Dissociation: Chapter Twelve
Four Days Later
Leonard McCoy stared at the vial in his hands.
Cool and clear, the liquid inside sloshed slightly as he curled his fingers around the receptacle. Contained for only hours more, it would soon be flashing through Jim's veins, the first in what was to be several doses.
He closed his eyes and sighed. Within a days' time, Jim would be sick. Vomiting, chills, fatigue and any other number of symptoms that would strike. He'd be at risk for secondary infections as the chemicals destroyed his immune system. And that was even before his hair fell out.
Was he really going to subject Kirk to this torture?
Yes.
Because he's as good as dead if you don't.
He'll live out the rest of his life in confinement—and in his mind, that's as final as the grave.
He knew he should get up from his desk: go to the brig to retrieve Jim. But—something was keeping him there. He didn't know if it was guilt, exhaustion or fear—or a little bit of all three. The exhaustion he understood, as did he the guilt.
But fear? What was he afraid of? He was a grown man, for Christ's sakes. He shouldn't be afraid of anything anymore. It had been decades since he feared the monsters under his bed or the Boogeyman that he claimed lived in the tree outside his window. He knew monsters didn't exist.
They didn't exist—until last year.
Then Khan had come on his ship—Kirk's ship—and had destroyed it one piece at a time, until it was a ghost of what it once was. And he had taken her Captain along for the ride. Jim had given his life to save her and the crew, and as his lungs were filling with fluid and his blood boiled within his veins, all he cared about was whether or not the ship was out of danger.
All that pain and suffering to ensure the safety of every single life left living on his dying ship.
Pain and suffering that was about to come back.
But now, instead of radiation eating away Jim—it was going to be chemicals.
McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew this was their only hope. The only chance to give the young Captain a shot at getting his life back. If it didn't work, there would be nothing left.
"Goddammit."
The Doctor pushed back from his desk and slipped the vial into his pocket. Grabbing the Med Kit he had prepared earlier, he somberly made his way out of Medical to go retrieve his friend.
XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX
"Hey, Bones."
Jim sat on the small bed in his cell; his body slumped as if in defeat. The small pink scar left by the regenerator was barely visible in his hairline. The voice that fell from his lips was small sounding, the strength and fight having left him long ago.
At least it's the Jim I know.
For now.
"Mornin' Jim. Feeling better?"
"Define 'better'." A small smirk crossed his lips before he rose and approached the cell wall. "Look, I'm sorry for everyt—"
McCoy held up a hand. "Forget it, kid. An apology isn't necessary."
"But it is."
"Nope. That was in the past, and it most certainly wasn't you." He pulled the vial out of his pocket and held it up.
"So that's it, huh?" Kirk moved closer to the glass and peered at the small container. "Doesn't look like much." He started to roll up his sleeve.
"Not so fast. You're not gettin' this in here."
Jim quirked an eyebrow. "You're not seriously considering letting me out?"
McCoy pocketed the receptacle once more. "Listen, I can't monitor you like I need to in the brig. And if this shit works like I hope it will—we'll see a change in your behavior sooner than later."
"You can't bring me to Medical. I'm too much of a risk—we both know that."
"I'm the CMO and it's my Sick Bay. I make the decisions." He sighed deeply. "Besides, you'll be out cold when I administer the juice. I'm not wakin' you up for a while after."
Kirk inhaled deeply before letting the breath out through his nose. "Still. I think it would be better to treat me in here."
"Noted—and ignored." McCoy smirked.
"You're lucky I'm in here, or I'd write you up for insubordination."
"No you wouldn't. You're too nice."
Jim managed a small smile before speaking again, his tone hushed. "Bones?"
"Yeah, kid?"
"Do you think I can fix this whole thing with Carol?"
How the hell should I know?
You really fucked up.
But…it wasn't really 'you', was it?
"She's really torn, Jim. You scared the shit out of her."
Kirk nodded solemnly and sank down to the floor, legs crossing under his body. "I can still see myself hovering over her. She was terrified. I just kept assaulting her even when she begged me to stop."
"You two'll have a lot to work on, that's for damn sure. But it's nothin' that can't be fixed. She knows you weren't in control."
"I raped her, Bones! I care about her so much…and I raped her."
McCoy knelt down next to the glass. "Yes, you did. But it was your physical body doing the actions—not your heart. That fucking monster inside of you wants to be in charge, and you're powerless to stop him."
"I hate this feeling."
"I know, Jim. But I'm going to fix it."
Kirk looked up at him with hopeful eyes. "Promise?"
McCoy opened the iris on the wall and beckoned for Jim's arm. When the young Captain eased his limb through, he pressed a hypospray into his skin. As Kirk's arm slid back through the hole and his eyes fluttered shut under the influence of the heavy sedative, he replied softly.
"…promise."
XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX
The isolation pod was guarded by four heavily armed security officers.
Two more stood just inside the perimeter of the room, phasers ready should the Captain wake up and lash out. With the door closed, no one could enter without permission, and the windows had been tinted black.
There were going to be no looky-loos.
McCoy stood at Kirk's bedside. Jim had been restrained at both the wrists and ankles. Still unconscious from the heavy sedative load, his eyes fluttered under his lids.
Leonard hoped he was having peaceful dreams.
He hoped this would be over soon.
He hoped Jim would survive.
I can't lose him again.
"Len?"
M'Benga's voice snapped McCoy from his thoughts. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to hide his clenched fists. There had only been one other time in his life that he had been this nervous. Go figure both instances involved Jim Kirk.
"Yeah?"
"The infusion is ready." M'Benga handed him the IV bag. "I still wish there was a way to introduce this into his system without opening a vein. Seems barbaric."
"Believe me, if I could do it differently, I would." McCoy hung the bag next to Jim's head. "But a hypo just won't cut it with this shit. It needs to go in over a few hours. "
"How many doses do you think he'll need?"
McCoy attached the tubing from Kirk's arm to the connector on the bag and started the drip. "Your guess is as good as mine, Geoff. At least four—and none of this 'every other week' shit. He's getting it on a two-day cycle. One on…one off."
He watched as the faint yellow-tinged liquid traveled down the tube and slowly began to drip into Jim's arm.
I hope I'm doing the right thing.
"Now we wait, huh?" M'Benga tapped a few commands into the computer terminal.
"Jim hates waiting."
"Well then, I guess it's a good thing he's out cold." M'Benga lightly clapped McCoy on the back with a smile. "It'll work, Len."
McCoy just nodded with a grunt and sat down next to his friend.
XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX
"Bones? I think I'm gonna…"
McCoy's eyes snapped open just in time to see Kirk sit bolt upright and vomit all over the sheets. He had tried to cover his mouth, but with his arms restrained, he failed miserably. Scrambling to get a few towels, the Doctor nearly fell out of his chair. He hated the disorientation that came with a sudden awakening.
He was appalled when he finally got his bearings and got a good look at Jim.
Kirk looked like death warmed over.
Pale, waxy skin, sunken eyes and shaking hands. The effects of the treatment had already taken hold. Quickly looking at the clock, he realized he had been asleep for close to six hours. He immediately cursed himself for letting Kirk down and not being attentive.
What the hell kind of CMO are you, falling asleep like that?
Jim pulled at the cuffs as he tried to situate himself on the biobed. His face looked so sad. McCoy cursed under his breath and took a chance. He hoped he wouldn't regret it. Reaching over, he un-did the restraint on Kirk's left wrist.
"Bones…" Kirk's face contorted as he grabbed a towel from from the bedside cart with his now free hand, and cupped it over his mouth, throwing up the contents of his stomach once again.
All at once, all the guilt he had ever felt came rushing back. The feelings from watching Kirk suffer as his body rebuilt itself after the radiation exposure, the raw emotions of being attacked and verbally abused by his insane best friend—the remorse he felt now for subjecting Jim to what was sure to be nothing short of hell.
Feeling as helpless as he did the day Kirk's lifeless body was brought into Medical, he found all he could do was rub Jim's back as he heaved. He grabbed an emesis basin held it under the young Captain's chin, discarding the soiled towel down the trash chute behind the biobed.
After a long moment, Jim's muscles seemed to relax and he sat back against the pillows. McCoy quickly tore the blankets from the bed and tossed them aside. Kirk immediately shivered, and Leonard grabbed another thin quilt from a cabinet recessed into the wall and covered his friend. Taking a cloth from the bedside cart, McCoy dipped it in a glass of water and wiped the remaining mess from Jim's lips.
"Holy shit. I feel like something that fell straight from Satan's asshole." Kirk closed his eyes and sighed shakily.
"I bet." Leonard offered him a glass of water.
Kirk shooed the drink away and tried to roll onto his side, but was stopped by the ankle restraints.
Jesus, you're just putting me in all kinds of situations today, aren't you kid?
McCoy leaned forward and looked Jim in the eyes. "Listen to me. I'll take off the ankle cuffs so you can lie down properly, but know that there are two armed guards right outside the door. So, if that bastard knockin' around in your brain decides to play rough, they'll be on you like flies on shit. Got it?"
Kirk nodded wearily. "If he's in there right now, hopefully he's a sick as I am."
"I'm sorry, kid. I know it sucks." The Doctor sat again.
"So now what?"
McCoy sighed. "We wait."
"When do I get more?"
"Day after tomorrow." McCoy tapped his fingers on his thigh. "We're doing this gung-ho style. This stuff needs to get into you fast, otherwise we're afraid Khan's cells will adapt and become resistant. We need to eradicate them before they have time to know what hit them."
"I'm assuming that I'll continue to feel like shit?"
"It's more than likely going to get worse. A lot worse." He almost didn't want to look at his friend. "Chemotherapy isn't nice to you. And…I'm gonna give you a booster here in a minute to bolster your immune system that you're not going to like."
Jim settled back into the bed and drew the blanket up under his chin with a shiver. "Tell me."
"You really don't want to know, Jim. It's better not to dwell on it."
"Whatever you say, Bones." The young Captain's eyelids began to droop. His voice was soft. "Do you remember that time in the Academy when I got influenza?"
"How could I forget? You ditched out on the vaccine and ended up sicker than a hound."
"But you took care of me anyway—even after you yelled about the hypo."
"Of course I took care of you. You're my best friend. Besides, I couldn't have you puking all over during the night and aspirating into your lungs. Because I sure as hell wasn't about to explain your untimely demise to the housing board."
Jim chuckled softly. "You see, Admiral—it's like this. Cadet Kirk was stupid and didn't listen to me and now he's stiff as a board. Stinkin' up our room, too."
"That's pretty much how it would have happened, kid. Although I probably would have also asked to be given a single dorm room while I was at it. You know, because I was so distraught over losing my roommate."
It's nice to have the 'old' Jim back.
Jesus, I hope this works.
"You should get some res—" McCoy stopped himself. Kirk had fallen asleep, one hand tucked under his cheek like a child in his bed. He almost couldn't believe that, at any moment, the maniac living in Jim's mind could rear his ugly head.
McCoy wanted nothing more than to be rid of that bastard forever. And he knew Jim—the real Jim—felt the same way.
The doctor shifted uncomfortably on the backless stool and wished he had a proper chair in which to sit vigil.
XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX
McCoy straightened his tunic as he exited the small bathroom on the edge of Sick Bay.
Medical was quiet this time of night. Just how he liked it. The skeleton crew of nurses flitted between the few occupied beds, and the medical student they had taken on at the last Starbase sat hunched over a microscope in the lab. He had told her to go back to her cabin hours ago to get some sleep, but she had refused. Instead, she pored over test results stemming from her research into Andorian Shingles. A girl after his own heart, he had thought.
He turned his attention to Jim's door and was surprised to see Carol Marcus.
She was dressed in her uniform, no doubt coming off of a long shift day. Her hair was somewhat messed, her shoulders slumped. She looked just about as tired as he was.
"Carol? It's awful late."
The science officer turned at his voice, forcing a small smile as he approached.
"It's all the same time when you're out in the black, Doctor."
"True. But it's still way past your bedtime." He winked and patted her shoulder.
She sighed and turned back to the locked door, the armed guards standing silently at either side. They stood like sentinels, not interfering with their conversation. "How is he?"
"Holding his own."
"He won't answer my comms. I even tried sending him a text message through my PADD. I know he saw it. I don't really know what I intended to say to him, though. I guess its better that he didn't respond."
"He's in a bad way, Carol. If it makes you feel any better, he won't even let Spock see him."
McCoy's heart broke for her—for them both. He knew that Jim felt like garbage, both physically and emotionally. If Leonard had been in the same situation, he wouldn't want any contact with anyone else either.
"I tell you what: give me a minute to check on him and I'll see if I can't give you at least a peek, okay? But I'm not guaranteeing anything."
Carol nodded silently as McCoy accessed the computer system. He activated the in-room camera and saw that Jim was fast asleep. What the kid didn't know couldn't hurt him, right?
"Hey guys, take a few minutes' break, alright?" He clapped one of the security officers on the arm and motioned towards the replicator. "Have some fake coffee on me."
The two men acknowledged him with a smile and followed his suggestion. When they were safely out of range, McCoy made sure there were no onlookers and un-tinted the window.
Jim lay on his side, his skin pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His arms were wrapped tightly around his abdomen, no doubt in an attempt to keep the nausea at bay. His brows were furrowed in his sleep, as if he were being tormented in his dreams. One foot poked out from underneath the blanket, a cuff visible around his ankle tethering him to the biobed.
"Oh Leonard…" Carol's hand immediately shot up to cover her mouth. Her eyes squeezed shut, tears sliding from their corners seconds later. "He looks like death."
McCoy couldn't argue with that. Kirk was beginning to look like he had in the first few months of his recovery from the warp core.
And it terrified the good Doctor.
"I'm sorry, I should have warned you."
"No. I needed to see for myself, even if it was terrible." She looked away. "You can tint the window again."
He silently flicked his finger over the computer pad and the window went black once more. Carol stood quietly beside him for a long moment before turning to him and wrapping her tiny arms around his body in a tight embrace.
She cried onto his chest, her tears leaving a damp spot on the fabric.
XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX
Leonard McCoy, Personal Log, Stardate 2263.145: It's been just over a week since I gave Jim the treatment. I don't know who's more miserable—him or me.
His hair is falling out, he's lost almost fifteen pounds and he refuses to eat because he's so nauseous. I've resorted to keeping an IV line in to give him some sort of basic nutrients.
And I have to give him more of the shit tomorrow.
I'm such a bastard.
I can't stand looking at him right now. And I'm aware that those feelings make me a horrible person. He's just so frail and unhappy—and it breaks my heart. I find myself avoiding his room, trying to make excuses why I can't go in. And then I tell myself that it's my fault he's in this predicament in the first place and to suck it up.
He needs me more than ever right now, especially since he won't let anyone else other than M'Benga take care of him. But I'm so goddamned exhausted. I spend every waking hour in Medical—I don't think I've seen my quarters in days. I'm sure my uniform stinks, that's for sure. Come to think of it, I'm surprised M'Benga hasn't kicked me out to take a shower.
I finally had to come clean with the Admirals, and let me tell you—they were pissed. I don't blame them, and of course, they demanded that we return to Earth as fast as we could. They lost their minds when they realized we had all been keeping this from them—everything. I mean, Kirk nearly killed Chekov, assaulted Uhura and has been in the brig for more time than I care to admit. We always had a reason why he couldn't answer comms or why he wasn't available at the moment, but I guess we ran out of excuses. I'm actually shocked we kept up the guise as long as we did. It's my fault—I made the decisions to not tell the brass. If anyone gets canned from this whole shit storm, it should be me.
They seemed to at least accept the mental illness card, but were very quick to point out that any suspicion of such an ailment should have been reported immediately, no matter how far away we were from Earth. I know they kind of understood the reason we kept things from them—I mean, I was busy trying to save Jim's life. And Chekov's. I know there were times where I could have taken a moment to apprise them of the situation. But truth be told, I felt like a scared kid having to come clean to their mama for breaking a window. I knew better than to keep anything from them, but I guess I thought that maybe—just maybe—I could fix everything before they got suspicious.
I'm such a fool.
I'm pretty sure I'm going to be court martialed when we get back. And I totally deserve it. I broke every rule in the book, kept an insane Captain from the Federation and tried to get away with hiding all this shit. I don't deserve to keep my title—or position.
And I'll totally take my punishment like a man—because Jim's recovery means more to me than Starfleet.
The kid refuses to see Carol, and Spock has been on my ass like a leech for any information. Problem is, there isn't a lot I can give him right now. I know Starfleet is breathing down his neck because they won't leave me alone, either.
It's the same old shit. They comm every day, and I tell them the same thing—that we're waiting to see what happens. And let me tell you, the brass is about as patient as a kid waiting for Santa Claus.
I guess the silver lining in all of this bullshit is that his bloodwork is showing some hopeful signs. The enzymes in his brain that we thought were causing all the trouble seem to be shrinking. They're still there, but we can actually see them shriveling before our eyes.
And there's been no sign of the other Jim. It's hard to believe that we've been living with that asshole for all these weeks and he might actually be gone. We won't know for sure until we get a total brain scan to see if the enzymes have left detached themselves from his brain cells, but everything seems to be pointing towards M'Benga and me hitting the jackpot.
I'm cautiously optimistic that this might really be working.
Of course, it's not happening fast enough for Starfleet, but they can all kiss my hairy Southern ass. It's not like I can rush this.
I just want this to be over.
I want to be able to fix Jim and get back out to doing what we do best. There's a whole galaxy out there for James T. Kirk to raise hell in—and I'll be damned if he's gonna miss out on it.
/sniffing sound/
Christ, I really need a shower. I stink like a fucking mule.
End log.
