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Chapter Text
I.
It wasn’t supposed to happen. James T. Kirk doesn’t leave people behind, not in that situation, not ever. When the medical away team goes down to deliver vaccines though, it seems safe enough, routine enough.
It takes them four hours to even figure out that something’s very wrong, that the medical team isn’t coming back up. They hadn’t known there was civil strife going on down on the ground, that the planet’s centralized government had been under attack by terrorist groups for months. The local government hadn’t told them any of that when they’d made contact. As the Prime Minister tells Kirk when they beam down to the capital to figure out where the away team went, to acknowledge the rebels existence would be to empower them. It takes everything Kirk has not the shoot the smug bastard right where he stands.
They track the rebels for three days, both using the ships scanners and by foot. They find the security officer that had been on the away team to protect the medical personnel on the third day. He’s hanging by his ankles from a tree and there’s not much left, but enough to give Kirk some idea of what they did to him first. He’s been worried and scared up until that point, but when they cut the security officer’s body down he starts hating himself. Spock must have been able to tell just by looking at him, because after they beam the body back up the ship he turns to Kirk. “To blame yourself is illogical, Captain,” he tells him softly. “You could not have known the danger they would be in.”
“These people have Bones.” Kirk doesn’t look at him, because he can’t.
Spock starts scanning the path again looking for the telltale energy patterns the rebels’ nuclear powered weapons give off. “I know.”
They almost found them two days later. When they raid the small town they find it empty except for a weapons cache, the mutilated body of one of the nurses and one hut in which the floor and wooden table are covered in blood. Kirk doesn’t want to know, but he doesn’t stop Spock from scanning it.
“It’s his?” Kirk can’t look at Spock again.
“Yes.” Spock puts away the medical tricorder.
Kirk kicks the chair across the room hard enough to break it.
They beam the second body up to the ship and keep looking. They have every technological advantage; Kirk thinks it shouldn’t be this hard, on the other hand the rebels have lived here all their lives and the Enterprise crew had done only a stage one survey of the planet. The next day Chapel contacts them from sickbay.
“We just finished the autopsy on nurse Howards.” She tells him, voice strained with emotion and exhaustion. “She was tortured to death,” she pauses for a minute, “she was also raped, repeatedly.”
Kirk sees something move across Spock’s face and pushes down his own panic and nausea.
“Find him.” Chapel’s voice is pleading.
Kirk looks up, and for the first time in days meets Spock’s eyes, “We will.”
II.
They do find him. It takes them longer than it should, another three days, and they have to blow their way through most of a whole town worth of rebels to do it, but they do. Kirk will always remember the smell of blood, vomit, rotting and death that filled the tiny, filthy hut where McCoy is suspended, naked, from the ceiling by his wrists. When he sees him hanging like that Kirk really does think he’s dead, but Spock pushes past him and rushes to the other man, takes him around the waist and manages to get him up off the hook he’s hanging from and onto the floor. “Spock to Enterprise. Two to beam straight to sickbay, medical emergency.” Spock is barking into his comm. before Kirk can even move towards them and like that they’re gone. Kirk stands there and stares at the place where they were for a minute, then sets his jaw, tightens his grip on his phaser and goes to back out to end this once and for all.
McCoy’s already been taken into surgery when Kirk beams back up to the Enterprise. Spock is still in sickbay, sitting in a chair, evidently meditating. Kirk doesn’t speak; he just pulls up another chair and sits next to Spock and waits.
Twelve hours later and more cups of coffee than Kirk can count, Chapel comes in and tells them that McCoy’s been stabilized.
“Physically at least,” her lips are pressed together in a straight flat line, “psychologically . . .”
“We understand, Nurse Chapel.” Spock stands, hands clasped behind his back, and Christine only nods curtly at him and goes back out. She doesn’t even try to ask for sympathy or comfort from Spock and that scares Kirk, a lot - makes him think they are going to have a long, long road ahead of them.
III.
McCoy doesn’t remember waking up in sickbay; he doesn’t remember the first couple weeks after he wakes up in sickbay. He remembers the torture, he remembers the rape, he remembers the helplessness, the pain and the fear, but everything after that . . .
It isn’t until he’s released from sickbay though, back to his own quarters, that he starts to realize just how much has changed. Ironically it’s his emotional state he notices first. He feels numb most of the time, and sometimes uncontrollably emotional for no apparent reason. He’ll get mad enough to throw and break things, or cry for hours for no reason he can think of. The second time he comes perilously close to bursting into tears in the middle of the mess hall for no reason whatsoever, he goes straight back to his room and punches the bulkhead until his hand is streaming blood. He can’t sleep without drugs, and he finds he can barely hold a coherent conversation. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but somewhere between his mind and his mouth the words just get lost, leaving him babbling like an idiot even on subjects he knows. Sometimes he’ll be in the middle of doing something completely mundane and he’ll just forget what he’s doing or how to do it, like the information’s just gone. He worries about brain damage, he knows he was hit pretty hard a couple times, but his whole medical team assures him there is no brain damage, and he’s seen his own file, he knows there is none. Sometimes though, he just can’t think straight, and that’s even when he’s not having a panic attack.
Over the first couple months he also learns he’s become incredibly sensitive to touch. The first time Chapel touches his arm it takes everything in him not to hit her, and he digs his nails into the palm of his hand until he draws blood. That night he goes through his wardrobe and gets rid of every piece of clothing with short sleeves he can find; he can’t even bear to look at them. He learns to avoid being too close to people; he can’t ride a turbolift with another member of the crew, even Kirk, without having a panic attack. He can’t face Jefferies tubes at all. The first night back in his own quarters he takes a shower fully clothed because he can't stand the idea of being naked, it makes him want to vomit. He feels like an idiot standing there freezing in wet clothes, it's so fucking weak of him not even to be able to do this one simple thing. He sleeps in the same wet clothes too and figures he'll only have himself to blame if he gets sick from it.
He also finds he can’t eat meat any more. The first time he smells it cooking he vomits until he can’t stand up. Then he lies curled on his bathroom floor, remembering the smell of burnt flesh, the feel of electrical burns across his thighs and stomach, the way Howards had screamed while they raped and killed her.
It feels like going crazy, made worse by the fact that he knows he’s not; this is trauma, and this is just the way it is.
Kirk takes him off duty, not that he misses much, the five-year mission is over; they are on their way home. McCoy works anyway though, he works on his research and starts a couple articles for the medical journals. It’s the only thing that he’s sure of anymore, the only thing that helps. Most of the time he stays by himself, except for the days when that becomes unbearable, then he goes to Kirk or even Spock’s quarters. He feels so damn pathetic, knocking at their doors, asking to be let in, but he’s enough of a doctor to know the alternative would be far worse. Mostly he lies on Kirk’s couch or on his bed fighting back vertigo and nausea, listening to Kirk talk quietly about his day and the working of the ship. A lot of the time it’s all he can do not to scream, but he doesn’t trust himself to be alone so he stays. Sometimes he falls asleep there and the next morning wakes to find a blanket folded over him and Kirk gone. Spock lets him lie on the couch or bed too, but Spock doesn’t talk to him, only goes about his evening activities like McCoy isn’t even there. McCoy finds he prefers this to listening to Kirk; he loves the Captain dearly, really he does, he just can’t deal with anything anymore.
McCoy lies on Spock’s bed staring at the ceiling trying to fight down the equally overwhelming feelings of emptiness and nausea. He’s takes long, careful breaths to keep himself from hyperventilating. Turning his head he watches Spock’s meditation fire pot. That’s another thing he likes about Spock’s quarters - they are never really dark, Spock always has some kind of light on, usually not bright, but always there, and as much as it makes him feel like a pathetic child McCoy can’t handle the dark. Even thinking about turning off the lights in his own quarters makes him break out into a cold sweat, start shaking and hyperventilating until he’s afraid he’ll pass out. Kirk keeps the lights on all night in his quarters when McCoy is there, but it makes McCoy feel weak and guilty, like this is something he should be able to control, something that will make him a burden to others. At least with Spock he doesn’t have to feel guilty. He looks at the ceiling again and then suddenly he can’t move, he can’t think, his hands are gripping the edge of the bed but that isn’t nearly enough to keep him from falling. Hot searing pain across his stomach, thighs, he can smell flesh burning and knows it’s his own. Then he’s on the floor, hands tied behind his back, blindfolded and someone kicks him in the head hard and he falls. Then he’s pinned to the floor with someone sitting across his legs, he’s naked and there are hands on his ass spreading him. He knows what's happening because it's happened before but he can’t breath, can’t even scream. The front of his shirt feels cold; he finally manages to get one shaking hand to leave the bed and touch his shirt and only then does he realize he’s crying, soundlessly, tears just running down his face. He turns his head slightly to see Spock standing across the room watching. He closes his eyes and wishes not for the first time that they’d just let him die. After a minute the bed dips slightly and McCoy’s eyes fly open to see Spock sitting on the bed as far away from him as possible. For a minute their eyes lock and McCoy wonders dimly why he’s not panicking with Spock sitting so close. Slowly Spock holds out his hand, offering two fingers in a gesture McCoy has only seen once before, between Spock’s parents.
“Leonard,” Spock says very quietly and McCoy jerks again at the use of his first name. Slowly he reaches out and touches Spock’s fingers, just very briefly with the tips of his own; Spock shudders visibly but McCoy feels some of the grief, sickness and panic leave him and blinks up at the other man.
“How?”
Spock doesn’t answer, only sets his jaw and reaches out, firmly pressing his hand against McCoy’s and McCoy gasps and tries to pull away at the sudden contact, but he feels better, calmer than he has in weeks. They stare at each other for another long minute, and Spock reaches out again and slowly traces McCoy’s hand with the tips of two of his fingers. McCoy looks at their hands and then up, meeting Spock’s eyes, which are gentler than McCoy can ever remember seeing them. McCoy closes his eyes and swallows hard and then curls up on the bed turning towards the wall and away from Spock. After a few minutes he feels the bed move again and listens as Spock moves back across the room.
IV.
When they get back to Earth Kirk’s promoted, McCoy enters intensive trauma counseling and recovery, while Spock leaves for Vulcan.
Months later when McCoy is working at a genetics clinic, Kirk tells him over dinner that Spock went to Gol, then explains what that means and that if all goes well he won’t be coming back. McCoy doesn’t say anything to that, just concentrates on his food, but he can’t help thinking they are both losing something with Spock’s decision.
A few months later, he hops on a cargo ship heading for a clinic on genetic mutating diseases on a colony world. He’s more than halfway through growing a beard by then mostly because everyone tells him it doesn’t suit him. The work is interesting on Datra IX, the people nice but professional. He keeps mostly to himself, signs up for the early morning shifts when there aren’t a lot of people and he doesn’t have to walk to the transports after dark. He does mostly lab work, writes several articles for different medical journals and doesn’t try to make friends. The one or two people who ask him if he’d like to get a drink he smiles at and then lies to and says he’s married. He video messages Kirk every week and gets the latest news. The vertigo gets better, the dreams not as vivid, the flashbacks less; he can make it through most night with the lights off and only mild sedatives in his system. He still doesn’t eat meat or wear short sleeves, although he can manage a button or two at his collar undone.
Sometimes he thinks about Spock, wonders what made Spock make the decision to go to Gol, wonders if he’s finding what he’s looking for there. He misses Spock, he doesn’t lie to himself about that; he thinks he will probably always miss him, but people move apart and move on, it’s the nature of life. McCoy has enough to deal with remembering how to live his life again, but everyday it gets a little easier as he learns to adapt and cope.
He begins to think that he might be happy living like this.
V.
It doesn’t last, of course. Starfleet recalls him, Kirk has the Enterprise back, Earth is under attack and Spock is back from Vulcan. Evidently the whole Gol, purging of all emotions, never coming back, thing hadn’t worked out after all. McCoy can’t say he’s very sorry about that. It’s soothing having Spock there again, even if he’s even colder and more distant than he had been. McCoy tries to draw him out a little back into their old banter, more for his own frame of mind than anything else, but Spock won’t bite and instead seems to stay in the background watching McCoy and Kirk interact.
When he first came back to the Enterprise McCoy wasn’t sure he’d be able to run a sickbay on a starship, and he can tell from Kirk’s eyes that although he’d asked for McCoy back he’s not a hundred percent sure McCoy can do it either. Turns out they’re both wrong; he does just fine. His work at least is something he still has, and when he’s in sickbay he can almost pretend everything is like the way it was. He even wears the new uniforms, open collar and all.
Spock is incredibly stupid, risking his life for practically nothing. McCoy tells him that in no uncertain terms, and while Kirk is overjoyed that Spock survived his little stunt, McCoy is madder than hell and can’t seem to get his hands to stop shaking. He watches Kirk hold Spock’s hand in sickbay and fumes over his Captain’s shoulder, giving Spock a look that tells him he’s in deep trouble.
They save the world of course, without killing anyone or having the Earth blown up. Starfleet hails them all as heroes and Kirk’s more than happy to call it a day.
McCoy waits until after all the fanfare is out of the way before cornering Spock in his quarters.
“What the hell was that?” Spock merely raises one eyebrow at him and McCoy crosses his arms over his chest. “Your little stunt with V’ger.”
“I was attempting to communicate.”
“And that was the only way you could think of, Mr. Spock? Really, with that giant brain of yours, that was the best you could come up with? Because it was damn stupid.”
“I appreciate your concern, Doctor, but my actions have already been taken, therefore your outburst is illogical.” Both of Spock’s eyebrows are now raised.
“Don’t give me that. There was nothing logical about your actions or the risk you took for that matter.” McCoy points at him to emphasize his words, and Spock merely stares at him. After a few minutes of silence McCoy crosses his arms across his chest again. “What?”
“Forgive me, Doctor,” Spock takes a step towards him so that they are standing closer, although not close enough for Spock to be in McCoy’s personal space. “It has just been a long time since I have seen you this way.” McCoy stares at him and then drops his gaze to the floor.
“You left.” He doesn’t mean it to sound accusing because he hadn’t even realized he’d been mad about it until that moment.
Spock tilts his head slightly, watching him, “There were things I had hoped to accomplish.”
“But you didn’t.”
Spock inclines his head slightly. “On the contrary, Gol brought me much clarity.”
“Oh?”
Spock doesn’t answer directly, only takes another step towards McCoy and holds out his hand, two fingers extended. McCoy gapes at him.
“Spock?”
“Doctor.”
McCoy looks from Spock’s face to his still outstretched hand and very slightly touches the tips of his own fingers against Spock’s. He feels calmer almost at once, almost safe in a way he hasn’t felt in so long he’d forgotten he could feel like that. Spock gently traces his fingers down McCoy’s hand and then back up it. A Vulcan kiss, McCoy thinks dimly, then jerks his hand back.
“Spock, I can’t. Whatever it is you want. I can’t give it to you.”
Spock looks at him for a long moment; he doesn’t step back but he doesn’t try to touch him again either. “I do not want anything from you, Doctor,” Spock tells him, and McCoy’s mouth tightens.
“Well I don’t want your pity.”
“I am a Vulcan. I do not feel pity,” Spock tells him stiffly, and McCoy laughs bitterly and turns away, walking to the view portal and looking out at the stars. “Leonard.” Spock’s voice is gentler than it has been since he came back from Gol, “I have an apartment quite close to the Starfleet Academy. I would be most gratified if you would consider sharing it with me.”
McCoy turns to face the other man, arms crossed over his chest, leaning back against the view portal. “What do you want, Spock?”
Spock comes to stand beside him at the portal and holds out his hand to McCoy again. “I want you to allow me to help you.” His voice is still soft, “Surely as a doctor you must see the logic in this?”
McCoy looks at Spock for a long moment and then down at Spock’s outstretched hand. He thinks about the nightmares that still plague him, the anxiety and fear that overtakes him sometimes for no apparent reason, the days filled with depression and nausea. He thinks of the calmness and safety he’s experienced every time Spock has reached out to him and finally nods.
“We can try.”
Some sort of tension seems to leave Spock at that, although there is no outward change, and McCoy tentatively reaches forward to trace Spock’s fingers with his own. A Vulcan kiss, he thinks again, but he knows that’s all he’s going to be able to manage right now. He hopes that can be enough for both of them.