There's an empty silence surrounding Leonard that's as alarming as it is comforting. It's as void as the darkness, that's wrapped its protective arms around him, shielding him from the light. He's been searching for peace and quiet ever since he got back and unable to obtain it amongst the well meaning intentions of friends, coworkers and medical staff and the unrelenting haunting nightmares. It wasn't that long ago he was desperate for the glimpse of a friendly face and now he has so much 'quality time' with everyone it's making him sick. Jocelyn always said he'd make an excellent hermit living in a cave somewhere.
There's no sound what so ever, which is strange because star bases, like starships, have a constant soothing background buzz. Furthermore, medbay has a life affirming hum that's disturbingly absent. Leonard spares a thought to entertain the idea that perhaps he's dead; the last few days nothing more than the desperate prayer of his soul to find peace in his final seconds as he bleeds out on that white pristine planet. Others see their fondest moments flash before their eyes and he gets to hallucinate misery.
His limbs feel like lead weights, tying him to this mortal coil that the alternate universe tried so very hard to rip him from. The living embodiment of a ghost, sentenced to haunt his former life for eternity. He's too detached and too tired to care it though. As long as it's quiet, and free of the struggle that has become every day, he's good with whatever.
Leonard just kind of floats there, in the nothingness, enjoying the complete lack of everything. Every worry and concern that has been plaguing him is gone, like he misplaced them. There's a flicker in the back of his mind that his current mellowness is far superior to any night spent drinking - like he was going for the record. Drugs; a point that should spur concern, but they must be doing their job because he's content to drift for as long as possible. He could live in this space forever.
Even drugged out bliss isn't enough to stop the darkness from turning on him. Spock appears in the dark, like Satan bursting through the gates of hell in all his fiery glory. Spock's nightmare personified, his hand stretching out for Leonard like a reaper reaching for the next soul to drag to hell under the cover of eternal darkness and torment.
Leonard's eyes snap open wide as the Vulcan's hand clasps firmly over his mouth, silencing any protest the doctor could launch. He tries to fight, to scream, but no sound comes out and his traitorous body refuses to move; not one single inch. He's as helpless as he's been in every engagement with Spock.
Spock's strong to begin with, but Leonard's so weak and feeble he can't even begin to hope to shake the monster off now. Fear is griping his lungs as they fight desperately to suck in air, ripping into and shredding them into useless tatters in his chest. Leonard's the terrified mouse with his tail trapped under a cat's paw- nowhere to hide and the breath of imminent death creeping down his neck. For Spock's part, he looks about as put out as when he's filing a report submitted by a subordinate and hour late and with a spelling error in the first line. Apparently, Leonard's terrified fight for survival isn't entertaining enough.
The Vulcan's long fingers twitch, spreading to cover Leonard's nose, cutting off his air supply completely. What does it say about McCoy's life that that is the second scariest thing Spock can do with his fingers pressed against his face? Tears sting his eyes in anticipation of the mental onslaught of horrors Spock is no doubt planning on sharing.
The gentle buzzing in his ears and black spots in his vision are signalling asphyxiation starting to settle in. His body is doing everything it can to try and get air but it's a futile effort. The last thing he's going to see in this world is Spock's ugly mug staring dispassionately down at him like he's some kind of bug to dispose of.
Spock leans forward and carefully whispers in Leonard's ear, "We're not done yet."
Leonard locks eyes with him as a feeling of dread far worse that of the cold hands of death pulling him under sends a cascade of sparks through his being.
Leonard bolts up, gasping and pawing at his neck. The beeping on the biobed monitor spikes as McCoy's heart pounds in his chest and his lungs feel like they'll burst as he sucks in oxygen like a starving man. His eyes dart around the room like a wild animal being chased by a vicious and unrelenting predator.
He's completely alone in his room; the soft light of evening illuminating all corners of his perfectly safe and empty room. The familiar ache that defines his life settles back into place as his chest stops heaving.
His hand is swathed in a myriad of bandages and protective casing to prevent any movement on the patient's part that could disrupt the surgeon's good work. To Leonard, it's nothing more than a shackle, constantly reminding him of his inescapable misery. The surgery is over and he's been left to sleep off the lingering remnants of the anaesthesia. He carefully probes his neck with his good hand, just to prove to himself that Spock's not really here. At least not that Spock.
Despite believing it was all just another horrible nightmare, Leonard can't shake the unsettled feeling turning his gut. He lies back down to try and chase the shadow of sleep but the weight of fear is keeping him awake. He's tense, rigid and finding it impossible to relax; the childish fear that Spock will emerge out of the darkness like the boogieman is like a thousand needles poking into him, keeping him on edge in anticipation.
Jim maybe adamant that they left that monster back in another universe, but Leonard knows Spock will keep his promise. Universal boundaries didn't stop him before and there is no logic in breaking a promise.
The morning silence is claustrophobic and filled with tension. It hangs in the recycled air giving it a foul tang. This room is a far cry from those on the Enterprise with the constant and reassuring hum of the engines and the flow of medical staff. No, this quiet and secluded medroom on Yorktown feels like an oppressive jail cell and McCoy's just waiting for his execution date. His executioner promised he'd finish it, but McCoy can't see Spock showing any mercy by making it quick.
The staff that comes in to check on his vitals are friendly enough, but he doesn't know them, doesn't want to either; not while there's familiar screams and faces rattling around in his head still. It's fake cheer anyways, projected by professionals that are either too polite or entrenched in pity for him to let his bitterness and all around misery crack their facade.
None of them seem to understand he just wants to be left alone to rot in peace. They don't understand, couldn't possibly. He can't trust strangers, not when he doubts his friends and fears the soulless monsters he's seen them as aren't going to emerge here.
Physical therapy and trauma counselling are just Band-Aids to make everyone else feel better about stuffing him back into a life he's not sure he fits or wants anymore. It's ironic considering how hard he fought to get back to it but wanting is always better than having. He pulls the blankets tightly over his head but they do nothing to block out the silence and its accusations against him.
Dr Tri'youl's already been in with her self-congratulations and glowing enthusiasm over what appears to be her best effort to give Leonard back his livelihood. It's a trait he can't stand in colleagues and abhors even more being on the opposite side of the situation. It's a feather in her cap but it's his life and he has to live with the success and short comings everyday while she moves on to something new. Everyone seems to want to bet on a miracle, that Leonard will grab onto the slim odds of getting through this one hundred percent with a little time and therapy, yet Leonard's always considered himself a pragmatist.
Twenty percent. He has a twenty percent chance of being a surgeon again. It falls well within Starfleet's parameters for his continued service in the fleet and onboard the Enterprise but not in the same capacity as he signed on for. He can still practice medicine, diagnose patients, prescribe drugs and courses of treatment. He's still able to run his department and impart all his wisdom to those that serve beneath him, just not the part he loves. What happens when Jim does something monumentally stupid and only Leonard can save him, but he has to hand it off to someone else that doesn't have the talent Leonard once did, because he doesn't have the dexterity to see the situation through? Having to leave the fate of his patients, his friends, in someone else's hands? It'll kill him.
"You seem better today," offers Jim, entering Leonard's room on the heels of dawn with an armful of PADDs and a precariously balanced bag of takeout. Leonard doesn't answer as Jim assumes the position, spreading his stuff out on the table. Jim grimaces at the mush on Leonard's breakfast tray, poking at it with the fork. "You gonna eat that?"
Jim doesn't wait for a response, removing the tray and depositing it on a side table. He'd like to meet the person that decided unflavored mushy oatmeal was good for recovering patients and argue that anyone unfortunate enough to be in sickbay for breakfast has already suffered enough. He rummages around in the bag he replaced the tray with, pulling out a box of Edosian sweet cakes with Kzinti jam from a bakery he sniffed out shortly after their return from the nebula. It isn't Mrs McCoy's baking that Leonard raves and compares all other baked goods to, but it's the closest Jim could find on a space station. In comparison to medical sanctioned food, it'll be orgasmic and definitely capable of raising Leonard's spirits. And Jim could use a little comfort food himself, not to mention a couple cups of coffee.
Leonard looks like he could use a hypospray of caffeine himself, despite having more color than yesterday, and judging by the critical stare he's giving Jim as he watches every move the captain makes with hawk like intensity, Leonard is far more with it, than the incoherent babbling he was spewing at Jim upon first becoming semi conscious after surgery.
"You know there's a reason medbay serves up bland breakfasts," huff Leonard, as Jim offers him a jam smothered muffin. He doesn't mean to foam at the mouth, especially with the people trying to help but it's just how it comes out. He's got a bone to pick with the universe and currently he's laid up and trapped like a caged animal. It's one of the wedges that came between him and Jocelyn; he'd lash out at what she thought was well meaning help when all he wanted was to be left alone to deal with his demons. It just soured her attempts into harsh criticism and the vicious cycle of her under cutting him and him snapping at her went round and round until it imploded in an affair and a messy divorce with enough blame to throw around to cover the whole state of Georgia.
Jim just shrugs and proceeds to stuff the muffin in his mouth before reclaiming 'his' chair. Leonard's acting like a lion with a thorn in his paw and Jim has every intention of waiting him out until the anger dissipates and he can be the mouse that pulls said thorn out. It's his penance for all the times he slinked out of sickbay, against McCoy's explicit wishes, to engage in some death defying stunt. It's much more fun being on the other side than being the worrier and punching bag.
For the first time in years an awkward silence falls between them that Jim doesn't know how to fill. He's talked with Leonard's surgeon and then promptly sought out M'Benga to get confirmation on the information and have someone translate it into a form of English Jim can understand. Someone really needs to program medical speak into standard for the universal translator.
Everyone is really optimistic, yet Jim can see the shadow of doubt lingering in their eyes and carefree smiles. No one can bring themselves to say this might be the obstacle the talented crew of the Enterprise can't beat. He also knows Leonard and just what's on the line for him and anything less than one hundred percent is going to kill the southern doctor. This, is something that should have Leonard frothing at the mouth with complaint and criticism or at least condemnation and all Jim's getting is silence- stone cold, unfeeling silence.
Jim's realized he's the chattier one between the two of them; the off set to McCoy's slight favoring of his introvert tendencies. McCoy is certainly anything but taciturn when he has something or someone to complain about. In fact if Leonard wasn't having a melt down on the shuttle in Riverside on the way to the academy, Jim probably wouldn't have given the doctor a second thought. While they fell into an easy friendship, Leonard didn't open up to Jim on personal matters until their second year, despite knowing some of Jim's more sordid details early on. So it makes Leonard's silence now, when he has everything to complain about, all the more unnerving.
"I talked to ..." starts Jim, daring to break the ice.
"Nope!" snaps Leonard, sharp and final with no room for argument.
It stuns Jim for a second. "You don't know what I was going to say," he counters.
"We're not talking about this," Leonard insists. He can't stomach any more platitudes.
"This?" asks Kirk. He damn well knows what this is, but playing stupid might be the subterfuge he needs to get the doctor to open up.
Leonard rolls his eyes. "Stupid ain't a good look on ya kid. And batting those blue eyes ain't gonna make me fall in bed with ya, so I guess you're out of tricks." Low blows are quickly becomes his specialty. It doesn't feel good to carve out a pound of flesh from Jim's hide but Leonard consoles himself with the idea that hurting the kid now will spare him the pain later when Jim finally realizes he's going to have to leave Leonard behind. He needs to be cruel to be kind, the fact that it rolls off his tongue without thought or effort, just makes it easier.
"Bones," sighs Jim, rubbing his temple in preparation of the emerging headache. "I don't want to fight," he says glumly and perhaps a little broken, "I'm too tired to fight." The candle has been burning at both ends since he learned McCoy was missing. If that wasn't enough to weigh him down, he has to deal with the fallout of the other universe, oversee the rebuild of the Enterprise and most important look after his friend. With all these balls in the air, it's just a matter of time before he drops one.
"Then don't." Leonard doesn't feel much like fighting for himself, let alone watching Jim fight an unwinnable battle on his behalf. It would take a miracle for everything to turn out as it was before and Leonard's used up more miracles than anyone one else. It's too much and too unfair to expect another one now.
Jim hangs his head. He's trying to come up with plan B, C, D, hell E through Z if he has to, and nothing is simple. He'll search the galaxy to find something to make Leonard whole; he just needs Leonard to come with him.
Leonard fakes sleep, a habit he's gotten into when he can't stomach company and (mostly Jim) they won't leave. Jim just does his best to be quiet and facilitate the lie instead of calling Leonard on it. He uses this time to catch up on all the work he's ignoring and his duties he's been deferring to other crewmen. Before they leave and resume their mission, he'll make sure the crew gets the greatest shore leave possible; they deserve it.
Relief and disappoint washes over Leonard when he wakes to find Jim still sitting beside him. Every time he wakes up, he holds his breath as he tires and figure out if it was a dream and he's still there, because no rescue transported into hell to retrieve him or he made it out of there. And if that wasn't bad enough, he needs a moment to figure out if he's trapped in a nightmare or actually in the real world. Seeing Jim there is a comfort, a reminder that perhaps the Vulcan doesn't own his soul. It quickly turns sour, because Jim is also a reminder that it did happen and what he's lost. It also signifies he hasn't been able to shake his barnacle loose. Jim seems willing to take more of his crap than Jocelyn ever did.
Jim has a fine-tuned McCoy sense; he doesn't even have to look up to know the doctor is awake and/or irritated with him. "Starfleet needs your report about what happened over there," says Jim, tapping away at his PADD. "I've tried to stall them as long as possible but you know the brace gets impatient with things that are potential security problems."
Potential is an understatement. A doppelganger walked onto their station and kidnapped one of their officers. Like Nero, it wasn't something they saw coming, but they will be more prepared in the future. Everyone else has submitted their report in regards to their unauthorized rescue mission and Starfleet Command has been somewhat patiently waiting for the key piece of the puzzle that McCoy can offer. McCoy is going to live; there's no need to wait anymore.
Leonard counters, "What if I don't want to?" just to be contrary. He doesn't want to talk about it; the last thing he wants is to write a detailed report regarding his time in that hell. Worse, he can't help but feel there might be repercussions for his friends if he details what they were capable of in that other universe. Will the brace ever look at Kirk and Spock the same way once Leonard depicts them as savage monsters?
McCoy selfishly wants Starfleet to discharge him, that way he can blame them and not have to form the words himself. He just doesn't know if he can go back out in the black with the Enterprise crew anymore. He knows he can't stomach staying here and the thought of serving with another crew is lackluster. He's too broken to start over again. What does that leave him?
Jim looks critically at Leonard, trying to find any sign that his friend believes what he's saying. "It's your obligation as a Starfleet officer. I can compose it for you if you want to give me the details, assuming you think you might have difficulties..." He trails off, unsure how to finish his thought. Writing a coherent report? Putting it all together? He's not sure which part is giving Leonard difficulty.
"Maybe I don't want to be an officer anymore." The words hurt; perhaps they hurt Jim more to hear than for Leonard to say. This was his phoenix moment, rising from the ashes of a shattered life to find a new one within Starfleet, with a purpose and friends so close they're family and that pointed eared hobgoblin is going to make him throw it away.
Jim shakes his head. "You don't mean that." He has to believe M'Benga is right when he says this is just an affect of the trauma, that Leonard's melancholy will pass and his friend will emerge as he remembers him- a full time but well meaning curmudgeon. They just have to weather the storm until them. "A couple weeks of physical therapy, you'll be good to go and itching to check out what Scotty's putting together for you on our new ship."
"It won't be my sickbay," he grumbles. It won't feel like home, just another attempt to fit a square peg in a round hole and pretend it belongs there. A new ship doesn't need a ghost haunting it so soon after launch.
"Just file your report and we can sort out the details later." Panic is starting to take over. McCoy's had his back for so long, he doesn't know how to live without Leonard there. He owes his career to Leonard; the doctor being the foundation upon which he's been able to make all the crazy impetuous and reckless decisions that secured him a captaincy. He never could have saved the universe from Nero if McCoy hadn't risked his career to smuggle him onboard.
"You're not listening!"
"Bones, we have options, but the first step is your report and getting certified back to some kind of duty." They're on a timeline here and Jim can't afford to have Leonard fight him on this. He's running out of wiggle room to slow and stall the launch of his new ship. They're heading into uncharted territory with few breaks to gather provisions and people. Once they set out on their mission, if McCoy's not onboard, he won't get another chance. Leonard doesn't have to be one hundred percent when they leave, as long as a return to duty is in the foreseeable future.
"You're being selfish Jim," warns Leonard. He sees the look Jim gives him when he thinks Leonard's not looking, like he's looking at a broken bird that will never fly again. It's the same with Uhura who looks at him like he's glass and will shatter at using the wrong word, which is impressive because she knows so many. If any could navigate McCoy's pit falls it should be them so just how broken is he? Jim might think he wants Leonard with him, but Leonard knows the captain will come the regret that decision. Jim just doesn't know any better right now. He's too afraid of having someone close leave him, that he'll put them all in danger.
"We're not done yet," haunts Leonard. His nightmare won't let anyone get in the way of consuming him so it's better to push everyone he cares about a safe distance away. Leaving on a sparkly new ship sounds about right.
Jim feels that all too familiar urge to punch something coming over him. "Just write the report, Leonard," he huffs, throwing a PADD in McCoy's lap before gathering his belongings and storming out the door.
Leonard stares at the PADD for a moment, turning it over in his hand as the rage builds. No one's listening to him and subtle sure as hell isn't working. He's pissed, has been for a long time and now he might have found away to unleash it and solve all their problems.
A cautious man would hesitate, let time temper his thoughts and actions; a logical man would spare a moment to weigh the effects of his actions. McCoy is neither. He's always been emotionally driven and right now he's angry. There's a part of him that's sure he'll regret his choice in the coming years, maybe in the light of a new day, but he can't bring himself to see past his brightly burning anger. Screw it, he's nothing if not self-sabotaging anyways. Far too old to turn over a new leaf now, Leonard mounts the only rebellion he can muster with any sort of satisfaction.
The words flow like the punches he wishes he had the strength to throw back in that god awful universe. He writes until his hand feels like it's going to fall off with the intensity of pecking at the keyboard display. Just another demonstration of how unfit he still is to try and reclaim what used to be his life.
It's not a pretty report but it does say all it needs to. Leonard would never certify an officer fit for duty under these circumstances. He'll be tied up with a councillor for forever after this, never mind needing a physical medical certification. His formal request to not serve with Spock aside, there's no way Starfleet will keep him on a ship with a Vulcan that shares a face and name with the one that tortured him like that.
He uploads the report before he can think better of it and change his mind. It's after hours now but it will downloaded bright and early tomorrow morning by someone who can certify him unfit for service or at least unfit to serve aboard the Enterprise when she leaves soon. It's out of his and Jim's hands now. Check and mate, Jim.
