Chapter 31: Dark Unity
Those whom passed Dr. Leonard McCoy in the corridors of the Enterprise sensed the same power and resolve emanating from the man as Kirk had sensed moments before. It was the first time in ages that they had actually noticed the man at all. Usually, he was nothing more to them than a shape, a figure slowly passing them, defeated or occasionally angry for reasons they did not know or care to find out. The Doctor was only a stranger to them. Their only thought dedicated to him was a vague prayer that they would not find themselves in his company and care, the survival rate being what it was.
The man that passed them now was different. His determination made them stand aside and let him go interrupted to wherever he was headed.
One such man failed to even realize that it was McCoy, odd primarily because he had been trying to get in touch with the man for hours. The man passed by McCoy, stopped in shock, and then backtracked.
He did not address the Doctor but instead grabbed his arm and halted the other man's progress. As it had taken the man a moment to recognize the good Doctor, it took a moment for McCoy to realize that he was being impeded from his trek by one of the Nurses he had just recently hired.
"I've been looking for you!" the Nurse exclaimed, running a hand through his hair.
"Why?" McCoy snapped.
"I just wanted to let you know that there is a dying man in your Sickbay. It doesn't matter to me," the man replied back, his own tone bristling now.
McCoy felt his face flush, familiar guilt once more creeping in. "I'm sorry. I was with the Captain."
"As I said, it doesn't matter. He's a dead man anyway."
"What happened?"
"He ran into a little problem with whatever new experiment Scott's trying out. He severed the jugular. Piece of shit flying, I think."
"You don't know?"
The other man shrugged. "It wasn't important. I didn't even bother to report it, Scott suggested it would be unwise to do so. I'm not into butting heads with someone like that. I couldn't save the patient and neither can you. The only way that guy would come back was if you replaced his guts with wiring. I just thought that since you are this piece of junk's Doctor you would care. Not that there is ever any evidence from your work."
As if seeming to be happy to leave it on such a jab to McCoy's credit, the Nurse smirked and left. Not caring, McCoy turned and once more headed towards the Sickbay.
Walking into the Sickbay, McCoy immediately saw the wounded crew member. Blood seeped from the sliced neck, where obviously a piece of Scott's experiment had gone flying. McCoy gingerly took it out, though as the Nurse had said, it didn't matter. At some point while the Nurse had been searching for him, the patient had died. Looking at his face, the Doctor could not recognize the man. He could recall no time in the past when he had ever met the man. It was eerie to McCoy, not for how alien the man seemed, but how alike to himself he was. They appeared to be the same age, though the dead man was only an Ensign, having no important rank to show for his years in service. He was also the same build, same height and same weight it appeared.
McCoy sighed, taking a sheet from off the table and covering the man's face. The Doctor turned and headed towards his office.
Standing outside his office door, McCoy found his determination not so easy to hold on to. What he planned on doing required courage and courage had never been a trait he believed he possessed. He was no hero from a myth nor even a gunslinger from the novels he had read when he had been young and unknowing. He was only a man, in truth, and sometimes he felt himself not even to be worthy of that title.
McCoy grasped onto that seed of bravery, however, knowing if he didn't things would fall apart as everything in his life seemed to inevitably do. McCoy realized that to not act would situate him firmly in the place he did not want to be: without the companionship of the Vulcan Spock. Yet acting, fulfilling his intended course of action would also risk the very same outcome. If he took that first step things would never be the same between them again. The Doctor felt damned either way.
Before entering the office, McCoy hit the wall, the resulting pain felt good for it helped to clear away some of the murk that was dulling his senses. Inside the safety of the office, McCoy raised the wall hiding the secret cell. At first, in the darkness of the room, McCoy could not see the First Officer in his prison. Only as his eyes adjusted, and he searched with apprehension and desperation did he find the younger man half kneeling in a corner. His dark eyes flashed a violent warning to McCoy, who had studied Spock many times against his will. It was evident that the man was about to implode, all his repressed desires and emotions destroying him from the inside.
He was almost animal now, the Doctor thought before he corrected himself. No it was worse than that: Spock was almost human.
Thinking about the rational man and how far he had fallen, McCoy found the answer to protecting his own vulnerability, his relationship with Spock and the Vulcan's life. The Doctor cast a quick glance back to the Sickbay where he knew the dead man, so much like himself, was now lying. For once in his life, McCoy was grateful for death and mortality. The very darkness would be his shield and saviour. There was no logic left for Spock and this fact would aid the Doctor in all he needed to do.
McCoy's hands reached for the switch. Before the wall fell, Spock raised his eyes again and met McCoy's. Whether the Vulcan even recognized him anymore, McCoy didn't know, but there was more torment in that gaze than any of the damaged bodies that the Doctor had tried in vain to heal, ease or save before their passing.
* * *
Spock sat in silence on the floor. The initial coolness of it, at first, had brought some relief to the inferno that his body quickly felt like it was becoming. Then that relief too faded as he waited for McCoy to return. Only he had forgotten whom it was that he had wanted to come as the time passed, and all he could remember was the shame that he felt mixed with the lust and the cravings he had denied himself for so long. He no longer felt like a higher vessel. He felt like a cage or something trapped within one, having been restrained for too long. Before, when he could meditate, he could feel the Enterprise moving through space beneath him. He could feel his place in the universe and the calming influence his people's teachings had imprinted on him. Now those lessons were nothing more than spiderwebs, woven to make him captive. They had no relevance to the power he felt flowing through his body.
The man started to weep. If he hated tears it was only that they were no sign of the rage he felt rather than that they betrayed that he was, in truth, not made of stone.
The Vulcan barely noticed when someone entered the room and stood staring at him after the wall had rose.
They entered the cell.
Spock heard them as they stepped inside his prison and stood in the darkness that encompassed the space. Now he looked up. Whoever was with him, the Vulcan knew that they were male. The lengths they had gone to cloak themselves, their face hidden by a mask, had been foolish. He could tell from the shape and that scent that they gave off. The scent of blood was strong on them too. It was a scent he did not recognize, making him take the man for a stranger.
They were human too. He could smell that as well. His passion held no rules to govern it, no specific desire but his own gratification, yet he knew that what he needed was female for that was what he had been taught. To Spock, in this irrational state, he understood only that anything that was not a mate was an enemy.
The Vulcan stood quickly. He rushed towards the stranger, pushing them to the ground. Feeling that his opponent was not fighting, it was not difficult for Spock to grab the hands of the intruder and pin them above their cloaked head. Still, the intruder did not fight. Spock screamed, as much in confusion as anger. One hand free, Spock used it to move under the cloak, trying to lift it from the man now under him. As it moved farther up the body of the stranger, the Vulcan was shocked to feel that the simple touch from the exploring hand was enough to cause almost instant arousal in the man beneath him. As if to prove this further, the captive let go a small moan as the skin of the finger tip lightly grazed the throbbing bit of flesh once again.
This unexpected reaction was enough to bring the Vulcan to his feet. The man once pinned to the floor, moved swiftly in this freedom, kneeling in front of the other man. With confident touch, one of the cloaked man's hands disappeared down the pants of the surprised Spock and reversed the position held only moments before. Spock tried to back away but was stunned and enthralled by the touch of the stranger and the effect it was having on him. One hand continued stroking the answering member as the stranger's other fingers completely pulled down the uniform leggings. When the hand was taken away, the Vulcan let out a cry, unaware that the loss of such touch would be so regretted.
Spock did not need to mourn the loss for too long for mouth now replaced hand, tongue, lip and teeth being the equal of those skilled fingertips. Yet the hands refused to remain idle for long caressing the Vulcan's back and buttocks. Spock brought his hands to the head that was offering him such release and stroked it in gratitude.
Feeling himself about to lose control, the Vulcan gently backed away, the mouth of the lover still open. Spock brought his lips to the open mouth, forcing his own tongue inside it and tasting the salt he had left in his wake. Grabbing the human hands, Spock caressed them, enacting a Vulcan ritual that was not known to his lover. Still the other man tried to learn, gently stroking the hands pressed against his.
Not risking the chance of waiting much longer, the Vulcan firmly brought the stranger to his feet, facing him towards the wall of the cell. Spock grabbed the cloak, pulling it off of the man before him, the mask, still staying in place. There was no urge to remove it as well. Quickly, the Vulcan kissed the hollow made in the human's back and separated the legs, bringing forth another moan from his lover.
Fitting his head in the groove of the human's neck, Spock entered the man from behind. The man moaned first in shock, then pain and finally pleasure. As if in the act he was made whole for the first time in the entirety of his life. The Vulcan's hands rested against the human ones now splayed on the wall. They moved together, as one single being would. Spock could no longer feel, or desired to, the feel of the Enterprise at all. The only movement he was aware of was that of the man who had come to save him. His hands moved to the stranger's front, knowing that he was receiving pleasure as well for the salvation he offered. As they became more sure of their actions, Spock grasped onto the other man, below the waist, digging in and tearing into the human's flesh.
The stranger cried out and Spock nestled his head further into the crook of his lover's neck as if in apology. Their movements once again in rhythm it was a short while later that they climaxed, this too in a unison that echoed their actions.
Spent, they fell to the floor, their breath in unison now, as well. Spock could sense a new smell now, one of blood also but different from the first. While trying to grasp onto the meaning of this, he felt the stranger's lips press into his one last time before sleep claimed him.