hematological genetic studies, McCoy didn't even notice someone come up behind him.

"I see that the Captain is asleep."

Leonard jumped, his PADD clattering to the floor as his hand shot up over his heart in fright. "Christ almighty, Spock! You scared the bejesus out of me!"

The Vulcan quirked an eyebrow. "I am unfamiliar with that term. Is 'bejesus' a form of excrement?"

McCoy rolled his eyes. "You've got to be kidding me…"

"I am not capable of 'kidding', Doctor."

"You got that right." He stood, bending over to retrieve his hastily discarded device. He motioned in Kirk's direction. "He's been asleep for about an hour. I've got to wake him in another to draw blood."

"Has he remained stable?"

"There hasn't been any reoccurrence of the split personality, if that's what you're getting at." He sighed deeply, staring at his friend. "I can't guarantee that the other guy won't come back without any warning, though."

"What progress have you and Doctor M'Benga made? Have you had any success with a cure?"

"We were able to cobble together a makeshift serum to counteract some of the mutations. But it's a temporary fix. I know it won't hold forever."

"The ship is six-point-five days from Earth. Do you foresee you will have made significant progress? I am certain Starfleet will be expecting an update."

"I've been combing through every medical journal and research study I can get my hands on. There's not a goddamn thing." McCoy rubbed the base of his neck, letting his head droop slightly. "It's not every day a madman's blood is used to bring a Starfleet Captain back to life—and then have said blood turn that life upside down."

Spock moved closer to the clear wall, staring in at Kirk. McCoy watched as the Vulcan stood silently for a long moment, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Jim never stirred on the tiny bed.

"Spock…if we can't find a cure—and there's a good possibility of that—Jim'll have to be hospitalized in a secure facility back on Earth. More than likely for the rest of his life."

It was only after several moments that the First Officer finally spoke again. "Then please see to it that both you and Doctor M'Benga do not fail in your endeavor." The Vulcan finally turned around, his expression stoic.

"I'm going to try my damndest. But you have to promise me that you'll see to it that I get as much time as I need…if you catch my drift."

Spock cocked his head. "Doctor, I believe you are asking me to delay our arrival to Earth."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "That's ten points for you, Commander Obvious."

"I was not aware we were playing a game. And my formal title bears no resembl—"

"Holy Hell, Spock! Just…forget it." McCoy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Get outta here, alright? I'm stressed and need to get back to work."

"Of course, Doctor. Please keep me apprised of the Captain's condition, as well as any new issues that should arise." He began to walk away, hesitating seconds later. "And the Enterprise is due for a routine maintenance workup. I predict it will take approximately three-point-four days to complete. Unfortunately, it will postpone our arrival home."

"That sounds an awful lot like a lie, Mister Spock. I thought you guys weren't capable of that."

"It is not a lie, I assure you. There is no set schedule for completion. The upkeep must be accomplished by the end of the month. Nowhere is it stated exactly when it must begin." A small, almost unnoticeable smirk crossed his thin lips. "We have the available manpower at the moment, so I see no reason why we should wait."

"Thanks, Spock." McCoy turned back around and resumed his work as the Vulcan left.