a wonderful story published on inspired me to write this one. please, read insontis by kcs if you haven't already - if you enjoyed "the wounds of a friend" series in particular, i am your friend, and this story was written for you.
also, bear in mind that though this story centers largely around spock and mccoy, it is not intended to be shippy - I'm a k/s gal at heart. however, i take no issue with alternate interpretations… isn't that what shipping is, anyway?
OH ALSO i absolutely insist that you see "mirror mirror" before you read this if you haven't already. nothing will make sense unless you do. also it's just a really good episode.
without further ado, let's get right to the story, shall we?
"Spock, do we really have to do this right now?"
"Doctor, may I remind you," said Spock, with the slightest heat of impatience, "that you have rescheduled this meeting twice in the past fifty-six hours. I have accommodated both times. As our current schedule is unlikely to change, I see no reason to postpone it any further." He was obviously not in the mood for insubordination.
The meeting room was cold, though it could've just been McCoy's nerves as Spock seemed unbothered. He stood ramrod straight, hands folded behind his back, while McCoy sat in a nearby chair, looking for the most convenient route of escape from this conversation.
Seeing none, he sighed and threw his hands up in resignation. "Fine, Spock. What do you want."
Spock narrowed his eyes at him. "I believe you are aware that I have inquired regarding the crew psychological evaluations that were due last week. I believe you are also aware that you are the only crew member aboard who has failed to submit a verified report of your own mental health."
"You're houndin' me for a report, Spock? Right before an away mission?" McCoy, of course, knew what Spock wanted to lecture him about the minute he had first requested a meeting. Nonetheless, his exasperation was real. Of all times to get on his case about a little thing like this, now was not it!
"Timing aside, Doctor, all I require is the confirmation that you will submit to a full psychological assessment at the next available convenience." He paused, tall frame looming, silently urging his compliance.
McCoy was quiet for a moment, considering. He felt a little sympathy for Spock; this was an awkward conversation to have from either end. Though not as uncomfortable as himself, he got the sense that Spock would have this wrapped up as soon as possible, too. No doubt he had better things to do than reprimand colleagues over late paperwork… probably. You could never be sure with him.
He had been avoiding it, there was no point in denying it. He'd performed thousands of psych evals on the whole crew over the years - little check-ins with all of them, every twelve months or so, trying to catch the signs of trauma and illness before they impaired a person's function at a critical moment. The medical personnel aboard a starship, who dealt with death, injury, and loss in a more direct fashion than other departments, deserved special attention on that front. Not to mention that Doctor McCoy, the Chief Medical Officer of the Enterprise, the most danger-prone ship in the whole damn fleet (or so it seemed sometimes), needed to be in good shape more than anyone. It was literally a matter of life and death.
Given all that, he almost said yes.
But… there was something that kept him, an anxiety that lingered in the back of his mind. To speak nothing of the fact that he felt fine, thank you very much, he'd never been a willing patient when it came to the particulars of the procedure. Yes, he may have performed thousands of psych evals on the whole crew, but any one of them could attest to the fact that it was a very different experience on the other side of the interview table. McCoy was worried that a full psych eval would uncover certain things, things he wasn't… wasn't ready to bring out into the light.
He sat, staring at his hands, wondering how long he could wait before Spock really started cracking down on him. Once he sensed that his reluctance to answer was stretching the limits of Spock's tolerance, he tried to appeal to the man's passion for ruthless efficiency.
"Spock, this is ridiculous. I mean, it's already taken, what, ten weeks to get all the other reports in? And I've been the one writing them, so surely I can be trusted to know if I need one. My staff and I have been bogged down with paperwork so long that we've missed out on days of sleep. You wouldn't want to impair our performance any further, would you?"
Spock was always a stickler for protocol, so McCoy wasn't surprised that he was not swayed. "As a medical professional and permanently stationed officer of this ship, you are no doubt aware of the necessity of the procedure for all members of the crew. Because we are in the final months of the five year mission, it is prudent to concentrate study on - "
"Yes, yes, yes, Spock, it may shock you to realize it, but I am aware of my duties as CMO of this ship." He huffed. "I'm simply pointing out that it's counterintuitive to make the interviewer a subject of study as well."
"Be that as it may, Doctor, it is protocol." Spock unfolded his hands from behind his back and crossed them over his chest, looking down on him with less irritation and more probing curiosity. "Given your cognizance of your duty, have you any reason for delaying your own evaluation for such a significant period of time?"
McCoy was running out of excuses at this point, so he decided to double-down. "Well, Spock, I can't exactly evaluate myself, can I? That's against procedure." The last bit he delivered with a sarcastic little grin.
It didn't work, and his smile disappeared. Spock glared - yes, glared, that was the only word to describe the look - in his direction, and McCoy was doubtful that he was even aware that he was. Any other crewman would probably require a change of uniform afterwards.
But there was more than simple irritation there. Behind it, McCoy saw genuine bafflement, probably trying to figure out how even a senseless, over-emotional human like him could come up with a statement so removed from logic. He'd always hated to be on the receiving end of that stare. All calculating, psycho-analyzing, like he was trying to pick his mind apart and put it back together. That was supposed to be his job.
"There are a total of eight medical personnel, other than yourself, currently serving aboard the Enterprise," Spock began slowly, a touch of awe in his voice. "Of those, three hold credentials that certify them to perform interviews of this nature. Certainly, as you are the chief medical officer, I do not need to remind you of this fact." He finished, and though it was by no stretch the longest string of words he had delivered in the past five minutes, McCoy felt that his spiel had lasted hours.
The problem was that Spock was right. His avoidance was at odds with his duty, and a potential hazard to the function of the ship. That's how everyone else saw it, at least. Regardless of anything he could say, McCoy would be forced to submit to an evaluation.
He sighed, running a hand over his face, and felt Spock's eyes on him. He wanted them off. "Spock, I don't know about you, but I really hate goin' in for those things."
"That is no excuse to ignore the responsibility you have: to ensure the mental security of the crew of the Enterprise, in particular, her senior officers." The anger in his eyes was fading, replaced with mere frustration. "However, I will concede that I am… adverse, to the proceedings myself."
Behind his hand, McCoy smiled. He recalled Spock's palpable discomfort in sickbay a few weeks ago, how he had insisted that there was no logic in interrogating him on feelings he did not possess, and how they had insisted that the questions had not been constructed with Vulcan sensibilities in mind. He knew the "no feelings" bit was a load of bull, so as a healthcare professional, he couldn't rightly send him on his way until he had tried to pull more out of him. They hadn't made progress until Spock admitted that he still had trouble recovering from the trauma of nearly killing Jim during his pon farr, so Christine made a note for him to see a Vulcan therapist once their mission was over.
"I know," he muttered. "It's just… there's somethin'… embarrassing about discussing your deepest feelings before an audience, 'specially in a professional setting like that. Kinda like being dissected."
Spock was silent for a time. His expression shifted to one of curiosity, then contemplation, and finally understanding. "Indeed," he said simply.
Another pause, and McCoy wondered what he could possibly be thinking. Surely he was cooking up another infallible solution in that Vulcan mind of his.
Then, Spock cleared his throat. "Doctor, since you are opposed to a verbal appraisal of your mental faculties, perhaps another method could be devised."
McCoy leaned forward, interested.
"I would propose… a mind meld, between yourself and I, in order to ascertain your responses to inquiries without the need for you to respond. I believe I am qualified—"
"No!" he choked out, and Spock started at the sudden volume of his voice. One eyebrow climbed his forehead. The phrase "mind meld" had stolen his voice and it had taken precious few seconds for him to get it back. He couldn't. There was just no way he'd ever…
The irony of it occurred to him. He relaxed, or tried to, and leaned back in his seat. "No, Spock. Sorry. Any other—another option is preferred."
Spock was confused by the vehement rejection of his idea, and McCoy felt those eyes on him again. He was starting to resent it.
"It would take but a moment."
McCoy stared at a single point on the table, and was very still. After a silence that lasted aeons, Spock must have finally realized that he wanted to be left alone. "Very well," he said icily. "In that case, I shall prepare for our mission." With that, he turned on his heel and walked towards the door.
McCoy's anxiety turned to a simmering anger. He understood Spock's frustration with him, but to act all snippy after daring to suggest a… hmph. Well. Now that that had been brought to the table, just talking about himself didn't seem so bad. He could have laughed at himself. He decided he'd better schedule an eval before Spock made a firmer suggestion. "Hey, Spock, I think I'll actually— "
The intercom clicked on. "Mr. Spock and Doctor McCoy, report to transporter room three," Jim's voice sounded through the open doorway and down the corridor.
Spock stopped in the doorway, and turned his shoulders to him. "Our mission awaits."
He decided to drop it. He could only handle one major stressor at a time.
Spock's heels clicked in time with Doctor McCoy's as the two of them walked in the direction of the turbolift. The doctor remained in step behind him, silent. Both were uncharacteristic of him. Usually, when the two were required to travel towards a shared destination, he would walk by his shoulder, filling the silence with extraneous ramblings and acerbic commentary regarding the situation at hand. Though it was quite unnecessary, Spock had grown strangely accustomed to the habit, and accepted it as one of the many irregularities of the doctor's character.
So for him to keep his distance, both physically and mentally, was an indication that something was wrong. Spock was determined to find out just what.
Their conversation in meeting room four had been… frustrating. Despite the fact that acting logically was an anomalous event for the doctor, for him to shirk his duty was atypical. What was more, he had refused to discuss it for over two days before Spock had managed to corner him following the Captain's briefing. Perhaps it had been fallacious for Spock to expect a reasonable explanation as to why Doctor McCoy had failed to report, but he would never have anticipated him to feign ignorance.
Spock was not angry; anger was a human emotion. No, he was completely mystified - what could drive the doctor to such lengths to avoid a simple thing like this? And even when presented with an alternate option, one Spock had offered in defiance of his culture and all the risks involved, he had rejected it with such intolerance. Spock was not offended by the doctor's aversion to "Vulcan mind voo-doo," not at all, just... he did not understand why he hated it so much.
He would be holding Doctor McCoy at metaphorical arm's length until he came to his senses.
They reached the turbolift and stepped inside. "Deck five," he commanded, and the light whirr of the lift was the only sound as they glided through the layers of the ship.
The doctor's quietude persisted, and Spock wondered if he had concerns as to the specifics of their mission. As his normal pre-mission routine involved internally reviewing his briefing on the assignment, he chose to verbalize it, if only to fill the silence.
"As you are no doubt aware, the ion storm gathered above the planet's surface is estimated to have originated over one million years ago," he began mildly. "Because of this, it is a mystery how the distress signal was able to escape its surface and reach our ship's sensors."
The doctor raised an eyebrow in his direction, but said nothing. Spock continued. "Despite the conditions, it has been determined that sending a landing party rather than an exploratory drone is the superior choice, as this would enable personnel to render immediate medical assistance to any survivors."
Doctor McCoy's eyes flickered to the medical bag slung over his uniform. "I know, Spock."
When he returned to staring at the wall of the turbolift, Spock went on, inspecting him as he did so. "The signal was determined to have been generated by an unknown device on a frequency identical to the one used by subspace communicators on Starfleet vessels. The content of the message indicates that the crew are members of the Terran Empire, a governmental body of a previously discovered alternate universe, so caution is advised when interacting with survivors. They are dangerous individuals."
The doctor looked at him. "I was sitting next to you during the briefing ten minutes ago. Like the sound of your own voice that much?" He had breached his silence in a longer sentence this time, and Spock declined to let him fall into it again.
"I do not, as you rationalize it, 'like the sound of my own voice,' doctor. I am merely accounting for the unparalleled human capacity to forget information of vital importance, a capacity which you yourself have demonstrated numerous times."
"Kind of like how you forgot the formula for ryetalyn that one time?" The doctor's mouth quirked up on one side; he was amused.
Spock turned his head to face him in a gesture of dissent. "I did not forget it, doctor, as you are so fond of postulating; I was simply focusing my mental energy on other tasks simultaneously. My delay in responding was a product of the dire circumstances at the time."
"Whatever you say, sir. "
They were silent for a while, but it was more akin to a normal lull in conversation than a tense silence. When the turbolift doors did not open themselves in that time, Spock decided to fill it with observations about the planet they were investigating.
"The planet itself, classified as Class L, is somewhat unique in terms of volume and composition. Traces of methane in a hydrogen-helium atmosphere and massive kyanite deposits on the surface cause both to appear blue in color. An unidentified heavy metal is hypothesized to comprise most of its core, in order to explain its abnormal mass for a terrestrial planet. The surface area is close to one hundred twenty times that of earth, almost the size of your system's Jupiter," he intoned, reciting facts with a scientist's vivacity.
"You're not gonna say it's 'fascinating,' are you, Spock?"
Spock paused in what he had been about to say, then instead said, "Would it have made a difference if I was, Doctor?"
He rolled his eyes at him.
"Regardless, it was of note to you that the curvature of the planet is not visible from orbit. I recall you said it was as if the Enterprise were an Earth ship 'marooned—'"
"—marooned at sea,'" the doctor finished for him. "Pretty amazing view from the bridge, huh? Just hope it's not literally the case. Those Terran guys are some nasty people, I can tell you that from experience." The doctor smiled a bit, a display which no doubt represented a return to normalcy. Spock was more satisfied with his conduct.
"Indeed."
As they exited the lift, it did not escape him that in lieu of the doctor's usual demeanor, it had been he who provided the pointless chatter instead. But, Spock reasoned, it was important to ensure all members of the landing party behaved within normal bounds.
He could only hope that he would discover what the doctor refused to tell him.
McCoy opened his eyes; he had a habit of closing them whenever he went through the transporter. No matter what Scotty said, he did not trust the blasted technology to spit him out in one piece through a million-year ion storm, of all things. But the Chief Engineer had insisted that the front wasn't nearly as severe as the ones they had encountered previously, and the risk of losing their signals was barely greater than if they were orbiting any other planet. In any case, it wasn't worth denying assistance to the people stranded down there.
Only when the hum of the transporter subsided and he felt the temperature regulators of his suit activate did McCoy open his eyes.
And the planet was beautiful.
The sky was a hue more brilliant than his own uniform; the ground, while largely obsidian black, deep and glossy, was spread with radiant aquamarine veins of some ore that McCoy suspected would fetch a high price in some remote part of the galaxy. His eye caught a waning white moon hanging in the sky, her surface impossibly smooth, untarnished by the volley of asteroids which plagued his own planet's satellite.
They were in a valley of sorts, visible layers of sedimentary stone piling on top of one another into mountainous peaks and dramatic rock formations, with numerous holes burrowing into countless cave systems deep below the surface. Before them, the basin opened into a distant plateau, beyond which were faraway hills and mountains no one had ever seen.
He wished these helmets came with built-in cameras.
Momentarily breathtaken, McCoy moved into action only when Spock tapped the arm of his suit. "Life indicators are in this direction, Doctor. We must move quickly."
He set off, and the security officers followed while one of his science lieutenants (Roberts, he believed her name was) ran her tricorder over the smooth black ground.
They did, indeed, move quickly; he hardly had time to appreciate the scenery any more before they were moving through rocky passages towards the survivors. McCoy was no fighter, but he was confident that they could handle themselves if things turned violent, considering the condition some of those people must be in.
He would admit he was nervous. His last, and first, encounter with their counterparts had not been under pleasant circumstances, to say the very least. He dreaded the idea of meeting his own double; the man's sickbay was, to put it mildly, a glorified torture chamber. Spock had not hesitated to spin tales of his counterpart's barbaric behavior and mannerisms in years past, which was equal parts chilling and hilarious.
"Well, Spock," McCoy had retorted, "I happened to have met your counterpart, and he was every bit as cold-blooded as you."
"Seeing as our physiology is identical, Doctor, I would expect such an astute observation from even the most rudimentary of medical practitioners, such as yourself."
He'd suppressed a chuckle at that one; he wasn't about to allow him a victory. "Actually, I amend my previous statement. His blood temperature was a few degrees higher - the goatee kept him warm. You should give it a try, might make you more personable."
Inside, he'd hoped that his teasing would ensure that Spock never actually grew a beard. Ever. Even if it was only out of spite. It wasn't a good look on him.
Misgivings aside, McCoy could at least comfort himself with the fact that there was an astronomical chance the survivors were of the ISS Enterpris e, and if they were , against all Spock's calculated odds…
He shuddered imperceptibly. It was a comfort.
They were, according to Spock's tricorder, less than half a mile from their targets' location when Lieutenant Roberts, so absorbed in her readings, tripped over an unexpected bump in the terrain. They were in the midst of scaling a particularly steep incline; when she fell, she tumbled about a dozen meters down the slick surface. From his angle, it seemed like she had come into contact with several sharp irregularities on the ground like the one she stumbled on—a hazard. McCoy had started after her immediately when he caught Spock and the security staring down at him.
"Go on, keep climbing, we'll be with you in a minute," he called to them. "She'll be fine."
Spock's helmet nodded. "Acknowledged. Do not hesitate to use your communicator if you require any assistance. Gentlemen." With that, they continued up the hill. McCoy hadn't seen them turn before he was halfway to Roberts, cursing the unwieldy lead in his soles ("Gravitational orientation devices, Doctor, to compensate for the low gravity of some planets") as he went.
He kneeled next to her, running a scanner, as she groaned and sat up. "I'm fine, Doc."
"No breaches?"
"No, I don't think so." She glanced up, no doubt anxious to catch up with the rest of the group.
"Well, lemme check, just to be sure." McCoy inspected her suit, searching for any indication that the suit's pressurization had been compromised. They were currently traversing a Class L planet, meaning that the atmosphere was incapable of supporting life. He was always apprehensive about expeditions to such worlds; they had encountered far too many convenient Class M's for him to be used to the suits, or the additional risks. Disease and danger, wrapped in darkness and silence , he thought sourly. The lack of any breathable air neatly encapsulated the "danger" and "silence" parts, in his opinion.
Fortunately, he didn't have to make use of the temporary suit-repairing measures he carried with him (mainly, a roll of Starfleet-issue adhesive strip that looked suspiciously like duct tape) and was able to send Roberts on her way. He reminded her to look up from her tricorder once in a while.
After standing at the base of the incline for a few moments, making sure Roberts wasn't about to fall on her face again, McCoy ignored the flash in the left half of his vision and brought up the rear.
Wait. Flash?
He then laid his eyes upon something that could only be described as if someone had cut a person-shaped hole in the universe and shone a light through it. A piercing, blinding light. McCoy shielded his eyes.
"Hello?" he said, hoping that it would understand. "My name is McCoy, my friends and I come in peace."
The entity hovered closer, and reached an "arm" towards him. He began to run away, but before he could take a single step, it had wrapped itself around his elbow. He flinched, expecting pain, but its "body" was harmless to touch. He chanced a burning glimpse into what he guessed was a face, praying that it didn't plan to kill or kidnap him. Damn his carelessness—his communicator, tossed into his bag rather than secured at his belt, was out of reach.
The creature leaned close, and suddenly, indescribable sounds filled his ears. A language of buzzing and clicking and humming, accompanied by a headache that suggested frequencies beyond the low range of his hearing. The translator couldn't make sense of any of it.
The terror lasted for no more than a minute, but by the time it ended, McCoy felt as though something critical had been leeched from his body. He blinked, retinas recovering from the thing's searing afterimage, and just like that, the entity was gone. He stared at the space it had occupied, wondering if he'd hallucinated all of it, and ran his scanner over himself with a trembling hand.
He appeared to be fine.
The "words" of the creature echoed in his brain, though, and a pervasive dread creeped over him.
Lieutenant Roberts was disappearing over the top of the hill when McCoy finally remembered it. He jogged after her, not wishing to be left behind in case the thing came back.
At last, he reached the summit and, despite being out of breath, ran to where the rest of the team was gathered. Roberts was gesturing emphatically to a displeased Spock, who looked irritable even with his face obscured behind a visor.
"Sir, I swear, he was right behind me!"
"Your lack of attentiveness will be noted on your record, Lieutenant. We must locate—" He caught McCoy's eye.
"Doctor. I see you are uninjured." He wordlessly dismissed Roberts, who shook her head and returned to her tricorder. "What kept you?"
"Spock," he panted, and took a moment to breathe. "Spock, there's something out there."
"You saw something when you were alone?" He stepped closer, scrutinizing him. "Why did you not notify myself or the security officers?"
"I… " He was embarrassed of his error. "My communicator was… out of reach, for the moment."
Spock hummed, regarding him with hidden judgments. "Please keep it within reach at all times. More to the point, you speak of 'something out there'? Was it an organism of some kind?"
McCoy licked his dry lips. "I… maybe? It was something like life. I wasn't able to get a read on it."
"Curious." Spock gazed out onto the horizon, as if he could find it if he looked hard enough. "No lifeforms of any kind have been detected on this planet, apart from the Terrans. What did it look like?"
"It was bright. Emitting light. Hurt my eyes. It touched me—felt like nothing was there. If I had to guess, I'd say it was some kind of energy being. Only with a human's shape."
At that, Spock raised one eyebrow. "No unusual energy signatures have been detected on the planet's surface either , Doctor. Perhaps the stress of the mission has compromised your already volatile mental state."
"Oh, bull, Spock, I know what I saw!" he protested, glaring at the smug bastard's face. "I'm telling you, there is something out there, and it could be dangerous."
"As you say, Doctor," Spock replied, with just the barest hint of condescension that would go unnoticed by anyone other than McCoy. Then, more seriously, "If you encounter this 'energy being' again, take care to notify myself and the others; a single eyewitness testimony is not enough to understand it. I expect all details regarding the entity to be included in your report of this mission."
McCoy sighed; there was nothing else to do. "Yes, sir."
A few short conversations with the security and the Enterprise, who were updated on the situation, elapsed, and they were on again with added haste. Due to the possibility that he'd been affected by the experience, everyone's eyes were on McCoy, watching, waiting for him to collapse or start screaming or something. The stress of that was adding to a building dread that, ironically, had only begun when the creature left him alone.
Finally, the party came to an overhang leading to a cave, with glittering walls and passages shrouded in darkness. Spock's tricorder was beeping urgently, and he shut off the annoying noise. "I believe our survivors are encamped nearby," he said.
"Hopefully they're not dead by now," McCoy grumbled.
They were not, in fact, dead by then. McCoy saw movement from inside the cave, and out of its mouth emerged several figures in suits identical to their own, only with an alien, but starkly familiar, symbol carved into the torso.
The Terran Empire.
He knew it was them, had known it for the hours and hours leading up to this moment, but McCoy's heart still leapt into his throat.
Spock and the security personnel pushed to the front. McCoy was content to stay back. Who knew how the ever-bloodthirsty Terrans would react to their presence?
Spock's voice was calm. "Lower your phasers," he commanded. "We come in p—"
He saw something fit to give him pause. McCoy tensed. Spock's next words were very soft, almost to himself.
"The Captain will be most interested." He sounded awed, and McCoy pushed aside the red suits to see what he meant.
His eyes locked onto his own counterpart's first, his own blue refracted in a perfect mirror image, that sick person's mind wearing his face. That was a shock in and of itself. But his focus did not stay there. It traveled, against his will… and, to his horror, met the impervious gaze of one Commander Spock of the ISS Enterprise.
He had to struggle to swallow that fear, to not let it tunnel his vision and labor his breathing, to stay on his feet when all he wanted was to fall to his knees.