His mouth was parched, head swimming. For a moment he thought he'd been turned blind while he was out, although the strange, formless images left over from the mind meld raged behind closed eye lids. When his vision finally began to return, he could make out his surroundings. They looked like ones he was familiar with, but he knew exactly where he was. As much as McCoy would love to take his grogginess as a sign that he'd been through a night of liquor dreams, with Scotty perhaps, he just couldn't delude himself.
He could see Spock at the doorway speaking to his nurse—the nurse of this universe, he had to remind himself-- and he started to get up. The binds at his wrists, however, prevented him from leaving the bed. He felt a nauseating panic as the bearded Vulcan of this world approached him, although he did not appear to come with any malevolent intent. Instead, he took a look at the vitals on the monitor with the coldness of any nurse, and then took a seat beside the bed.
"What the Hell is this?" McCoy burst, tugging at the binds, even though he knew they'd never yield. "Lemme outta here!" he yelled, tiring himself out.
"Must I gag you as well?" Spock warned, a trace of impatience in an otherwise emotionless voice.
It took great effort, but McCoy calmed himself enough to keep quiet, and lay there, panting, glaring at Spock, his fists shaking at the binds. "What am I doing here?" he hissed. "You said you were letting us go!"
Out the corner of his eye, he saw the Nurse Chapel of this world pass by and cast him a harsh look. Before he could imagine what that was about, Spock said, "I did. And I have allowed the others to return."
"Then why-" he started to yell, and Spock raised an eyebrow slightly. Taking that as a warning, McCoy lowered his voice, but there wasn't any less passion in his voice. "What do you want with me?"
Spock treated him to a look of smug indifference, a slight pursing of the lips, a shine to the eye. It wasn't all that different than the sort of look his Spock would have when he was feeling triumphant or smug about something. McCoy hated to see such a familiar expression on this stranger's face. "I simply prefer your company to that of the original counterpart." He stood, and McCoy tensed, watching him. "He was an insufferably insolent creature," he said, almost spitting the words. He crossed his arms and glared at the wall, almost complaining to himself. "Constantly harassing me with some kind of underhanded insult or another."
McCoy could have laughed. In fact he couldn't help but smirk humorlessly at this. "Then you've made a serious mistake-" he started to argue.
Spock turned to him, his eyes alighting as if noticing McCoy for the first time. "I know for a fact you will be nothing like him." With that same intense look in his eye, he came closer to the bed and placed on hand on it by McCoy's head. McCoy stared up at him, stiffening. "One glimpse into your mind was all it took, Doctor. I knew, from the moment I laid one finger on you, that I had to have you. You and no other."
For a moment McCoy didn't say anything, not sure exactly how to answer that. So he changed the subject, slightly. "If-if you hated him so much, you could have just killed him," he whispered.
Spock grunted and stood up straight again, as if dismissing what McCoy said. "I have effectively done so," he said, in an overly artificial tone. It was flat and emotionless, and it seemed forced. "By sending him to what was once your universe, he is dead to me. I have nothing left of him now, not even a memory."
McCoy felt that nausea return in full force, wondering if he dare form a theory about this so soon. He knew he shouldn't ask this, he knew he'd most likely hate the answer, but he asked anyway as Spock began to undo the binds at his wrists. "But how am I not a living memory of him?" he demanded. Every time Spock's hand passed close to his face in the act of untying the straps, McCoy flinched away. He'd never felt pain quite as what those hands had shown him. "Dammit, we're the same man!" McCoy had almost said "Spock," but was unable to use that name for this man.
"Exactly," Spock agreed. The wrist straps were off, but he was holding one of McCoy's wrists tightly in his hand. The doctor made a half hearted attempt to pull his hand free, although he knew it was pointless. "Doctor Leonard McCoy is of valuable use to me, for his expertise in the field, for his rank and the privileges that come with it, for his myriad of connections, despite how they were gathered."
Spock's grip was tightening. McCoy could only wince, his captured hand tight in a fist. "Then what makes me different?"
One corner of Spock's mouth pulled into a half grin. "I know you won't forget your place."
//////
The kind faces, the jovial, sing-song voices, it was all so intoxicating to the doctor. He was nearly giddy with the strange feelings of being immersed in this, it was unsettling in a way. The way the captain and the others of this universe were behaving reminded him of the mindless, carefree ways of children too young to fully understand the way the world worked.
But even all that couldn't compare with the sudden privacy he now had. Everyone was off to their own places, and he was left alone. Even Spock had finally left the transporter room. If Spock had suspected anything, he made no sign of this, and did not ask twice. It was exhilarating, this new feeling. He was, for the first time, trusted.
Still, he was clever enough not to let these appearances lower his defenses. Perhaps these officers and his counterpart were friends, but he still had no way of telling how far this friendship might go, or what the rest of the crew thought of him. There was still violence and force in this universe, as he had experienced first hand when he and the rest of the intruders were herded like animals to the brig.
So as he made his way to Sickbay, he kept his eyes and ears open, watching carefully anyone that passed, looking over his shoulder every so often. A few shipmates smiled at him or greeted him in a friendly manner as he passed, and while at first this was wonderful, it was beginning to bother him. There was no way to tell if this friendliness was just a ruse or if it were genuine. He had known the odd crew member who had been killed by smiling friends. It was clear that this universe was different than the one he was born in, but exactly how different?
Sickbay looked freakishly different to him. Considerably less booze in the shelf on the wall, and everything so...sterile. He wondered if he was in the right place for a minute. The surgical instruments were there, indeed, but no evidence that any of it actually got used. Even the beds were empty.
He stiffened when he saw Nurse Chapel come in from the back entrance, a data disc in her hand. He knew this was not the one he was used to, but he could not relax himself even when she gave him a warm, seemingly sincere smile. He grinned weakly back, trying not to make it so obvious that he was watching her hands. His hand dropped to his hip, and his heart pounded when he found himself to be unarmed.
"Are you alright, Doctor?" she asked, frowning.
McCoy turned the smile up a notch and tried to look casual, leaning on one of the beds. He noticed she had no weapons of any kind on her person, either. "I-uh, well..."
"Was it rough over there?" she asked, honest concern on her face.
"Huh? O, o yes," he said, faking a strong acceptance of having survived difficulty. "I'd rather not talk about it, actually."
Another first in his life, she bought his act, and even put her hand on his shoulder. He knew she meant that as a friendly, comforting gesture, but it made him shiver. It took a lot to keep from drawing back. "Of course, Leonard," she said softly. "You know where I'll be if you change your mind." She patted him softly, increased her soft smile, and left.
McCoy flung his hand to where she'd touched him as soon as she turned the corner, and already felt a little silly for the paranoia. He wasn't sure what he expected to find there, a powder she might have rubbed onto him, an injection wound. Such fears were legitimate back in the other world, but didn't necessary have a place here.
He laughed softly to himself. That world was nothing but a memory anymore, in fact, he had no reason to even hang on to the memory of it if he didn't want to. As far as McCoy was concerned, that world no longer existed. It was a freak transporter accident that displaced him and the others, and a stroke of luck on whichever side that brought them all, except for him, back to where they belonged. That other world was nothing more than a parallel universe, which really did not exist outside of obscure mathematical theories.
For a moment, he thought of the other McCoy, and then realized where he must be. The very thought of it made him laugh harder and richer than he'd laughed in a very long time.
.