Doctor M'Benga's life had not gone as planned.
When he started at the Academy, M'Benga dreamed of becoming one of the first humans to become an expert in Vulcan medicine. They were a species that guarded some of their most basic medical information in a shroud of secrecy that he was determined to cut through. He breezed through his first year of classes; learned Vulcan well enough to tutor other students; and in his second year, he knew he was on track to graduate early.
And then Nero struck.
With Vulcan...gone...and a large percentage of the class a few years before him...obliterated...M'Benga suddenly found himself surrounded by grieving cadets and professors.
The Academy's counselors were overwhelmed; they called on volunteers from the medical program to help them keep the cadets calm.
And so M'Benga discovered that he had a knack for counseling.
He spent the next two years working as a grief counselor after his medical classes; picked up a specialization in psychological conditions associated with space travel. There were...a lot of them.
After Khan's attack on San Francisco, M'Benga once again found himself overrun with cadets in need of help dealing with their losses, and some non–cadets as well.
...He'd stumbled upon Doctor McCoy by accident.
After hours and hours of counseling sessions, M'Benga finally had half an hour to get some air, and decided to spend it in the garden next to the medical center. He'd sat on a bench; closed his eyes...and heard a man muttering to himself.
M'Benga followed the sound to a corner of the garden with a small pond; found McCoy grumbling to himself about how 'it' would never work; that he should stop fooling himself; that 'he' was gone…
Half an hour later, Doctor McCoy told M'Benga that he'd have a position on the Enterprise the moment he graduated...if that's what he wanted.
And so M'Benga graduated; found himself recruited by the best doctor in Starfleet; to the best ship in the Federation. A doctor and a counselor for hundreds of people.
"And you're sure this thing's not booby–trapped, Spock?"
"Multiple scans have picked up nothing dangerous, Captain."
M'Benga looked at his captain and first officer, who were both staring at a PADD in M'Benga's office...trying to work up the nerve to turn it on.
There were two men that needed to get over their 'pride' and come to some sessions already! He'd been trying to get them in ever since Doctor McCoy was kidnapped, but just like Doctor Chapel had done when she first came onboard; just like she had done again a few minutes after beaming up to the ship with an injured Ensign Chekov...he'd been repeatedly brushed off.
Kirk nodded; sighed. "Then I guess it's time...Doctor M'Benga?"
"Yes, Captain?"
"When Khan gave this message to Doctor Chapel on Cerberus…" Kirk's voice was the epitome of stress. "He said B...Doctor McCoy...would not be happy if they had to re–record it...Which probably means that the message is a video, and Doctor McCoy is on it. I need...I need you to assess his medical and psychological state as much as possible, understood?"
M'Benga nodded. "Absolutely, sir...and...if you need anything else––"
"I'm fine, doctor," Kirk smirked, but there was no humor in his eyes. "Let's just get this over with."
The captain nodded to Spock; Spock turned on the PADD.
"There is one video recording on it, Captain."
"Play it, Mister Spock."
Khan's face filled the PADD's screen.
The killer smiled sweetly into the camera.
"I know a few people in Starfleet are concerned about a certain doctor's well–being...Allow me to show you how well he is faring."
Khan moved out of frame.
M'Benga winced.
Spock stiffened.
Kirk gasped.
"Oh my god...Bones..."
Doctor McCoy was strapped to a biobed with what looked like surgical bandages. His arms were tied to his sides; his feet were bare; there was...a shackle...visible around his left ankle.
The doctor's normally clean–shaven face was covered in a beard; his face was pale; his hair and shirt were soaking wet. Another, even more drenched shirt was inexplicably lying over his upper chest and neck.
...And McCoy was shivering.
"Doctor," Khan walked behind his captive's biobed; nudged McCoy's face towards the camera. "Say hello to your crew."
The doctor opened his mouth; a whistling crackle came out.
Khan frowned. "Can you speak?"
McCoy closed his eyes; faintly shook his head.
"I should have anticipated that," Khan muttered. "Would a dose of tri–ox and and anti–inflammatory medicine help?"
McCoy nodded slowly.
"What shelf is the anti–inflammatory medicine on?"
The doctor extended two fingers; retracted them; extended three.
"Second bookcase; top shelf?"
McCoy gave a thumbs up.
Khan crossed to a set of shelves behind the biobed; picked up two empty hyposprays; loaded them; crossed back to McCoy; showed them to him.
"Is this the correct medicine?"
Another thumbs up.
"How much of the tri–ox?"
Two fingers.
"Two CC's?"
A thumb.
"Alright. And the other?"
Three fingers.
"I assume the medicine should be administered as closely to the injury as possible?"
Another thumb.
"Very well."
Khan pulled the second shirt away from the doctor's neck.
"That son of a bitch!"
M'Benga looked at Kirk. The captain's face was red; his hands were fists.
The doctor glanced at their silent first officer; was surprised when he could actually see the microexpressions marching across Spock's 'stoic' face.
M'Benga quietly shared their fury. He'd worked a few domestic abuse cases during his time at the Academy...but he couldn't remember ever seeing that many bruises around someone's throat.
Strangulation...From a psychological standpoint, it was a show of power: a way to make it clear that the victim's life was literally in the abuser's hands…
But it was risky, and Khan had to know that. If the injuries to the inside of McCoy's throat were severe enough, and if the doctor couldn't treat them properly...they could still kill him.
Khan pressed the hypos into McCoy's motley neck. The doctor's color immediately improved; he sucked in a few long, deep breaths.
"Better, doctor?"
"...A–hh...a...little."
"Good. Then say hello to your friends."
"T...Tri...corder...please."
"After we finish here. Say hello."
McCoy grimaced; his eyes focused on the camera.
"H–heh...Hello."
Khan smiled. "That's better."
The killer stroked his captive's hair.
"Since you were so helpful and polite about your predicament...this will be the last round."
McCoy's eyes flashed with panic.
"Please...don't––"
Khan covered the doctor's face with the soaked shirt; McCoy sobbed.
"Shhh…" The killer pressed a finger over his captive's covered mouth. "Doctor, at least try to be strong for your friends."
The fabric rapidly collapsed into the doctor's mouth when he tried to suck in a breath; puffed out as he exhaled.
Khan slipped out of view.
...And M'Benga realized what was about to happen.
"Captain," M'Benga said urgently. "I think you might want to––"
"We have to know," Kirk's voice was controlled again, but there was a slight tremor to it. "Khan told Christine that lives were at stake...We have to watch."
Spock interjected. "Doctor M'Benga and I could finish the recording. You do not have to––"
"I need to know." Kirk said firmly; they fell silent.
Khan reappeared with a large bucket; water sloshed out the top as he gripped it by the rim; a few fat drops landed on the doctor.
McCoy flinched; tried to turn his head away...but Khan held it in place.
"Don't," the captain pled to the deaf screen. "Don't do it…"
The killer stared into the camera.
"Before we begin, I would like to wish a late 'Happy Birthday' to Joanna McCoy. I hope you know that your father would die for you...in fact, he very nearly did...And to my doctor's friends on the Enterprise: I hope you enjoyed your shore leave...because I know someone who certainly did not."
Khan slowly poured the contents of the bucket over McCoy's head.
The doctor's back arched; his fists clenched; he yanked against his restraints.
But he was held down too tightly, and the water just kept coming.
A few moments more, and McCoy went limp.
Khan set the bucket down; peeled the drenched cloth away from the doctor's face; tossed it to the ground.
McCoy gasped for air...and then wept.
...How many times had Khan done that to him before turning the camera on?
"You monster," Kirk whispered. "You didn't have to follow through on that threat. You––"
"Did you know that in my time, a few of Earth's societies did not consider waterboarding to be torture?" Khan mused. "It was purely political: they were nations that were supposed to be shining beacons of freedom and honor...so they called it an 'enhanced interrogation method;' claimed it was harmless...I must respectfully disagree."
Khan crouched until he was inches from the doctor's face.
"What do you think, doctor? Is it torture?"
McCoy took a deep breath; tried to compose himself; finally nodded.
"Use your words, doctor."
"...'C...'Course...it is."
The killer tousled his captive's hair.
"Good boy."
A growl made M'Benga glance away from the screen in surprise.
...Did that come from Spock?
Khan ripped apart the bandages holding McCoy down; gestured for him to sit up. As the doctor dropped his legs over the edge of the biobed, Khan retrieved a blanket from offscreen.
"Remove your shirts," Khan ordered.
Doctor McCoy complied; gingerly peeled off the layers of drenched cloth; tossed them away.
M'Benga grimaced.
There were half–healed handprints on McCoy's upper arms; a speckling of bruises across his chest and abdomen; the restraints on his wrists had left fresh red and violet welts…
Khan handed the doctor the blanket; McCoy enveloped himself in it; shivered.
Khan tilted his head.
"Better?"
"...Yeah." The doctor rasped. "...Thanks."
Khan smiled.
"You are welcome, doctor."
The killer sat next to McCoy; wrapped an arm around his shoulders. The doctor tried to lean away, but Khan yanked him closer.
"After all, I do not need you to become more ill than you already are."
"...What the hell does that mean?" Kirk asked.
"Go on, doctor," Khan shook McCoy gently. "Tell them about the condition you claim to have developed in my company."
"I…I didn't lie about––"
"So you say," Khan interrupted. "And yet we both know how much you like to deceive me."
"Ya can't...fake...a swollen spleen."
...There were a number of conditions that could cause a spleen to swell; many of which could be caused by severe trauma. What condition had Khan––
Khan chuckled. "That is true...So tell them."
McCoy looked down.
"Xen...xenopoly...cythemia. I'm...I have...xenopolycythemia."
M'Benga sucked in a breath.
Kirk looked at him worriedly.
"What's xenopoly––"
"Xenopolycythemia," Khan hummed. "What a cumbersome way of saying you have less than a year to live."
The captain's head snapped back to the video.
"What?!"
"And, what was it, doctor?" Khan asked. "Two? Three months before surgery is no longer an option? Before your life cannot be saved?"
"...Two...maybe two...and a half...months...now."
"Let's call it two months...to be safe," Khan looked into the camera. "Two months until our good doctor loses the chance to see his daughter become a rebellious teenager...For his sake, why don't we speed up our little game?"
"This is not a game," Kirk seethed. "This is––"
"Wouldn't it be nice to see your daughter turn thirteen, Bones?" Khan chuckled as his captive's eyes widened. "Ah, yes...your friend, Kirk, let that nickname slip during our last encounter...I never told you what happened, did I?"
"...No..."
Khan smirked.
"Your captain engineered a trap for me. One that very nearly succeeded. He also dangled Nitika in front of me as a 'reminder' of why I should surrender."
The captive's eyebrows furrowed.
"...No," McCoy rasped. "Jim'd never––"
"Oh, but Jim did," Khan crooned. "Under orders from your wonderfully benign Starfleet...he did."
"...Yer...lyin'."
Khan grabbed a fistful of the doctor's hair; turned McCoy's head to face him.
"Tell me: who has lied more in the past month: you or me?"
McCoy grimaced; said nothing.
"Do you really think there's anything your people wouldn't do to be free of people like me?" Khan continued. "What is the life of one innocent person, when the safety of an entire society is at stake?"
"It's...Everything," McCoy whispered.
Khan blinked; grinned.
"...Oh...you are adorable." The killer tousled the doctor's hair; patted his cheek. "I just hope a few of your people feel the same way."
Khan turned back to the camera.
"If you want your doctor back in time to save him from his disease, then you will deliver my people to Xedna Eight. All at once, or in small groups: it does not matter to me...however for the expedient return of our good doctor, I would suggest larger shipments. My crew will arrive, still in stasis, via a shuttle crewed by no more than one Starfleet officer, and they will be beamed down to the facility's control room. The shuttle will then return to its ship immediately, or it will be destroyed. Once I have them all, I will release the doctor, and my people will venture into a region outside of Federation control. You will never hear from us again."
M'Benga closed his eyes; sighed. Doctor McCoy was a good man, and deserved far, far better than this...but Khan had to know that Starfleet Command would never––
"And, as I am well aware that the doctor's life is not important enough to your leaders to secure the release of my people…I offer up another incentive." Khan's smirk disappeared. "Throughout the past month, I have placed bombs in public places across Earth...as well as a few of its less defended colonies. Soon after you receive this message, one of them will detonate."
...No one breathed.
"You bastard!" McCoy's voice cracked. "You told me you wouldn't set it off if I––"
Khan's hand slipped to the doctor's throat.
McCoy stiffened; his eyes pinched with fear.
"Relax, doctor," Khan's hand slid to rest on his captive's shoulder. "It is a different bomb...with a far more justified target...there is a debt that needs to be repaid."
The doctor stared at the floor; said nothing.
Khan smirked again; gestured to McCoy.
"Is keeping me separated from my crew a goal worthy of this man's life? Or the lives of countless others in your Federation? Send me my crew, and we will all come away with what we need. Refuse, and...well...the doctor will not be happy with any of us."
Khan stood; approached the camera.
"You have one week from the day the Enterprise arrived at Cerberus to bring me at least one of my crewmates, or I will begin to bring your society to its knees."
Khan reached out; the screen cut to black.
"...He is alive, Captain," Spock finally broke the silence. "Whatever Khan has done to him...Leonard is alive."
M'Benga had never heard Spock use McCoy's first name. He also had never heard the Vulcan's voice that slow; that level...that full of...wrath.
"I'll kill him," Kirk whispered. "I'll...how could he do that?"
"Captain," Spock said. "We must alert Starfleet Command to Khan's threat. If a bomb is about to go off––"
"I know, Spock," the captain said. "Uhura made contact with them moments after Chapel and Chekov beamed up. They're awaiting our assessment of the...situation...M'Benga?"
"Yes sir?"
"I'll...need you to explain to them...what we saw," Kirk's voice was unsteady. "I'll tell them about the bombs...but I...I don't think I can stay composed if I have to...um––"
"I understand completely, Captain." M'Benga nodded reassuringly. "I will make sure they understand what Khan is capable of...and what he has done to your friend."
Kirk nodded. "Thanks...Spock, do you know if there's been any luck tracing Khan's transporter signal?"
"...There is not a trace of him, Captain."
"...Alright," Kirk straightened his shoulders; stood. "Let's go talk to some admirals. I...don't think there's anything we can do about...the first bomb...but we only have about five days till that...until Khan...sets off another one."
Kirk crossed to the door; paused.
"Let's go save some people."
As the captain left the office, M'Benga hoped, for the sake of the mental health of Captain Kirk; of Spock; of...everyone in the crew...that Doctor McCoy would be one of them.