Title: The Elder and the Young (8/?)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Spock!Prime
Summary: Final part of a trilogy; follows The Boy and the Sea Dragon and The Man and the Memory. Jim’s soul is caged, McCoy is dying without a cure, and Spock has hijacked the Enterprise in an attempt to save them both.
Previous Part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Part Eight

When Leonard McCoy fits the last piece into the puzzle of the Fabrini’s cure and sees the completed picture—now viable for this century’s medical advances and ready to be produced into a serum—he feels a thrilling sense of accomplishment; but that passes quickly in light of the knowledge that this particular cure is also his end. With that in mind, the doctor backtracks through his work, once more outlining the steps of the procedure that will neutralize the disease known as xenopolycythemia, and comes to an easy decision. Some minutes later, report in hand, he comms Spock on the Bridge to say, “It’s ready.”

“Acknowledged.”

Thus a series of events are set into motion that lead to the salvation of one and the destruction of another.

Leonard heads to the science labs and turns over his modified version of the Fabrini’s work. Then he settles into his quarters to wait, savoring the bourbon’s trail of fire down his throat and in the pit of his stomach. A feeling of being watched stays with McCoy even when he is alone.

The word Soon has haunted him for weeks, like a lingering presence in the back of his mind. Upon waking on the fifth day since Spock’s team began the synthesis of the cure for xenopolycythemia, Soon is gone. In its stead is a firm, pleased Now.

He accepts the inevitable by rising from his bed to meet the day.

Old Spock stands next to McCoy’s Spock, and the doctor is once again struck by their similarities. They both watch him with measured, equally unreadable expressions.

Spock asks, “Doctor, are you prepared?”

Can a man ever be prepared for a situation like this? He replies, “Yeah.”

M’Benga steps forward and administers the first of three injections of the cure.

After a moment, Leonard lifts his eyebrow and says, “Well, this is rather anti-climatic” to the group of people circling his biobed.

The Acting Captain only remarks, “You must remain here for the duration of your treatments. I will return after Beta shift.”

McCoy calls to Spock’s retreating back, “I ain’t dead yet, you green-blooded hobgoblin—and I’m still of a mind and an authority to kick your Vulcan—!”

The doors close on Leonard’s last words.

Old Spock raises an eyebrow, inclines his head to Leonard’s staff in a gesture that probably means good luck. He, too, leaves but without McCoy’s parting fanfare.

Leonard grunts, fidgets in discomfort and mutters at the blankets twisted around his legs. Christine had insisted that he set a proper example for the rest of the bed-bound patients in the bay—and that included wearing a confounded gown.

I can survive a few shots, he tells himself with certainty and a snort that has Chapel rolling her eyes.

Several hours later, that assumption has to be gravely reconsidered when the man alternates between being miserably nauseous and puking bile, on top of a fever that comes and goes. McCoy is simply grateful that someone is around to pat his hand and wipe the sweat from his face.

Spock, that sneaky bastard, sits patiently by his bedside. At some point, Leonard is sure that Chapel makes a light suggestion that the Vulcan take a break from self-imposed McCoy-duty. Spock does not speak a word, merely pretends that he is deaf to Christine’s orders and blind to her exasperated stare as his nimble fingers continue to type on a PADD.

Leonard eventually croaks in a more lucid moment, “Let him be, Chris. Vulcans are stubborner than mules who ain’t had breakfast.”

“More stubborn,” corrects the Vulcan idly. Then, “Describe this creature—the mule.”

Christine laughs along with Leonard, and Spock blinks at them both.

The side-effects worsen once the second injection is introduced into his system after a precise interval of thirty-six hours. Leonard knows that sedating a patient is risky when a drug is untested for common chemical reactions with baseline medication stocked in the medical bay. If the interaction goes badly, McCoy is liable to wind up ‘dearly departed,’ his body in cryo-stasis and not doing Jim a damn bit of good. So he curses and hallucinates and generally has a grand ole time babbling about a universe with two Spocks and how evil that is for a poor man like McCoy.

Sometimes he has a vision of Old Spock, eyes smiling at him; at other moments, it is Young Spock who is watching him intently. McCoy tries to tell Young Spock not to worry but the words are difficult to squeeze out of his dry throat, so Leonard settles for giggling at the absurdity of the name “Young Spock!” instead. That Spock has a look of consternation and replies “Illogical. I will have Nurse Chapel return to check your fever immediately” which makes the whole thing funnier.

Another thirty-six hours down, and he tries to fight M’Benga who holds the third hypospray. Spock easily pins Leonard’s shoulders to the bed, and McCoy half-laughs, half-pleads to his friend, “It won’t work, you bastard! It won’t work!”

“Leonard, calm yourself.”

He bites his bottom lip bloody as the hypospray hisses against his skin. McCoy is subsequently released and slides dejectedly into the bed covers. He flings an arm over his eyes to block out the light of the room.

Shit shit shit. I can’t believe I’ll have to do this again.

The last day and a half is so bad that Leonard rolls out of the bed when the staff is preoccupied, ignoring the shrieking alarms, and has his hand wrapped around a bottle of pain killers for the deep ache in his bones by the time someone catches him. Christine smacks his fingers and pries the medication from him, calling Leonard a few choice names that would make him proud in any other situation.

McCoy is dragged back to bed and threatened with restraints. When he replies tiredly, “You might as well do it,” Chapel’s face switches from mad to almost heartbroken in an instant. He and she both know protocol for his behavior—and the potential danger if Leonard loses what little sense he has left before the worst is over. He keeps his eyes closed as cuffs are gently locked around his wrists, then secured to the sides of the bed. Spock, who returns to watch over him for the fifth time in a short stretch of hours, says nothing at his pitiful condition. The silence would be sweet, Leonard decides, if his eyeballs didn’t burn and his organs weren’t complaining so viciously.

Goddamn it, kid. I’m leaving instructions for Spock to put you on lock-down until you’re of retirement age. Stupid, block-headed, reckless…

Listing scathing adjectives for one James T. Kirk soothes his mind until he falls into sleep.

“Leonard.”

Leonard’s mouth garbles the words “fuck, leave me alone” because it is useless straight from a heavy nap. His brain, on the other hand, projects a slew of sensations—most of them along the lines of no pain, where’s the pain? and water, idiot, NOW.

Leonard reaches for a cup of water only to realize that his hand won’t move.

His eyes snap open.

The restraints are still on.

Selek—Old Spock—deftly releases one of his wrists. Leonard is lifted like a child and given water to drink. He tries not to be embarrassed, but that’s a damn difficult thing to do when shackled, helpless and weak from days of agony.

The elder Vulcan eases him back into a prone position but does not re-attach the restraint. Instead, surprisingly, Old Spock takes the other cuff off.

Leonard rubs at his wrists to dispel the feeling of being chained rather than to ease an injury. “Thanks.”

“We believe that you are entering the recovery phase, Doctor McCoy,” the Vulcan says. “Are you experiencing any discomfort at this time?”

“Back aches, but that’s from lying down so long.” He lets his breath out in a long sigh. “You think I’m cured then.”

There is a brief silence. “The symptoms of your illness are undetectable if they exist,” replies Selek.

Leonard doesn’t meet the steady stare.

“So we move on with the plan,” he adds softly. “I expect it’s only a matter of time before that thing comes looking for me.”

“Spock has determined the tactical positions for those who would guard you.”

“No.” McCoy shakes his head and looks at the Vulcan then. “The last thing we want is to complicate this mess. Leave me here—no guards, no paranoid-looking officers.”

“Though my first reaction would be to disagree with your request, I understand your reasoning. I will speak with my counterpart.”

McCoy’s smile is tired. “He’ll pitch a fit—”

There goes that eyebrow but it lacks indignation and is arched in amusement instead.

“—so I trust you’ll appeal to his Vulcan logic.”

“Indeed, I shall attempt to do so.” Selek adds quietly, “It is often… difficult to abide by logic when risking a friend’s well-being.”

“Why, Spock,” Leonard says with a hint of a deep Southern drawl, “you’re almost insinuatin’ you can fall prey to a Human emotion.”

“Emotion cannot be classified as Human or otherwise, Doctor. It exists in us all; to deny that existence is illogical.” The Vulcan’s voice lowers subtly (a half-human, half-Vulcan’s equivalent of leaning in to whisper conspiratorially). Selek says, “However, its degree—and display in temperament—is debatable.”

Leonard grins. “Let me guess. I’m in the extremely emotional and annoying range.”

“You are as you always have been and always shall be, Leonard McCoy,” he is told serenely.

The man relaxes into the bed. “Good to know,” he replies. “At least we can count on something being constant.”

Selek says nothing; but then again, the Vulcan need not speak for Leonard to understand that the agreement is mutual.

The second time he is awoken, the room is hushed and the lights muted for the comfort of the patients. Leonard’s mind hears McCoy and panics.

Face pressed into the sheet, he keeps his eyes shut like a child afraid of the dark and what monsters it might hold.

There are monsters, he knows.

And they say his name just like that…

“McCoy.”

He purposefully releases his fistful of blanket and says, “It’s too early. I’m still healin’.”

There is a breath too close to the back of his neck.

“McCoy smells better.”

The hysteria in his laughter isn’t at all feigned. “‘Better’ is not how most people would describe my smell right now. Been sick and sweating for five days.”

At the light pressure against his back, McCoy practically falls out of his bed in his haste to get away. He spins around, heart in his throat, to find a familiar outline of a man on the other side of his bed.

“How’d you get in here?” he asks numbly.

The amusement in that voice rings clear. “No one protects you. Is this not what you asked for, McCoy?” Then the creature steps into the red light cast by the instruments over Leonard’s bed. It’s Jim’s face smiling at him.

McCoy thinks his nausea is making a fierce return. He swallows hard. “I’m not ready.”

“You are cured,” it croons in Kirk’s voice.

He abandons the bedside to put more distance between them. “I—maybe I changed my mind. Let Jim die.”

The silence is heavy. Then, slowly it says, “You lie. Why lie, McCoy?”

A new voice interjects from the shadows behind McCoy, “A lie has purpose.”

When a hand brushes against his back briefly, Leonard’s body sways with relief. Spock, that plotting, wonderful Vulcan friend of Leonard’s, steps up to the man’s side as a solid support and commands the lights to engage.

Not-Jim’s face is twisted in a deep displeasure at the Vulcan’s presence.

“Thanks, Spock,” Leonard says in a voice that shakes slightly. “I wasn’t sure you’d realize what ‘no guards’ meant.”

“Were your thought process rational, Doctor, I would have accepted your request as stated,” answers Spock smoothly.

McCoy shuffles closer to the Vulcan as Kirk eyes him with something akin to ill-intent. “What can I say? This sea dragon of Jim’s has ears in all the right places.” McCoy whispers, “Glad you came.”

“It would have been illogical to do otherwise,” Spock says softly.

Of course, Leonard thinks.

“This changes nothing,” states the creature. “McCoy for Jem-me.”

Leonard quickly presses his shoulder to Spock’s as a warning to keep silent.

“Actually,” he interrupts, “you’re gonna get a little more out of the bargain.”

That familiar face with the dark eyes of a stranger considers him.

McCoy finishes, “You’re gonna get a whole fucking crew.”

It bares its teeth. “Yesss. I know of this. Many for the sake of one. Your plan will fail,” it tells them both.

Leonard shrugs. “But the opportunity is too good for you to pass up, isn’t it, you sick son of a bitch?”

It glides around the side of the bed to stand in front of them, the motion eerie and unsettling from the body of Jim Kirk.

“I am strong—” it says, “—and the Abyss runs deep. You will not be alone; yet you will feel alone for the Abyss is vast and Nothing and will keep you from all company except mine.”

Shit, could that be any more terrible of a sales pitch? Leonard laughs, wobbling on his legs, and Spock takes his arm in case his legs plan to collapse. Which they might. Soon. Freshly cured patients are supposed to take long naps in Doctor Leonard McCoy’s Guide for the Sick, rather than face down demons.

“Do not be foolish,” warns the sea dragon. “Come, McCoy. The bargain is done. I give back Jem-me now.”

Spock’s hand tightens around his arm as he takes an involuntary step forward. What is his body thinking? But Leonard knows what his mouth is saying—it demands, “Show me Jim first.”

The thing with Jim’s face tilts its head and smiles. It says, “Jem-me is already here.”

Leonard’s rage boils to the surface. “Damn it, stop—”

It looks to the left, to the room opposite of the McCoy’s. “You may see him.”

Leonard’s body jerks in that direction, slowly comprehending that it is telling him Jim is here, in Sickbay, physically in Sickbay, but he is detained by the Vulcan who refuses to budge.

“Spock, Spock—Jim is—let go!”

Pulling at a Vulcan is like trying to move stone. Spock stares past McCoy as he answers Leonard’s sudden desperation to find Jim. “If you go, Leonard, you will not return.”

McCoy stills. For a short moment, there is only the sound of his harsh breaths. Then, “Okay. That’s—okay.”

Spock’s face turns to him. “I am Acting Captain. You will remain here.”

“You’re Jim’s friend,” Leonard counters softly, the fight in him quiet but strong.

“I am your friend also.”

“Then you’ll let me go, because I ask you to. Because you’re my friend and you know I have to do this.”

A trap. Leonard doesn’t apologize to Spock because it is too important that Spock understands how serious McCoy is. By the look in the Vulcan’s eyes, Spock does understand—and he regrets it. Leonard’s arm is released without another word.

McCoy takes one step away, then a second step and pivots. He doesn’t look back, barely acknowledges that the enemy is already waiting for him in the next room, standing close to a bedside that holds a pale body.

Leonard sinks onto the edge of the bed, hands ghosting over Jim’s face. Pulse—faint. Breathing—shallow. No response to McCoy’s soft “Jimmy. Jimmy, can you hear me?”

He looks up. “I don’t understand.”

“To discard the body breaks the link,” it explains. “It was… planned but then I found you.”

His hands slide over Jim’s chilled skin, denial tightening his chest. “Me…?”

It murmurs like a caress, “McCoy’s destiny is better. Always bitter—always sweet. The universes change. McCoy does not.”

“And Jim…”

It doesn’t need to say anything. The answer is clear enough.

Bait.

Jim is bait.

“Did you even care about the xenopolycythemia?”

Its answer is slow and serious. “Yes. A flaw—the only flaw. You have fixed it.” It turns its head to the doorway and says, “Do not enter.”

Leonard doesn’t need to turn around to know that Spock is behind him.

“You will not harm the Captain or the doctor.” Spock’s voice is icy.

“I will break the link,” it warns.

“Don’t!” McCoy says, resisting the urge to pull Jim’s body into a protective hold. “Spock, stay back. Don’t—we’re so close, so damn close to saving him.”

“I will not choose!”

Leonard is shocked by the anger in the Vulcan’s voice.

Spock, he thinks. Young by Vulcan standards and yet McCoy already knows the kind of person his friend is maturing into. He sees Selek and he knows.

“It’s alright,” he says. “It’s alright, Spock, because you don’t have to choose. I already did.”

The eyes fixed on McCoy are pitch-black, almost bottomless (like the Abyss itself). The creature, wordless, reaches out to McCoy, and he does not hesitate. When their hands touch, the world shrinks to a whirl of triumph and terror that sucks Leonard in.

A voice tells him, Jem-me is returned as promised.

Somewhere in the distance, as he is pulled farther away, a body comes alive beneath his hands. It is Jim, his Jim, heaving with breath and sudden awareness.

Leonard—Leonard, is that his name? A fleeting thing, a name—relaxes and lets go.

Amusement. He amuses someone. He—

The amusement quiets, turns into a new thing, first curious, exploratory, then overwhelmingly shocked—and angry.

Leonard’s descent jerks, stops inexplicably then, and he feels as if he hangs at a precipice of a terrible and endless void.

A flare of violence thrums down to him.

What is this!

What is what? What is… A foggy shard of thought clears. Leonard, that’s my name.

WHAT IS THIS!

Leonard McCoy, for that is surely who he is, remembers what devious thing he has done. The pieces of his soul, loosely bound together, rattle with glee.

The sea dragon’s violence grows like a storm, heavy with betrayal and rage.

Leonard sighs in contentment. His single spear of thought is directed to the other, almost lazily.

Oops. Didn’t I mention…? I botched the cure.

He’d smirk if souls smirked.

But what’s a tiny flaw like xenopolycythemia to a perfectionist like you?

It howls, this monster, with something close to denied hunger.

Leonard wonders belatedly if the link between the soul and body is like a rubber band; the way he snaps back into his body is painful, not to mention a whole other realm of disorienting and creepy.

It’s a pleasure to open his eyes, despite finding himself on his back on a hard floor with a Vulcan in his face, pale as a ghost. Then there is a loud thump next to his head and a croak of “Ow.“

He wants to laugh. He really does. Yet the sound that comes out of his mouth is a far cry from a laugh.

Leonard turns his head to look at Jim as the idiot fights limp muscles to sit up and say “Bones? Spock?” in a way that Leonard hasn’t heard in far too long.

“Leonard.” Spock speaks sharply and McCoy realizes that the Vulcan has been talking to him.

He squints one eye and manages to reply, “Present.”

“I do not understand.”

Poor Spock probably doesn’t.

“Is it still here?” he asks rather than offering an explanation.

“It is not.”

“That’s really good.”

Jim interrupts. “Bones, are you—are you hurt?”

“Don’t bother rolling over here, kid,” he replies dryly. “I’m great.” Spock is courteous enough to help Leonard sit up so that Jim can see McCoy isn’t a lying bastard with a penchant for downplaying his wounds.

Jim stares at them both before finally saying, “Well, I’m not. Someone is stabbing my brain with an ice pick. Repeatedly. And why am I naked?”

Leonard thinks that it is definitely Spock’s turn to explain. Instead, before he can voice such an opinion, someone says, “It is most pleasing to see you again, Jim” and Leonard drops his head forward with a sigh.

“Spock?“

Selek greets Jim Kirk again, possibly for posterity’s sake, and their Captain has a difficult time finding words, undoubtedly, to describe his confusion.

Then Selek turns to Spock and McCoy to state in a grave voice, “You must be prepared, Leonard. Deception will drive such a creature to vengeance.”

He stares up at Old Spock. “You knew?”

“Affirmative. The Doctor McCoy of my universe underwent exactly seven point twenty-one days in treatment for xenopolycythemia before we were assured of the cure’s permanence. The deviation was… notable.”

Leonard says quickly, before Jim can forgo a demand for explanations and speed straight into bright, burning anger at his crazy CMO, “Can’t blame a man for a last, dying attempt at defiance.”

He sinks back against his Vulcan prop. “So who’s got a brilliant idea on how to get a sea dragon off a starship?”

Next Part

Related Posts:

• The Elder and the Young (12/12) – from February 24, 2011
• The Elder and the Young (11/12) – from February 23, 2011
• The Elder and the Young (10/11) – from February 21, 2011
• The Elder and the Young (9/11) – from February 11, 2011
• The Elder and the Young (7/?) – from February 1, 2011