It was too hot in this room. No, too cold. McCoy felt his hand moisten when he dropped his head in it; definitely too hot. Whatever the temperature, the room was swimming, and his half lidded eyes could hardly keep up.
A few hours after that boy was brought to Sickbay, Chapel had returned to McCoy's office, blabbering something at him. The doctor was by this time too drunk to care or listen to her, although the entire time he drank he kept his back to the wall, eyes forward. Even inebriated he knew to look out for himself.
He'd laughed at her when she told him the captain wanted to see him, so eventually she was forced to take him there herself. He would not let her touch him or get too close, but he followed her all the way to the briefing room with little comment.
Even in his state, however, he was still very worried. He didn't have a clue as to why he'd been summoned, and certainly had not expected it. He wouldn't have drank so much if he'd known; now he would have to fight to keep himself sharp.
He tensed, his head slumped against his arm, his entire body leaned slobbishly over the table, when Kirk entered. When Spock entered close behind, McCoy's eyes widened. The sudden panic was almost enough to sober him up right there. With some effort, he straightened himself and avoided their eyes.
"You're drunk?" Kirk asked, and the look on his face seemed almost hurt. He sat down close to McCoy, who leaned away slightly, still not looking at him. "Bones, what the Hell is going on here?" He gently put a hand on McCoy's shoulder, but the doctor lurched himself away, nearly stumbling as he went to stand by the wall.
McCoy was burning with both sets of eyes on him, and felt suddenly nauseous. "What did you wanna talk to me about, Kirk?" he asked with an accentuated drawl.
Kirk frowned and looked to Spock, whose lips tightened just barely, but otherwise he expressed nothing. With his arms crossed and his gaze steady at the slight figure leaned against the wall, Spock could have passed off as disapproving.
"Why did you refuse to treat Petty Officer Cass, Bones?" Kirk asked, his tone even, steady. "You said to...'let him die'?"
McCoy didn't speak. He didn't trust himself to, but he fought through the sluggish thoughts to try to figure this out. Kirk had said so himself, that patient was only a petty officer, so what was the problem? They were both staring at him now; he'd been groaning without even realizing it. "I can't talk right now," he said, and took a few deep breaths to wave off the nausea.
Kirk looked to Spock, who gave a small nod. "Alright, Bones. Go sleep it off, and we'll talk later." He got up and had to stop himself before going over to touch him.
"Ya, sure," McCoy grumbled, and he started to walk out, but he had to throw a hand to the wall to balance himself.
"I'll help you to your quarters," Spock said as he approached him.
"Don't touch me!" McCoy screamed when Spock got close. All three were silent, frozen. Kirk gaped, Spock's eyes widened, and McCoy wheezed with bared teeth.
McCoy focused every bit of energy into walking out of there without falling or throwing up. The empowerment that surged through him when he saw Spock back down was enough to get him out of that briefing room unhelped. He had to cling to the wall once out, but eventually he got himself to his own quarters.
With all his clothes still on, and droplets of blood on his shirt, the doctor passed out as soon as his head hit the mattress.
/////
A raging headache greeted him a few hours later, and for a while he felt completely disoriented. He found he could hardly remember the past several hours. He remembered drinking terrible brandy, and a bloody mess in Sickbay. He had vague, disconnected memories of Spock, but couldn't remember what he'd been doing. He imagined Spock to be bearded.
Still, he felt disturbed that he couldn't remember what happened. Blacking out after throwing back a few too many was common for him, but this was more than just a case of the morning-after amnesia. There was a vague doubt clouding his mind. He kept having this nagging feeling that he didn't belong here.
He spent nearly ten minutes looking for his golden sash and pins, tearing the place apart. The last time he reported to duty without his complete uniform, he spent the night cuffed to a pipe with a broken arm.
Just as he was about to scream, "WHERE THE FUCK IS IT?" there was a soft buzz at his door. "Who is it?" he demanded of the door, eyes wide.
"It's Spock, Doctor."
McCoy froze, and he both looked and felt terribly ill. But something in Spock's voice didn't seem right. "What-what do you want?" he snapped, that feeling of doubt increasing. He was starting to remember things.
"I wish to speak with you, on a personal matter," Spock said, then added, a bit softer, "It's not an order, Doctor, but I would very much like to speak with you."
McCoy had an idea, but that would require opening the door to find out. Something in Spock's voice assured him that he might be safe. Still, his heart slammed as he keyed the door open. He could have fallen faint, but there Spock was, unbearded.
Key memories flooded into place at that sight, so while McCoy still had a hard time remembering exactly how he managed to get back into his quarters, he remembered enough to realize where he was. Desperately he tried to read Spock's face and found almost nothing. When his Spock went into Vulcan-mode like this, that usually meant trouble.
Staring at him, McCoy stammered, "Come in." When Spock stepped inside, McCoy went to stand right by the door, so he could run out if he needed to. He motioned for Spock to sit on the bed, and while he hesitated, he eventually did so. "What did you want to talk about?"
"Ever since we returned from the parallel universe, you have been terrified of me," Spock said. "And everyone else."
McCoy shrugged and looked away. He felt a sharp pang. He wanted to trust this Spock, desperately so. He tried to imagine what would happen if he confessed the truth to him, but he'd need to know what his counterpart's relationship with this man was.
So he took a stab at it. "You're my friend, right, Spock?" He felt like laughing at the absurdity of that idea.
Spock's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Yes, of course I am. Leonard, am I right to assume that my other self has harmed you in some way?" McCoy felt disturbed by how flat and blank Spock's expression seemed to be. "Is that the cause of your fear?"
McCoy bit his lip and regarded him. If the Spock from his universe thought he was the paragon of Vulcan virtue, he had nothing on the living statue sitting before him. He wanted to scream at him, hit him, anything to get a reaction out of him. At least with his Spock, he could tell when it was relatively safe to say something.
"Yes, he did harm me," he said. "But I just want to forget it."
Spock paused before saying, "But this is influencing your work. I will have to relieve you of your duties."
"I'll be fine," McCoy dismissed.
Spock got up and slowly approached him. McCoy flinched and crept towards the doorway, his grimace growing as Spock got closer.
"You are not fine," Spock said, and this time there was a noticeable twinge to his voice. "I am not that person, Leonard. That individual is merely an alternate version of myself, but he is not me." Spock took a step closer, and McCoy's distress grew visibly. "He harmed you," Spock continued. "But I will heal you, if you allow it." He inched closer, his hand starting to raise.
"Don't you fucking touch me," McCoy hissed, and he felt a tear spill from his eye. He didn't even realize it till he felt the moisture at his chin. "You are not getting in my mind."
Spock stopped. For the first time since he arrived in this universe, McCoy saw some emotion flicker in the Vulcan's eyes He was obviously fighting to purge it. "I would never defile the sanctity of your privacy, Leonard," he said, his tone passionate in a robotic, controlled way. "I would not do a thing to you without your explicit consent, you must know this."
McCoy stormed out. He was overwhelmed. It was impossible to believe, but seeing Spock like that tore him up inside and made him want to spill his guts for him. The urge to cling to him and tell him everything, to find solace in his arms was so immediate, it hurt.
But he knew Spock. He'd served under him for nearly four years. Further, he knew Vulcans and their twisted ways. They were just a small, leaderless faction of fanatics who thought all too highly of themselves for their emotionally acetic ways, who used their bloated sense of self-importance to excuse them of any selfish, forceful, uncaring act they inflicted on others, all while self-righteously touting pacifism—just another way to make themselves appear more important than they were.
And he knew Spock was the best example of this obsolete philosophy. So things were different in this universe, he could accept that. He could even learn to trust Nurse Chapel, although that would take some time due to force of habit. But as long as one of those green blooded devils resided on board, he would never know peace.
Soon after he hid away in his office, Kirk came to see him. A part of him wanted to relax and believe his very first impressions of this man, while the other part closed himself off and prepared for an attack. He just glared when Kirk walked in, and didn't even listen as he started talking.
It was this same speech again, he realized wearily. He and Kirk were going on like they were before, like a broken record, Kirk demanding to know what was wrong, McCoy assuring that while something terrible did happen, he would get over it.
"You almost let a man die!" Kirk finally snapped impatiently, and McCoy was quiet. "Dammit, Bones, don't you see what's happening?"
He realized now why the captain kept bringing that up. True, that boy patient had been a creature of no consequence, but still, inexplicably, his life was still of value. It was a difficult concept to wrap his head around, that a life could still be important despite the person's rank, but he realized that must be it.
"You're right," McCoy said softly, casting his eyes down. He didn't really feel any remorse, but he did know how to act. "You're-yes of course you're right," he said softly, tenderly, and approached him. "I am so sorry, James." He reached for Kirk's hand. Kirk's expression was hard to read, but it was cold. So McCoy put extra effort into it as he stroked the captain's hand and kept his eyes meekly downcast. "I was wrong, but I'll do anything to make it up to you." His hand slid up Kirk's arm. "Forgive me, James?"
Kirk wrenched his arm free and stepped back, horror on his face. "What exactly do you think you're doing, Doctor?" he demanded through gritted teeth.
McCoy's face crumpled into confusion. "But...I..." he stammered, backing up slowly. He couldn't understand it, what had gone wrong? What did he do? He thought frantically, trying to figure out what he'd done...maybe he came off too aggressive? Maybe he wasn't submissive enough? Or were this Kirk's tastes far more specific...maybe there was something vital he missed?
When he bumped into the desk, he shuddered and latched onto it, covering his face with the other hand. He knew he'd offended this man somehow, and had no idea how to fix it. He didn't know how he'd offended him, he couldn't guess Spock's ulterior motives, he wasn't sure if his nurse secretly planned to drive a scalpel through the base of his skull the next time he nodded off. At least in his universe he knew what to expect, as vicious as it could be.
"Bones," Kirk kept saying to him. McCoy leaned against the desk, shoulders shuddering with fitful, stifled sobs, with his arms crossed and one hand uselessly trying to hide his face. He didn't fight Kirk off, but hoped that the man would at least be merciful enough to take what he wanted and then leave him alone. This forced friendliness beforehand was just cruel.
Still, the captain's body felt warm and comfortable to lean against, and for a while he could allow himself to enjoy feeling the other's hand on his head. He knew there'd be pain later. He knew he'd pay dearly for this, but for right now, he didn't care. He reached his arms around Kirk's waist and pressed against him as if they'd been the best of friends.