With very brief communications, McCoy prepared to enter the small room. He carried his medical satchel, as well as the equipment for a shave and to cut Jim's hair. It included a laser-based razor, programmed not to damage anything other than hair. He had also taken a laser scalpel to the cuff of his own shirt, partially cutting the wristband off in preparation for the expected introduction.
The door hissed open behind him, and before Spock could turn his head to see the McCoy, Jim knocked him to the side.
Growling low in his gut, Jim planted himself firmly between the intruder and the man who shared his stripes. Prepared and willing to lash out at the slightest movement, Jim shielded his new prison-mate with his body, the growl turning vicious. The man was in blue, and Jim recognised it as different, as bad.
'Doctor McCoy.' Spock cautioned, his voice making Jim flinch and blink rapidly. 'Do no move. Follow my instructions to the letter.'
'What pissed him off?' McCoy demanded, angrily but quietly.
'The Captain has taken a protective role over me, as he believes I am a fellow prisoner.' Spock explained.
Jim hissed and bared his teeth, snarling at McCoy as he shifted his weight into an attack stance.
'So much for convincing him he's free.' McCoy muttered.
'Kneel in this position, Doctor.' Spock instructed, resuming the meditation position he had been knocked from.
'My knees ain't-'
'Doctor McCoy.' Spock interrupted.
McCoy sighed under his breath and held Jim's feral gaze as he slid to the floor. After a little balancing, McCoy settled, legs folded underneath him.
'Now what?' he murmured.
Spock didn't need to answer because Jim started to move. The growl caught in his throat as he scurried backwards, almost colliding with Spock. Confused, he protectively crouched close to Spock's form.
'You were the one who brought food and administered painful medical treatment.' Spock said. 'A logical deduction for the Captain is that you his captor. We must secure your status as a fellow prisoner.'
'You were supposed to convince him he was free, damn it.' McCoy growled. Jim flinched at the sound, meeting it with his own rumble from the back of his throat.
'I believe that assurance will have to develop over time.' Spock said.
Jim moved closer to McCoy, assessing him with confidence he didn't posses before. He shoved at him, asserting dominance by a rough push of the doctor's shoulder and a tight grip in his hair.
'Jim.' McCoy said, as the painful grip tightened.
With a victorious growl, Jim knocked McCoy to the down, sprawling facedown on the floor. He sharply pinned him with a heavy knee between his shoulder blades, one hand forcing the doctor's head into the floor. With the other hand, Jim grabbed the thrashing arm and held it straight behind him in a deadly grip. McCoy's already damaged shoulder protested violently under the stress. Jim's wild eyes were unfocused as McCoy tried to escape, until Spock stopped him.
The Vulcan laid a hand over Jim's grip on McCoy's wrist, projecting trust and security through the brief psychic connection. He carefully peeled Jim's fingers away from the wrist and tapped the silver stripes on the blue band.
Jim scrambled backwards, releasing his hold. McCoy gasped and groaned, slowly struggling his way onto hands and knees. Jim took hold of one of McCoy's arms and tugged at the blue uniform sleeve. The cuff came away easily, only a few threads vainly holding on and unwinding.
Jim pressed the cuff to the ground and examined it for several minutes while McCoy got his breath back. Suddenly, Jim launched towards McCoy and the doctor recoiled instinctively, still grunting in pain, but Jim merely shook his fist in McCoy's face, the cuff scrunched under thin fingers. He slammed it down with a resounding smack and stalked away to the furthest corner, staring at him defiantly.
McCoy struggled back to the kneeling position and faced the apparent dominate power in the small room. Jim was a born leader, destined to be captain from the moment of his father's death. He radiated control and demanded trust, even half-naked and scarred. McCoy wasn't sure if this power dynamic would be detrimental to Jim's healing. He was always a fierce protector of those he was leading, especially his friends and the weak. Too many nights at the Academy were spent running a dermal regenerator across a broken nose and bloodied knuckles, split at the defence of someone's honour.
'Spock.' The voice from the side startled McCoy slightly, who had forgotten the half-Vulcan was in the room. Spock was leaning forward, fingers touching his gold cuff on the floor. Begrudgingly, Jim tapped his own cuff on his bicep.
'James Tiberius Kirk.'
McCoy straightened his cuff on the floor and was momentarily panicked that the difference of the ranking stripes and the science-blue background would make Jim deny the introduction. He touched the cuff and opened his mouth to speak his name.
His voice caught in his throat and the various names he went by flicked through his mind.
'Bones.' He choked out, the first time he'd heard the word in over two months. 'Bones.'
Jim merely glared at him, 'Bones.' he parroted, without any original inflection.
Stillness settled awkwardly in the room, Jim obviously uncomfortable with the truce. Neither party moved for several long minutes. McCoy's mind wandered, cataloguing the injuries he could see on Jim and entertaining the idea of running a full-body scan to properly assess him.
Absentmindedly, McCoy reached up a hand to scratch at the coarse stubble on his jaw.
Jim leapt forward, graceful and lethal, to grip McCoy's hair and yank his unresisting head back, baring the vulnerable throat. McCoy's Adam's apple bobbed under the dark beginnings of a beard as he swallowed nervously. Jim tracked the movement and slowly brought his free hand up to encircle McCoy's neck.
As his potentially lethal hold tightened, McCoy could only think of his daughter, Joanna. When his girl was only a baby, she went through the usual stage of pulling on anything in her reach. His ex-wife's ears were left tender after Joanna discovered her hanging earrings, and long hair never stood a chance. He remembered consoling Jocelyn and saying their daughter didn't understand that pulling caused pain.
Jim's grip became firmer on his throat, pressing tightening and limiting breathing. McCoy wondered if the same principle applied, if Jim had regressed so far that he lost understanding of other people's pain.
By now, Jim's hold was unyielding and bordered on constricting. He dragged his hand upwards, feeling the scratch of sharp stubbled against his calloused palm. It came to rest on McCoy's cheek, and he picked up one of the doctor's hands and placed it on the rough beard of Jim's own cheek. They were mirror images, as though each one had reached through the glass to touch a ghost.
The touch lacked the tenderness and curiosity of the similar moment shared between Jim and Spock. This time it was desperate and furious.
'I can help with that beard.' McCoy spoke quietly.
In response, Jim dug ragged fingernails into McCoy's flesh.
'Spock, hand me the razor.'
The movement hardly alerted Jim, who held onto the doctor's face with fierce determination.
'Look, Jim, look. It's alright, see?' McCoy continued a mantra of soothing words as he brought the laser razor to the base of his own neck.
'It's okay, Jim. I need you to watch, can you do that for me?'
McCoy dragged the razor upwards, leaving soft skin in its wake. Jim gasped quietly and the sound was so normal, so human, that it gutted McCoy to the core.
The hollow captain dragged the pads of his fingers across the newly exposed skin. The curious hand was returned to his lap and he waited, clear blue eyes meeting his, expectant.
Encouraged, McCoy shaved another strip on his neck, running up to the line of his jaw. As soon as the movement was finished, Jim reverently skimmed the area the razor had just touched. The pattern continued, shaving and touching, until McCoy's whole face was fresh and smooth, the warm trail of calloused fingertips brushing across his skin. He felt clean and new, a different man with different flesh and a different life, back to being a cadet among younger students and a brash best friend. Jim was difficult to gauge, flipping from one emotion to the next so fast it was impossible to predict what his next reaction would be.
From all the distrust and violent outbursts from mere minutes before, McCoy never expected Jim to sit back on his haunches, eyes closed and waiting patiently. It suddenly occurred to McCoy that every other action he had control over since he arrived was a case of "monkey see, monkey do". From the healing of the dermal regenerator to the simple mashed potatoes, Jim would copy if it was demonstrated for him.
McCoy raised the razor slowly and gently angled Jim's head backwards, exposing the coarse beard of his neck.
'Doctor.' Spock said, his voice low and guarded. 'I do not believe this idea to be wise.'
'For six years he's been tortured and controlled.' McCoy answered darkly. 'I'm not going to deny him the first thing he asks for.'
With that, McCoy took the razor to Jim's throat and began to shave.
The process was long and tiring. Skilful surgeon hands were always patient and caring, the skin beneath his long fingers didn't suffer a single nick. Jim shifted frequently, twitching at noise or shuddering violently for no discernable reason. Each time he did, McCoy's would stop and his hands would return to his knees, and he would wait until Jim was still and he was sure it was safe to proceed. Twice, Jim backed away on all fours, seeking refuge in the corner of the room behind Spock for several long minutes, before crawling back into position in front of McCoy and allowing him to continue. Both times he did that, Jim stopped and rubbed the newly shaven skin of his face on the shoulder of Spock's gold uniform.
As every strip of coarse beard fell away into a scattered puddle by McCoy's knees, years seemed to vanish from Jim, and he looked more fragile than ever. Sallow skin stretched taunt over thin and hollow cheeks. The sharp lines of his jaw became evident, proof of malnourishment over the years. His vivid eyes burned brighter as new skin was revealed, just as dirty and stained with mud, but somehow fresher.
McCoy was almost finished, angling Jim's head to carefully shave straight, short sideburns, as opposed to the pointed curve of his own style.
'Spock can you bring in a data PADD and a spare uniform? Command track, no rank.' he asked quietly. He intended to stay with Jim in this room for as long as it took and he needed some work to do or a goal in mind in order to keep himself productive between outbursts.
Spock didn't need to answer, he just rose to his feet and walked towards the door. It swooshed open with a small noise and Jim's eyes blinked open. The clear blue eyes were hazy and unfocused for a moment, then they snapped onto Spock's retreating form.
Jim launched himself upwards, screaming and stumbling towards the open door. McCoy was knocked over and Jim ran for the door, frantic, desperate.
'Jim, no!' McCoy called out.
But Jim had seen freedom and he was running for it, with no grace or power, just the sheer, animalistic need to escape.
He failed.
A floor length glass wall separated the intensive ward from the rest of Sickbay, a divider put in place for more than aesthetical reasons. In times of emergency, the wall could either be removed or extended to become an impenetrable barrier. Currently, however, it only served to direct and limit traffic, giving a sense of isolation.
Jim didn't see it, couldn't see it, all he could see was the freedom he had sought for close to a decade.
With a sickening crack, Jim ran into the wall, his head connecting so hard that the whole pane of glass shivered from the force.
Red blood smeared on the wall and Jim collapsed to the ground. He lost consciousness quickly, limbs going slack while blood trickled from a gash on his forehead.
Spock moved swiftly, supporting Jim's head and positioning him safely.
'Jim! Goddamnit.' McCoy swore under his breath and ran to his friend's side.
Shock and defeat was evident in Jim's face, even his still-twitching lips. A tear slipped silently down his face and dripped to the ground. He was resigned, and crushed; McCoy fought the urge to be sick.
'Doctor McCoy.' Spock said quietly.
'Right. Yes.' McCoy snapped. 'Let's get him to the full-body scanner; I want to run a complete test.'
'Of course.' Spock said, gently lifting Jim into his arms and carrying him through Sickbay.
'Let's find out what those bastards did to him.' McCoy muttered.
Still unconscious, Jim's tears burned across his skin.
Wow, this has been ages, hasn't it? Sorry guys, real life got in the way. But this fic is not abandoned! I gave you a long one to make up for it.
Please review! I want to know if anyone is still out there.
So we've had McCoy shaved clean, Jim allowing a weapon to his throat with a strange sort of acceptance and Bones has been introduced! What confused/interested you about Jim's reactions? Yes, I did make him run into a glass wall, I hope that was more poignant than hilarious, because in real life it makes me crack up. Anyone want to make predictions on what those bastards did to him?
Thanks for reading, please review!