McCoy threw his head back and sighed. His secret was out, but he didn't really feel much for it. In fact it was a relief. Of course it would be terrible if the higher ups decided to protect their ship by killing or imprisoning or exiling him, but at least he could still ask as many questions as he pleased without calling attention to himself. Everything was in someone else's hands now, and that was actually comforting.

Much like home, he thought, rolling his eyes.

Pushing those worries away, he stretched out on the Vulcan's bed, smoothing his face on the pillow, dragging his hands along the blankets. These blankets were much softer than the other Spock's. With a soft sigh, he drank in the scent of the pillow and smiled to himself. It should have been obvious, but it still came as a comforting surprise that the bed overall smelled the same as he was used to.

The smells brought back a flood of memories, though they were vague and formless. Only the emotions of being with his Spock, with dread and hatred being forefront. And yet he didn't stop, and even found that he was grinding himself on the blankets. He blushed slightly, even though he was alone, and laughed at his own foolishness.

Turning on his back, McCoy relaxed. He put one arm beneath his head, bent his knees, and put one leg over the other knee. When Spock left, he had the brief idea of searching the place, but he could do that later. If it's one thing McCoy knew how to do, it was how to remain sane while locked up waiting for Spock. That demon might be able to hold his physical body prisoner, he thought, but he couldn't force him to think in any particular way.

The Spock of this universe was...fascinating. It was like a completely different person, but McCoy knew there were some things that remained the same. He couldn't see them yet, but he knew they were there. But soon he lost interest in the comparisons and thought back to the argument in the rec room. It gave him a shiver to think of it, the chance he'd taken. Such blatant disrespect, so obvious and out in the open, and without any backup weapons or an escape plan.

The doctor was by no means meek and quiet before he got here. The Spock of his universe was dangerous, but for the most part, predictable. You can't expect to survive a place like the ISS Enterprise without leaning the ins and outs of everyone you encounter.

This Spock, this unshaven, softer, less sinewy Vulcan had a remarkable handle on his emotions, McCoy thought with mock admiration, but it wasn't the fact that he could get a response out of Spock that intrigued him, it was when.

He would never have guessed that there was some kind of stigma against a forced mind meld until he saw the horror in the Vulcan's eyes when he suggested it. In the rec room, McCoy had wanted to push it even further, he was obsessed with forcing Spock to do it. Of course, his primary plan was to overwhelm Spock with painful images that would conceal the truth, but convince the Vulcan, and thus the captain, that McCoy was telling the truth.

But every motive has an ulterior shadow. McCoy let his free hand drift to the hem of his shirt, half-expecting to play with the golden sash that was no longer there, as he remembered attacking Spock in the hallway. McCoy had fought his Spock countless times, both physically and mentally. There was never a day where either of them was not banged up and bleeding at least a little bit. But it was so different in this case. Even when he was just arguing with Spock, he'd had the strange feeling that he was being overly cruel, that there was pain as well as anger in the Vulcan's eyes. And when he tried to force his way into Spock's mind, McCoy had received a flash of deep hurt, but not the kind he was trying to inflict.

If he'd been armed, McCoy thought, he could have forced Spock to relent. For just those few seconds before Spock had walled up his mind, he was completely vulnerable, exposed the way McCoy never dreamed he could be. He couldn't tell if that was because he was not afraid to go too far with this Spock, or if this Spock simply were just far weaker than the other.

He was rubbing himself with a consistent, rough rhythm over his pants now, letting his mind take control of this fantasy. Turning his head to take in the subtle scents of the Vulcan's body and that same peculiar shampoo left on the bed, McCoy imagined himself holding a knife to Spock's throat and telling him to keep his mind open. His Spock's face was usually far more expressive than the cold statue of this universe, but McCoy had never seen such naked pain on this Spock's face when he had attacked him. So he focused on that image for his fantasy and amplified it, imagining the Vulcan grimace in pain and stand still and helpless as he touched him.

This fantasy disturbed McCoy, but he indulged anyway. It was so wildly different than what he was used to, and so powerful, it really didn't matter. By now he was molesting the Vulcan in his fantasy, biting at his neck and face, completely turning the tables. Externally, he was moaning with pleasure.

He ripped his hands off himself when he heard the door zip open. He supposed that Spock must have been surprised to see him panting and red in the face on his bed, but McCoy didn't look at him to see. Instead he got off the bed and into Spock's bathroom, mumbling something as he went.

Having Spock walk in on him like that made it all the more desperate he take care of himself, and by now he didn't need any fantasies at all to get off. He had taken a brief glance of Spock's expressionless face as he had headed to the bathroom; that and the Vulcan's mere presence was enough. He came barely a minute later, clutching a bar on the wall white knuckled, blinded for a moment. He took much longer to calm himself down before he dared go back out there.

Spock seemed not to have moved a muscle since he was waiting. There he was, hands clasped behind his back, chin up a bit, nothing on his face. Spock's eyes tracked McCoy as he came closer, but there wasn't anything else there, no familiarity. It made McCoy want to punch him just to see what he'd do.

But McCoy kept his distance, slowly taking a seat on the bed in front of him. He leaned on the bed post and peered up at Spock with a soft grin, searching for signs of weakness. His heart began to pound again; he was alone in the Vulcan's intolerably hot room (it was far cooler than his Spock's, however; perhaps the Vulcans of this universe didn't need so much heat?), with Spock standing over him. The struggle for dominance with his Spock could last minutes or even hours, it could involve using pillows or data discs or the pins on their shirt as weapons, and it could even leave Spock the bloodier of the two. But it always ended the same way. As soft and vulnerable as this Spock appeared, McCoy did not for a second believe that this Spock could not eventually overpower him as well.

"So what are you gonna do with me?" he asked in a slow drawl.

Spock barely looked at him as he answered, "Until I have found a way to return you to your universe, you return to your duties as normal." He glanced down. "I will help you adjust."

"What? No executions? No public denouncement?" McCoy joked, but he was immensely relieved at this. If Spock had told him he was to be killed, he had already planned to try to change Spock's mind, any way he could. That tactic hadn't worked on the captain, but McCoy didn't doubt it would work on Spock, eventually.

"The captain has informed me that your universe is one of barbarity and no respect for life," Spock said with a slight tightening of the lips. "He has told me that crew members are tortured and put to death based on the captain's whims and for minor infractions." When Spock looked down at McCoy, the doctor felt something rush through him. For a moment their eyes locked. "That is not our way, Doctor. Our purpose is for exploration and the peaceful expansion of the known galaxy, not conquest and war."

McCoy began to grin, finding this so very amusing for some reason. "I get it. You're all a bunch of sweethearts. So I take it the Romulans are also a bunch of peace loving, pointy eared darlings?" he joked.

Spock frowned. "No, Doctor. That is not the case. They are some of our most deadly enemies, although at the present time we are not at war."

McCoy shook his head with a far away look in his eye. "Amazing."

"What is?"

"Well, Spock, in my universe, we've teamed up with the fuckers." McCoy looked up at Spock and smirked. "To put it mildly."

Spock raised an eyebrow and seemed to relax a bit, presented with a tidbit of a different culture. "Fascinating," he muttered. "That would explain the savage behavior, and the almost feudal caste system."

"Only you would get off on the textbook details, Spock," McCoy teased. "Easy to pick apart the details while you're nice and safe here, isn't it?"

Spock tensed. "I did not mean to be insensitive, Doctor. I was merely--"

"You were merely trying to understand my world," McCoy interrupted, and stood up. He had a soft, hesitant grin on his face and leaned against the bed post, gazing at Spock, who avoided looking at him.

"Yes," Spock said, but in a more forced way than before, as if he were not sure he should answer that. "It would be beneficial for us to fully understand your background, so that we may be more accommodating."

"And so you know what to expect from me," McCoy added with a slight snarl.

"I mean no personal insult," Spock said, and as expressionless as he was, McCoy could easily tell his discomfort. It made him smile. "You must understand how delicate this situation is. How would your captain handle a similar problem?" Spock looked to McCoy when he asked this, his voice just barely catching in his throat.

McCoy stared at Spock, relishing the power that Spock had just given him. The aching in his eyes was plain as day, begging more for reassurance, even if it were a lie, than the truth. He gave an exaggerated expression of wonder as he shifted his body around the bed post, getting closer to Spock but still not touching him. Spock did not move away, but McCoy could tell he wanted to. Licking his teeth slightly as he gave Spock a toothy grin, he answered softly, "Well, if there were an intruder on my ship," he stopped to correct himself, taking his time. "Or rather, the ISS Enterprise, that poor soul would be tortured until every last bit of information could be ripped from him." Spock's obvious distress at this made him smirk and have a little fun as he continued. "If he managed to survive the process by the time the captain was satisfied, he'd either be given to someone as a slave or put to death."

Spock didn't say anything for a moment, and then turned away, pretending to be distracted with tidying up his already immaculate cabinet. "Would said intruder have a chance at concealing his true identity?"

"You mean can your friend pass off as me?" McCoy grinned. He took Spock's silence as a yes. "I don't think you want me to answer that, Spock."

With his back to the human, Spock almost snapped, "I would appreciate any information or even speculations, Doctor."

McCoy walked over to Spock, who stiffened, but did not move. Leaning his elbow on the bureau, McCoy said softly, "No, really. I'm not the one you should be asking. I don't know anything about your friend. I don't know how strong or resistant to pressure he might be; only you would know that."

Spock's hands were fists on the bureau. He was staring straight ahead, teeth clenched, but fought to keep everything else down. "You are him," he said in almost a hiss. "Not exactly, of course, but you should be able to predict his success by imagining yourself in the same situation."

McCoy leaned his back against the cabinet and stared at his hands. It was a small triumph to hear Spock refer to him and his counterpart as the same man, but that didn't necessarily mean that from now on Spock would try to get any closer to him. If anything, McCoy figured that any further discussion between the two would only be about his universe, and how the "other one" might be doing. "Well you found me out pretty quickly, didn't you?"

Spock turned to him. "Perhaps my counterpart would be the first to suspect?"

"Perhaps," McCoy teased, giving him a sideways smirk. "For his sake, I hope so."

This seemed to relax the Vulcan. "The Spock of your universe is not as dangerous as the others?" he asked, and while it was very hard to guess his feelings, McCoy couldn't help but wonder if this idea boosted Spock's ego, that he would be the exception to the rule. That everyone else were savages, to this universe's standards, and yet Spock, the emotionless Vulcan, was not.

"Now this really is a question for you, Spock. I know it's the Vulcan way to try to kill your feelings, but I'm sure there have been times when you've been overcome by need for something. When you've felt violent thoughts and thought you couldn't control them." He stared hard into Spock's eyes, and Spock did not look away. He could not. "I don't know the role of the Vulcans in this world, Spock. I don't know exactly what it means to be Vulcan or just how far your unfeeling act really goes, but in my world, your kind are all but extinct. The Spock I knew tried very hard to maintain that philosophy, but I think you can imagine very well just how hard that would be with so few supporters and so many people thinking you're stupid for living that way."

McCoy paused, and Spock looked away. He took a very small step back when McCoy came closer to him, and would not look at him. Spock flinched just barely when McCoy put his hand on his arm, slowly pulling the Vulcan around to face him. The desire to see pain in the the other's eyes was still there, but in the background this time. He wasn't sure why, but a part of him needed this Spock to better understand his.

"Put yourself in that place, Spock, where if anyone couldn't tell you from a Romulan, that would be the truth, not an insult. Imagine that, and ask yourself what you would do if you found out someone close to you was a stranger." His fingers tightened. "What would you do, Spock?"

The Vulcan's breathing increased, and he pulled away from McCoy. Just before Spock turned away, McCoy was able to see that his eyes were stained green, and his jaw was clenched.

"Do you require more time to rest before reporting to duty?" Spock asked, colder now than ever.

McCoy sighed and shrugged. "Might as well get busy, I suppose."

Spock would not turn to look at him. For all his emotional distance, Spock might as well have been talking to himself. "The captain does not expect you to return to duty until--"

"I said it was fine," McCoy said, and he got up off the bureau, noticing Spock flinch slightly. If he felt a pang of sadness at how obvious it was that this Spock did not want to be touched, then all McCoy had to do was focus on the sadistic pleasure he could get from it. In fact, he felt himself begin to relax when he pushed those other thoughts away. Why should he care about this Spock? Who was he to him, except merely a superior officer that would not beat him senseless for doing something wrong? As far as McCoy was concerned, the Spock he once feared was dead, and this man now leading him to Sick Bay was just someone who looked a bit like him and had the same name.

////

Just as he had suspected and dreaded, Kirk had not advised either Chapel or M'Benga of the situation, leaving the job to him. However, at least he did understand why the captain had left this entire thing to him, the dealing with the impostor and making sure that key staff figures understood. Handling the Romulan situation would require every ounce of the captain's attention and resources, Spock knew. At this very moment he could be engaged in tedious, frustrating conversations with Starfleet Command over the fate the defectors.

If they really were defecting, of course. Spock personally believed that this was a trick of some kind, and that the Romulans were playing on the predictable human emotions and taking advantage of the kindness they knew to expect. This was not entirely true, as Spock knew that if this battered group would have come to the Vulcans for sanctuary, they would have received it, but they would also have been put under strict observation and interrogation.

Kirk was busy enough with an issue that involved galactic security. If the Romulans were less than sincere in any way, that could mean the lives of everyone on board, at the very minimum. No one should envy such a responsibility.

And yet Spock knew that was only partly the case. It was impossible not to know why Kirk had really passed this job onto him whenever Spock looked into McCoy's eyes. They were the same pale blue, but they were the eyes of a total stranger.

Once Sick Bay was finally emptied of non-essential personnel, Spock, McCoy, M'Benga, and Chapel went to McCoy's office. McCoy leaned on the desk beside Spock, who, while irritated that the doctor chose to stand close to him, remained where he was and put on his most professional appearance.

"Maybe I should wait outside--" McCoy mumbled.

"No, Doctor. You should stay here."

Chapel frowned and cast a look over them both. "What's going on?"

"What I must inform you both is to be kept strictly confidential," Spock began. "It is vital to the security of this ship, especially with our current situation, that you keep this between us four." McCoy rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

"Cut the fuckin' dramatics and tell them," McCoy snapped, while his staff members gazed with shock.

"When the landing party returned from the parallel universe Doctor McCoy remained where he was. The McCoy of the other universe is the one that returned with us."

The nurses gaped, Chapel in particular, throwing a panicked look to McCoy, who seemed bored. "How can that..." she stammered.

"I do not know what happened to cause this," Spock said. "But I assure you both that I will find out, and I will return this one to his universe and bring ours back."

"If he survives that long," McCoy smirked. He winked at Chapel when she gasped.

Spock turned to glare at him, feeling his his blood pressure rise. "Do you wish to spend your days here alienated?" he demanded in a repressed tone.

McCoy made a derisive, dismissive face and squeezed his arms tighter around his chest.

"Do you think we can get him back?" Chapel asked, giving McCoy a quick a shuddering look. "Mr. Spock, if what I've heard is true--"

"I will try," Spock snapped. He did not even want to hear any words, from anyone, that would suggest any danger to the McCoy he knew. The man standing beside him had suggested that he try to imagine how he would behave had his personality been shaped by the Romulans. He was unable to continue the speculation without becoming physically sick. "You both must trust that I will devote my full attention and resources to this problem--"

"This isn't just some exercise of logic, Spock!" M'Benga interrupted, but softened as soon as he said it. "I'm sorry--"

Spock only sighed in response, though barely loud enough for anyone to hear. "In the meantime, this one will fulfill the role of our Doctor McCoy, as if he never left."

The other two looked at each other, and Spock could tell they hated this idea. He was sure they were holding a lot back, but he was glad for that. It would have been so unprofessional to indulge in anger in such a case where there really was no other alternative.

"He will be under very close observation while he is here, I can assure you," Spock said, taking a guess as to their most primary concern. "I understand that you may worry that he will think to behave in a way that may have been natural for him in his place of origin." He looked to McCoy briefly. "But our goal is not to ostracize him. We must accept the possibility that our Leonard McCoy will never return." Spock paused, more for his own benefit than for the others'. "The only thing that makes this man different than the one we know is his past. He is merely a different version, with different memories, but he is still, in name and every other way, Leonard McCoy." Spock did not believe a word of what he was saying, but it was a very pretty lie. "He has learned a unique way of behavior as a response to a hostile environment, but he will learn a new way. Perhaps, with your help and patience, this man will learn to become the one that we have lost." Spock realized that he kept referring the McCoy as "this man," or "this one." He hoped no one else picked up on that.

"You think maybe I can have a chance to speak for myself?" McCoy butted in, sarcastically.

His hands tightening behind his back, Spock answered robotically, "You may."

"Why thank you, Mr. Spock," McCoy snapped, giving him a lingering glare before turning to M'Benga and Chapel. "Look, none of this is my fault, you need to understand that now. I don't know what happened, but it's happened, and I honestly doubt anything can be done about it. Hell, I thought this whole idea about parallel universes was the most ridiculous bunch of technobabble before all this happened."

Spock noticed with a vague irritation that Nurse Chapel was listening eagerly, her facial features softening. And M'Benga appeared charmed by the intruder's words as well, although he was more reserved with whatever he was feeling.

If Spock were not under orders to make sure this went smoothly, he never would have allowed the intruder to speak. In fact, if it were up to him, this other one would be rotting in the brig until he found a way to send him back. Let the ship think that their CMO had disappeared, let morale slip. It was nothing they could not handle. Far better than suffer the cruelty of being forced to act like any of this was ok.

"I might be here for a while. I might never go back," McCoy continued, his very voice grinding in Spock's ears. He noticed that by now the intruder had Chapel's hands in his own, and Spock came very close to slapping them apart. "I really hope you can accept me if that's what it comes to."

Chapel looked to Spock, who immediately avoided her eyes, and then squeezed McCoy's hands. With the way both nurses were so close to McCoy, looking concerned rather than angry and suspicious, Spock could just imagine the intruder's pride swelling. He hated this McCoy even more for this filthy trick.

"What about our Leonard?" she asked in a whisper. "Will he be alright...until we can find him?"

McCoy sighed and stroked her hand, flicking a glance to Spock. "I had many friends over there, Christine," he said. "Spock in particular used to watch out for me." Here he paused and caught Spock's eye, giving him a vicious flash of a grin. "He'll be fine. If I kept myself alive all this time, he damn well can." He gave her a warm, charming smile, and she grinned nervously back.

Spock interrupted what he saw as a sickening, insulting display. "The doctor will be returning to duty, but he will work shortened shifts until further notice. Primarily he will be merely filling space for the crew's benefit. It is imperative that no one should suspect that anything is amiss. Further, you must ensure that he does not spend any time in Sick Bay, or anywhere else, alone for too long."

"Spock!" Chapel argued, shocked.

"This is only temporary, Nurse, and for his protection as well as ours."

"How the fuck does babysitting count as 'my protection,' Vulcan?" McCoy snarled. "Might as well lead me around with a fuckin' leash and tie me to the Godamn fire hose nozzles when you're busy!"

Spock was not impressed by his graphic outburst, as the other two were, and this further increased his suspicion that this McCoy was deliberately exaggerating. Personally, he could not understand how such a martyr like performance would make him appear any less of a threat, but he could tell that M'Benga and Chapel were buying it.

"If your identity is revealed, Doctor," Spock retorted. "Then the captain will have no choice but to surrender you to Starfleet Command as a breach of security, and I cannot imagine what would happen to you then. If you wander the passageways by yourself, you are exposing yourself to the risk of saying the wrong thing to the wrong person, or mistaking a friendly tap on the shoulder as an attack, or any number of scenarios, and action will have to be taken. You are safe as long as no one but present company knows who you truly are."

Everyone sobered at this, including McCoy, although he was considerably more sullen about it than the other two. Spock could feel the doctor's eyes burning into him; he could just imagine the hateful, violent feelings that this man must be shooting at him, but he didn't care. As long as he could be controlled, then Spock had no concern over him.

Not with the McCoy that belonged here trapped in that savage world.

"I must leave you with him now," he said, breaking off his own thoughts. "I regret the inconvenience that--"

"Spock," Chapel said quietly to him, but didn't say anything more. She didn't need to. Spock just nodded and left Sick Bay.

Only to be followed a few minutes later by McCoy, with M'Benga running after him. The two humans shouted back and forth to each other until Spock intervened. "Undoubtedly he wishes to clear up a few things with me," he told M'Benga, who had a confused frown on his face, still unsure how to feel about this. Spock knew it was not in anyone's self interest to turn either Chapel or M'Benga against McCoy. Except perhaps his own selfish, illogical interest. "Please give us some privacy and return in five minutes."

"Aye, Sir," he said quietly, and went back inside.

"You can tell those two all you want to accept me," McCoy wasted no time. "But it doesn't matter a mite if you can't yourself!"

"As long as you obey my orders and respect whatever limitations the captain may have, then you will not have to suffer any further indignities," Spock said coldly. "You could be grateful that you have any freedoms at all."

"Freedoms! What freedoms? You're saying I can't go anywhere on the ship without--"

"You are more than welcome to take your chances with Starfleet Command, Doctor."

McCoy glared and ran his fingers through his hair, while Spock merely waited for M'Benga to return. "Let me ask you something then."

"Proceed."

McCoy bit his lip and asked, "What did I, or rather, my other self mean to you?"

"He was a colleague and a friend. I had much respect for him." Spock realized that he was speaking of his McCoy as if he were already dead, but he knew that it was important to be ready for such a possibility.

"There was more to it than that," McCoy snapped. "I saw it in your eye when you asked me if he'd be alright."

Spock clenched his teeth, disgusted that this man would think to try to use something like that against him. "Whatever my relationship to the Leonard McCoy of this universe was is none of your business."

"Yes it is, Spock!" McCoy shouted, grabbing Spock by the arm. "You say you want me to acclimatize to this godamn place, you have no right to keep something like that from me!"

Spock's glare was vicious, barely controlled, as he commanded, "Take your hand off me, Doctor." He stared McCoy down until he let go. "You will refrain from making physical contact with me from now on, or I will be forced to take that as a threat."

"You are so full of--"

"You have already proven yourself dangerous. It is your own fault that these precautions must be made." Spock exhaled in relief when he saw M'Benga open the door and start towards them.

"Don't fuckin' blame me for losing your lover, Vulcan!" he snarled as M'Benga took hold of his arm.

Spock took a few rapid steps closer to McCoy, but managed to control himself before he went too far. He hoped that his display, as much as it shamed him, would only appear as mere annoyance to M'Benga. Unfortunately, Spock knew he could not hope to fool the intruder. "I know better than to fraternize with a subordinate, Doctor. I would not jeopardize the safety of this ship by going against any protocol. Not with my friend, and not with you."

Spock watched McCoy's face fall, with only a hint of his previous hostility left, and he felt a surge of triumph. It shamed him to derive satisfaction from watching that man's self-assurance deflate, however, as that meant that he was allowing this man to control him.

The spiteful, challenging look returned to McCoy's face as M'Benga took him back to Sick Bay, but Spock saw something else in his face this time, and his satisfaction increased. As Spock headed for the bridge, he chastised himself. Such feelings were inappropriate and would not at all help this situation. He should be focusing on the solution to this problem rather than wasting a moment's thought to the intruder's pain at his words.

Inappropriate or not, they felt very, very good.