Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The ISS Enterprise was a cruel ship. More cruel than most ships in the whole damn ‘fleet. Since the universe must’ve hated him just for existing, that’s where he was assigned.

McCoy hadn’t really been given a choice when it came to joining up, what with the shitty divorce, a daughter who wanted nothing to do with him, and nowhere else to go. And the Empire was always short on doctors. Nobody liked them and only the ones too stubborn to die made it that far with minimal scarring and the full use of all their limbs.

He’d lost his left eye only two months in. A stupid slip up, too focused on the man bleeding out in front of him to notice another approaching from behind with the scalpel McCoy always carried.

Attacked with his own instrument of death. The irony was not lost on him. But he’d managed to kill the man in return and the other eye functioned well enough.

Just weeks after that incident, he was ganged up on in the mess by several over-ambitious friends of the man he’d killed. Possessing intimate knowledge of anatomy as a doctor meant it wasn’t hard to aim with brutal accuracy for the carotid of one (which made a fine mess of things, but it was effective) and stab another in the sternum.

The third fell at McCoy’s feet, dead. Behind him stood the first officer, already holstering his phaser, the look on his face completely blank. They’d made an uneasy alliance after M’Benga had been shot out an airlock for the grievous crime of mercy-killing someone the Captain had wanted to spend some quality time torturing.

“What a shame,” Kirk had said. Silently, McCoy agreed, though for different reasons. M’Benga had actually known how to do his job. The only other doctor who could treat a Vulcan was McCoy.

Months later, after the scar slanting across his face had healed quite nicely (he’d chosen not to use the regen in the hopes that it would make him look more difficult to kill) and he was actually beginning to get used to the damn eye patch, they were boarded by Klingons.

Of all the embarrassing things that could’ve happened to an Empire ship. If the crew wasn’t murdered by them, then most assuredly death and torture would be waiting on the other side in the form of a furious Admiralty. McCoy would almost rather take his chances with the Klingons, or if all else failed, a quick phaser shot to the head.

No such luck.

The chief engineer, Scott, had placed traps all over the ship in preparation for just this sort of event, which took out about half of the invading force, and then the remaining crew had rallied and finished the job. Apparently, in a particularly savage move (or maybe it was just a chance for the engineer to have his twisted version of fun), he and his team beamed aboard the Klingon ship afterwards, killed everyone they found, and rigged the warp core to blow. The only remaining Klingons aboard that ship had been either too young or otherwise occupied to join the attack on the Enterprise.

Shockingly, no reprimand was given them, just a pat on the back and a commendation for Kirk. It had been planned. Act weak on the edge of Klingon space, lure them in for an easy conquest, then kill everything in sight. Kirk gushed about it for days on end.

* * *

By the time his third year as CMO of the ship rolled around, McCoy had gained a reputation as a vicious drunk, skilled torturer, and James T. Kirk’s right hand man. The assassination attempts on his own life became practically nonexistent and everyone either got out of his way or tried to cozy up to him.

McCoy found himself actually liking Kirk. Sure, he was borderline psychotic and filled with more bloodlust than probably anyone else in the Empire, but he was downright amiable when he wanted to be, could handle his liquor just fine, and let McCoy do as he pleased.

Chekov was mouthy to everyone, smart as hell, and often had things figured out before anyone else did. Many had mistaken his youth for weakness and ended up dealing with the sharp end of his Starfleet issued dagger. McCoy wasn’t close with him, but he didn’t really mind the kid, either.

Sulu was weirdly obsessed with Uhura, but would take anybody else just the same, regardless of whether they wanted him in return or not. McCoy often recalled the helmsman dragging them into his Medbay afterwards and his own drunken irritation at having to use the regen after hours on a number of suspicious wounds. He never asked questions, though.

Uhura was an anomaly, as cheerful as she was vicious. She hummed everywhere she went, twirling her dagger with ease, fending off Sulu’s advances gracefully. Strangely, Kirk seemed to respect her enough not to make a pass at her and she had also quickly warmed up to McCoy, so he never gave her trouble, either.

Scott was fun to drink with, on the days he wasn’t in a murderous rage. More than once, McCoy had wandered down to engineering, drink in hand, leaning against the bulkhead, pleasantly buzzed as he watched the Scotsman scream at his subordinates. He probably shouldn’t have smiled when they scurried away as fast as they could, and he definitely shouldn’t have laughed when Scott’s eyes turned to him and softened with his reflected amusement.

But out of all of them, it was Spock who intrigued McCoy the most. The first officer didn’t seem to care for advancing in the ranks beyond his current position. He stuck to his science console, spent a lot of time in the labs, and kept to himself. He remained the only Vulcan in the Empire.

Spock was difficult to read, but not impossible. He felt emotion, McCoy knew, but he expressed it differently. His words - orders given, responses uttered, observations made - were all equally subtle, layered, filled with deeper meaning. His touch, on the rare occasions he chose to touch, was feather light, insistent only rarely. Unless on the receiving end of his violence.

McCoy had once seen Spock insert himself between a random ensign from engineering and a science officer in the midst of a knife fight. Before he could even blink, the ensign had crumpled to the floor, skull smashed in against the bulkhead, while Spock stepped neatly over the body as if nothing had happened. The science officer just stared after him with a dazed mix of horror and relief.

McCoy found the situation interesting in a detached sort of way, as if he were merely conducting some kind of scientific study of Spock. Being the ship’s only trained psychologist, perhaps he sort of was.

In some ways, he didn’t really understand his own fascination with the Vulcan. Why care about a man who could (and likely would) kill you if the situation called for it? Anyone on the ship would kill anyone else for their own benefit, to save their life, gain a better position, garner favor with a higher up.

But Spock was not like them. If he killed, it was to protect someone, not to gain something. He didn’t change himself for anyone. He didn’t try to be feared, but was nonetheless. He wasn’t close to his colleagues, subordinates, or superiors in the Empire.

With the exception of Captain Kirk.

As time went on, their shared glances on the bridge became more obvious to McCoy, though no one else seemed to acknowledge them. Kirk trusted him, that much was clear, and Spock had no ulterior motives for making himself an ally of Kirk’s that McCoy had been able to observe (he’d never tried to kill Kirk, which made him the only one of the captain’s many previous first officers not to do so).

At first, he wondered if there was some deeper connection between them, but that theory was quickly cast aside. Kirk liked his women and closer inspection revealed to McCoy that their shared looks had nothing to do with emotion and everything to do with decision making. They worked in tandem. It was unheard of in the ‘fleet.

* * *

“Pathetic.”

The sounds of a blade sinking into soft flesh, a groan, then the thud of a body hitting the floor filled the room. McCoy looked on, making no move to help the dying man as Kirk stepped back, dagger dripping red. It was too late for him anyway.

“Get him out of here.” Kirk wiped the dagger on his sash, staining the gold with the blood, and returned it to its sheath.

With a nod, the security officer hauled the man up and dragged him off the bridge.

McCoy directed his attention back to Kirk, giving him a brief once over. The would-be assassin was obviously not the brightest, considering he’d tried to kill Kirk in the worst of all places on the ship, and as expected, McCoy saw no injuries.

The rest of the bridge crew returned to their duties (similarly unsurprised), except for Spock, who’d stood up and appeared to be waiting.

“Sawbones, with me,” Kirk ordered, then motioned for Spock to do the same. “Sulu, you have the conn. Don’t crash my ship.”

A brief flash of understanding crossed the helmsman’s expression before he nodded. “Aye, sir.”

Once in the turbo lift, McCoy eyed Kirk curiously. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s this all about?”

“We’re going down to that planet.”

McCoy blinked. “I thought we were passing by it. There’s nothing useful for us there.”

The planet in question was uninhabited, the lower hemisphere icy and the upper hemisphere all molten lava and volcanoes. Only the equator was balanced enough in temperature to safely beam down, but it hardly seemed worth the effort. According to their scanners, it was just a useless rock.

“You never know what you might find,” he replied vaguely, grinning. It made McCoy uneasy.

A glance at Spock gave him nothing further to work with. He merely lifted his eyebrow like the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug and returned his gaze to the door. Something told McCoy that Spock knew exactly what was going on.

“Fine, be obtuse. But at least let me stop by my office and grab a medkit before we throw ourselves at the mercy of whatever’s down there for whatever fucked up reason you have.”

“Transporter room in five minutes, not a second later.” Kirk’s grin seemed to be getting wider, if anything.

As ordered, McCoy arrived at their meeting place only minutes later, medkit in hand. Spock and Kirk were waiting for him.

“Just the three of us?”

“Relax, Sawbones.” Kirk bounded onto the pad with all the frenetic energy of a puppy, Spock following at a more somber pace. McCoy joined them reluctantly, eyeing the pad with distaste. “Energize.”

* * *

The sky was orange. That was the first thing McCoy noticed. The second thing was the endless stretch of rock before them, mountainous in many areas, becoming small hills, eventually leveling out to flat, somewhat sandy, ground.

He immediately took out his tricorder and scanned the area, seeing Spock do the same on the other side of Kirk. Everything was as it seemed. The rock was just rock, the atmosphere was breathable, no life signs other than their own.

Kirk snorted and strode forward. McCoy rolled his eye.

“Well, excuse me if I’d prefer not to get killed on some random planet out in the black. Where’re we going, anyway?”

“That cave up there.” Kirk pointed at a gap in the rock not far away. “Try to keep up, Sawbones!”

Spock fell into step beside McCoy as they made their way up the hill. It was eerily quiet there without any animals moving around, no insects buzzing or chirping, not even a breeze. The loudest sounds were their breathing and their boots hitting stone. McCoy’s sense of unease grew.

The opening of the cave looked like a slash in the hillside, narrow at the top and bottom, but wide enough in the middle for them to step inside without difficulty. Kirk was already there and turned around with a devious smile when he heard them.

“You bring us here to kill us, Jim?” McCoy asked automatically. Spock folded his hands behind his back and took a relaxed stance - or what could be considered relaxed for a Vulcan.

“No, I brought us all here to wait,” Kirk replied. McCoy narrowed his lone eye.

“Wait for what, exactly?”

Kirk gave Spock a pointed look, then turned back around and continued further into the cave.

“The Enterprise’s scanners will be unable to detect us if there is a sufficient amount of the planet’s rock between us and the surface,” Spock explained (the first words he’d said since long before they’d beamed down) and followed Kirk.

“And why, Spock, would we want the Enterprise unable to read our signatures? We won’t be able to beam back up if they can’t find us!”

“Because we do not want them to know our location, Doctor.”

“I swear to God I’m gonna fucking stab you both if you don’t explain what’s going on.”

* * *

The Vulcans rarely screamed.

“Pain is of the mind,” one of them had told McCoy when he asked.

Why they almost seemed to look at him with pity as he tortured them day after day was a question he never found the answer to.

When they died, he’d do the autopsies, curious as to their unique anatomy compared to a human’s. He spent hours recording what he found in secret, alone in a lab, when just about everyone else had left and the night shifters wouldn’t bother him. He wasn’t sure why he kept his research so carefully hidden.

Vulcan had never agreed to join the Empire and fought back instead, refusing to be destroyed like everyone else who wouldn’t bow. They were smart and sophisticated and a major pain in the ass. The Empire hated them.

On very rare occasions, they would capture a Vulcan shuttle or a small patrol ship. At first, McCoy was only covertly recruited to come in every so often to heal the Vulcans’ surface wounds after they’d been through a few sessions of torture. Eventually, he’d been offered him a more permanent job and accepted.

It had made sense at the time. McCoy didn’t realize until later how much more he’d started drinking, how little he saw of his daughter, how it had all broken something inside.

He never spoke of his past life with any of the crew. No one really shared things like that for fear of showing weakness or providing opportunity, but compared to them, he was private to a near-religious degree.

There was a reason for it, of course. A reason why his blood ran cold when he saw the half-Vulcan the first time he stepped foot on the Enterprise. A reason why he was so sure he’d be killed the first few nights, which stretched into the first few weeks. And a reason why he was stunned, then wary when the half-Vulcan allied himself with McCoy.

No amount of drink could drown the guilt. Sometimes, late at night after five, six, however many shots of Saurian brandy, he’d stare down at the hypo he’d filled with an overdose of some common sleep aid, debating how easy it would be and whether he really had the guts to do it.

* * *

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” McCoy spat, fear and anger intermingling dangerously.

Kirk shrugged. “You think I really want to stay as captain of the Enterprise forever? Spock offered me the opportunity in exchange for the help and I took it.”

Spock sat next to Kirk on the cave floor, legs folded beneath him and hands placed primly on his thighs. Kirk couldn’t have looked more relaxed (or amused), one arm resting on the knee of his upturned leg and the other lazily stretched out. McCoy paced.

“Right now, you’re sitting on your ass while the goddamn Vulcans kill everyone and take over the ship!”

“Don’t over exaggerate, Sawbones. They’ll only kill anyone who attacks them,” Kirk said conversationally.

McCoy whirled on him. “And that’s another thing! When exactly were you going to tell me that you and the bridge crew have been planning a fucking coup with the Vulcans for as long as I’ve been on the Enterprise? Did I not count?”

Kirk smirked. “Well, Spock seemed to like you enough from the beginning, but I thought we should give it a little more time to see if you could survive on your own.”

“Clearly I did. Three years enough time for you?”

“A few weeks was enough time. After that, we just agreed to keep you in the dark to protect you.” The look on his face was so smug, McCoy had to resist the urge to hit him.

“Well, if you wanted to protect me, you could’ve just dropped me off at the last star base. Hell, you could’ve shot me and it would’ve been better than falling into the hands of the Vulcans. They’ll kill me.”

At that, Spock leveled him with a hard stare. “They will not, Doctor. I have ensured it.”

McCoy met his gaze for a long moment, struggling to read him, then returned to pacing.

“So we’re waiting down here where nobody can find us. So it looks like we ran into trouble. So we can pretend we didn’t know what was happening. So we all have plausible deniability,” McCoy summed up, punctuating each sentence with the heel of his boots hitting the rock as he paced. A thought suddenly struck him and he stopped dead. “How the hell did you even manage to join Starfleet in the first place, Spock?”

Kirk laughed loudly, the sound echoing in the small space.

“The Empire has no shortage of enemies, Doctor. There are many in positions of power working secretly to dismantle it from inside. They and my fellow Vulcans believed that if I appeared to be an outcast due to my half-breed status and willing to work against my own kind out of revenge, it would not be too difficult for the Empire to accept me. This proved to be true.”

“So why does Kirk get to be in on it? Or Sulu or Uhura or Scott or any of them? Why not just kill us and be done with it?”

“Because the most logical outcome is one where humans and Vulcans are not enemies, but allies. For this to occur, we must employ the help of—“

“Yes, yes, we get it.” Kirk waved his hand in a dismissive motion. “Point is, McCoy, you’re in.”

“Doesn’t sound like I have much choice in the matter,” McCoy grumbled.

Kirk gave him a wry smile. “Do you have somewhere else to be? Something better to do?”

“You know damn well I don’t.” McCoy scowled at them. “So what’s next? We beam back up to the ship unassuming and act shocked by what we find?”

“No need to act shocked.” Kirk got to his feet, Spock doing the same. “We’re heading to Vulcan.”

McCoy’s jaw fell open.

* * *

On another planet, in another cave, several months earlier, Spock and McCoy waited out an ion storm. The rest of the landing party had made it up to the Enterprise before them, but they hadn’t arrived at the beam up spot in time before communications were lost. Spock noticed the nearby cave and they took shelter there.

It had been nearly four hours with hardly a word said between them, McCoy ruminating on the wretched state of his life and Spock likely meditating or something equally Vulcan.

The cave itself was somewhat interesting, veins of some kind of blue glowing element in the near pitch dark catching McCoy’s eye. He traced them all the way to the ceiling and back down again, taking a different path each time. Some lines were very thin, others as wide across as his hand, reminding him of the impressive root system of an ancient looking tree that had grown by his house back in Georgia.

Spock shifted beside him. McCoy had been mildly surprised that the Vulcan had chosen to sit next to him rather than on the other side of the cave, but made no comment.

“Mr. Spock,” he ventured. His voice echoed against the rock around them.

“Doctor.”

“How much longer do you think this ion storm’s gonna be?”

“Based on my calculations, I believe it will begin to ease enough within the next hour and thirty minutes for us to be able to reestablish communications with the ship.”

“Hm.” McCoy leaned his head back against the cave wall and wrapped his arms tighter around himself. It was cold for him, but it must’ve been even colder for Spock. “Temperature okay?”

“I am able to regulate my body to an acceptable temperature for a Vulcan,” Spock answered shortly.

“Yes, I know that. I’m asking if you’re uncomfortable,” McCoy snapped back.

“My comfort is of little consequence.”

McCoy rolled his eye, scooting close enough to Spock for their elbows to touch. Spock let out a small huff of an exasperated sigh, but after a moment’s hesitation, moved slightly closer to McCoy in turn. The doctor immediately felt the Vulcan’s warmth beginning to soak through his uniform and heat up his entire right side, his body relaxing into it without meaning to.

After a while, McCoy blurted, “Haven’t you ever wondered why I’m one of the only doctors in the Empire who knows Vulcan anatomy?”

Spock stiffened, breath hitching. “I am already well aware of the reason, Doctor.”

“Then how can you even stand to be in the same room with me?” McCoy closed his eye against the blue glow and swallowed, voice dropping lower. “Much less let me live?”

Spock was silent for so long, McCoy began to think he wouldn’t answer at all.

Then, “Doctor, I am a traitor to my kind. A useless half-breed in their eyes. I joined the Empire because I had no choice. I imagine you tortured on their behalf for much the same reason.”

“Spock—”

“There are necessities in this universe,” he interrupted quickly. “We are all subject to them.”

McCoy opened his eye again and stared at him disbelievingly.

“Why?” That one word held every question McCoy hadn’t dared to ask.

Spock turned his head to met his gaze, brown eyes dark and full of something he couldn’t read.

“Because I understand, Doctor. We have both been put in compromising situations in order to survive. Whatever you have done in the past is not my place to judge.”

* * *

Everything made sense then. McCoy recalled the various times Kirk had called him up to the bridge, citing boredom.

“You see all this, Sawbones?” He’d wave vaguely out at the space before them. “Someday soon, it’ll all be mine.”

McCoy would snort. “Is it really? Will this be before or after pigs fly?”

Kirk always laughed. “Long before then, McCoy.”

Now McCoy believed him.

Chapter Text

“How long am I gonna be here?” McCoy stood facing the window, arms crossed.

“I do not know,” Spock said from behind him.

“Do they want to kill me?”

“They do not. But as I have told you, I would not allow them to, even if they did.”

“Why?”

McCoy waited. Spock was so quiet, he couldn’t even hear him breathing.

“I consider you a close acquaintance.”

“Oh, really?” He couldn’t help the bitterness in his tone.

“Yes,” came Spock’s simple reply. McCoy’s chest constricted with some unnamed emotion.

It had been two weeks since they’d arrived at Vulcan. Two weeks he’d been confined to the same room, watching Shi’Kahr through the window. Two weeks where Spock was the only soul he saw, aside from the Vulcan who brought him his food.

“If they don’t want to kill me, then what do they want?”

“The High Council will give Captain Kirk the Empire, as agreed. I will continue assisting him until the Empire’s leaders and its followers are removed from power. You will join me.”

McCoy’s eye widened and he was grateful Spock couldn’t see his shock.

“I’m going with you?”

“Yes.”

“What for?”

“I desired it.”

“I hurt your kind, Spock. You can’t want me,” he protested.

“Even if I wished to, I could not change it.”

McCoy turned around at that. Spock’s eyes met his own, searching for something. Whether he found it or not, McCoy couldn’t tell. The Vulcan straightened and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Before we depart, the matriarch of my people wishes to speak with you. You will be brought from here shortly to meet her.”

McCoy was sure his heart stopped. He knew exactly who Spock was talking about. “T’Pau?” He asked faintly.

Spock nodded once and left. McCoy felt his absence like a punch in the gut.

* * *

The halls of Shi’Kahr’s capitol building were soaring and ancient, history and tradition woven heavily through every aspect of its architecture. McCoy knew he wasn’t imagining how small he felt compared to it; with the ceiling so far above him, he must’ve looked like an ant from such a height.

But he’d never felt smaller in his whole life than when he stood before T’Pau. The woman’s expression was the most impassive he’d ever seen on a Vulcan, yet the way she looked down her nose at him was far more disdainful. The black and white of her hair were separated perfectly from each other without a strand out of place, done up in a complicated style. Though she was likely shorter than anyone seated around her, the undeniable authority of her presence filled the room.

“You are the one called McCoy,” T’Pau said with a heavy accent and an aged voice.

McCoy fought not to shrink under her gaze and keep his back straight. “I am.”

“You have caused many of our people great suffering,” she observed bluntly.

“I did.”

“What do you offer in return to atone for this guilt?”

He blinked in surprise, then answered without hesitation, “My life.”

T’Pau nodded, as if this was the reply she’d expected. “Then the remainder of your life shall be spent in service of our people.”

McCoy shook his head dumbly. “I don’t understand. Why would you let me live?”

She tilted her heard to an exact degree, her eyes boring a hole in McCoy’s face. “Is it more logical to take the life of a man who took many others or to use the man’s life to save many more?”

“To save more, I suppose.” Even as he said it, he wasn’t sure he believed it. Hadn’t he done too much, gone too far, for it to matter what good he did?

T’Pau stood and a hand emerged from her robes, reaching for McCoy. “I will meld with you now, to understand your true intentions.”

A brief flash of panic went through McCoy, but he had no time to think on it as two Vulcan guards hauled him close enough for her to touch him. Her fingers aligned with his psi points and he closed his eye, bracing for pain.

Instead of pain, however, it was only the discomfort of a stern and imposing force entering his mind, immediately rifling through his memories, cataloging thoughts and emotions. She lingered briefly on interactions he’d had with Spock and he sensed her approval of Spock, the closest thing to love she probably felt for him.

It was over as soon as it’d begun and T’Pau quickly withdrew. When he opened his eye, she was sitting again. She gave a short nod to the guards and he was taken out of the room with no further explanation.

* * *

He didn’t often feel anything when Kirk hurt someone in front of him. On the rare occasion he did, it was pity.

When Kirk’s blade sliced through both Spock’s uniform and the skin of his chest with no difficulty, McCoy did feel something and it definitely wasn’t pity. Green blood stained the fabric, quickly spreading outwards from the wound. True to form, Spock didn’t move in any way, nor did he express the slightest hint of fear or surprise.

Kirk spun him around, kicked him to his knees, and grabbed a fistful of his hair, roughly yanking his head back and positioning the dagger at Spock’s throat.

“Well done, Kirk.” On the other side of the screen, the Emperor was leaning back in his lavish seat, one hand supporting his chin. The Admirals formed a semi-circle around him. “Though I am surprised you allowed your ship to be attacked by the savages at all.”

Kirk licked his lips as a predator would before pouncing. “We had imposters… sympathizers aboard. They’ve all been dealt with, of course.”

“Of course.” Marcus nodded gravely. “So, what are we going to do about this?”

“They’re weaker than we thought. McCoy, here, can tell you.” Kirk jutted his chin at McCoy, who up until that point had been doing his best to keep a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face and his gaze on the screen.

Marcus’s eyes shifted to McCoy expectantly.

“I tortured them for years. I know what it looks like when they’re desperate. This,” McCoy nodded to the recently trashed ready room around them, “is a desperate move.” He barely avoided gritting out the words through clenched teeth.

“Hm. Interesting,” Marcus said with a detached air. “You’re suggesting we attack the Vulcans?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m saying we should attack them now… sir. They’re weak and we’re strong.” Kirk’s eyes were alight with the excitement of battle and war.

McCoy found his focus drifting to Spock, still kneeling on the floor, head down, perfectly still. He forced himself to look back to the screen. It couldn’t have been more than a second, but Marcus noticed.

“And what about you, McCoy? You hold the same opinion?” Marcus’ tone remained disinterested, his posture relaxed and self-assured, but McCoy knew better.

“Absolutely,” McCoy said a little too fast. He followed up with, “Now’s the time.”

The Emperor heaved a sigh. “Well… shit.”

* * *

Immediately after, McCoy dragged Spock down to Medbay, Kirk’s voice fading behind them as he gleefully regaled the rest of the crew with the tale of their success. Spock hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t said anything for hours.

Once there, McCoy made him remove his shirt, then got to work cleaning the wound on Spock’s chest. The doctor let several moments pass in silence, lost in thought, until Spock flinched slightly as he ran the cloth with the disenfectant over a particularly painful spot.

“You alright?”

“I am adequate, Doctor,” Spock replied quietly. He was sitting on the biobed, shoulders slumped.

“I don’t buy that for a second.”

Spock’s eyes remained on the floor. After a beat, he answered, “Kaiidth.”

“What is, is,” McCoy recited without thinking. Spock lifted his head at that and stared intently at him.

“I take it you learned that word at some point during the course of your previous vocation.”

McCoy grunted in assent, not sure he could trust himself to speak. He finished cleaning the wound and retrieved the regen. Spock’s gaze didn’t leave his face.

“Why do you build your identity around your past actions?”

“What do you mean?” He replied warily, the hand holding the regen freezing just over Spock’s sternum.

Spock cocked his head to the side, studying him, eyes still full of that thing McCoy couldn’t name. “You allow yourself to be defined by that which you cannot change. I believe it would be more logical for you to begin defining yourself by that which you can change, namely, your future with my people and your actions towards them now.”

McCoy snorted and resumed his work. “Right, if we’re not all killed in the war we just started.”

“You need not be afraid of what you cannot control,” Spock said gently.

“I’m not afraid.”

The Vulcan only raised a dubious eyebrow.

* * *

The ‘fleet were due to arrive within the week. Kirk had parked the Enterprise well outside the boundary of the Vulcans’ territory to wait for them.

There was barely anyone left on the ship. The bridge crew had made a deal with the Vulcans when Kirk did, affording them protection and reward, while the rest of them were only given seconds to choose sides when the Vulcans had originally boarded. Most had fought back and were given quick deaths, but some had surrendered. Those who’d lived and the bridge crew, plus McCoy and a few nurses, were all that remained.

He assumed Spock was busy with Kirk, preparing for whatever lay ahead. Scotty quit visiting him for a drink. Even Sulu hadn’t come to Medbay with strange injuries. He barely saw another person except for the occasional ensign or technician (or whoever they might be), jogging through the hallways on important business, barely acknowledging him.

McCoy spent much of his time hiding out in his office or his quarters, his nerves grated on by everything and everyone, unable to feel comfortable. Even alcohol didn’t give him relief or any respite from his thoughts.

The isolation only made his dread and anxiety build. Marcus wasn’t the Emperor for nothing. He was vicious, calculated, and had an unfortunate propensity for seeming to know everything that was happening in his Empire. Surely, they were about to face disaster.

It was three days until Kirk sauntered into his quarters, using his override instead of knocking. He promptly flopped right onto McCoy’s unused mattress and laced his hands behind his head, grinning cheekily. McCoy scowled at him over his glass where he lounged, his own feet up on the desk.

“Miss me yet, Sawbones?”

McCoy had missed him, but he still wasn’t stupid enough to admit it, even after a drink or three. Kirk likely already knew that, anyway. “No.”

He chuckled. “You’re allowed to come up to the bridge, y’know.”

“Yes, I know!” McCoy snapped. He took another swig.

“What’s got your panties in a bunch? Worried Spock doesn’t like you back?”

He choked. “What?”

Kirk swung his legs over the edge of the bed to face him. “You’re so obvious with him, McCoy. And he’s even more obvious with you.” His cheeky grin became a wicked smile. “You should do something about it sooner rather than later.”

“I’m not doing shit. Get out.”

“Whatever. That’s not the only thing I came here for.” Kirk’s smile disappeared, replaced with a seriousness McCoy recognized as his strategizing look. “The Emperor and his ‘fleet are almost here. Under no circumstances are you to involve yourself in the fight. We’re putting you with Scotty in Engineering. It’ll be the safest place.”

“And why are you two so desperate to keep me safe?” McCoy asked sardonically.

“I like you, Sawbones.” Kirk leaned in conspiratorially. “But I’ll never like you as much as Spock.” McCoy felt his cheeks redden.

“Fuck you.”

Kirk’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “You got more of that?” He nodded to McCoy’s drink.

Several hours later and both of them were thoroughly inebriated. By the time Kirk stumbled out, they’d gotten into a shouting match about the ambiguous intentions of Marcus and McCoy had thrown an empty bottle at the door Kirk disappeared through.

* * *

The ship shuddered. Scotty cursed. McCoy gripped the seatbelt with white knuckles, imagining they were on an old boat in the midst of a storm out at sea. Shockingly, it didn’t help the nausea.

“Git over here, ya lazy fuck!” Scott screamed at the nearest ensign, who yelped and scurried over to where he was fiddling with some wires at a console.

The red alert was blaring loudly, red lights flashing. McCoy tried to focus on his breathing and started counting, slowly taking a deep inhale and letting it out even slower.

“Scotty, did you break my ship?” Kirk’s voice came over the intercom.

“No, sir, It’s the damned phaser fire! I’m divertin’ all the power to shields and impulse, but we’ve only got minutes!”

“That’s all we need. I’m sending Chekov down. Kirk out.”

The ship shuddered once more and McCoy broke his count. He swallowed, gritted his teeth, and began again.

Not long after, the sound of a pair of boots squeaking on the floor preceded Chekov’s arrival. The young navigator rushed to Scott’s side and the two immediately immersed themselves in speaking a technical jargon McCoy wasn’t able to understand.

The lights flickered, then went out. The ship was suddenly only illuminated by the red flashing alarm and the low-level emergency lights. Scott and Chekov cursed simultaneously in their native tongues. McCoy’s anxiety grew.

* * *

“Red alert, Marcus has boarded the ship! I repeat, Marcus has—” The man’s voice was cut off by a strangled sound and then nothing else.

“Shit!” McCoy scrambled to release the seatbelt. Spock had briefed each of them on what their emergency plan was should this exact situation occur and they needed to leave.

“Aye, laddie, it’s time!” Scotty yelled for Chekov, who poked his head out of a nearby Jeffries tube.

“Where the hell are the Vulcans?” McCoy grumbled, moving to Scotty’s side at the same time the Russian kid did. Together, they sprinted out of engineering, everyone else long gone to help deal with other problems around the Enterprise.

“Cannae tell ya, but if we don’t git out’a here in time, we’re blowing up with the ship.”

“I set ze timer for ten meenutes. Vill zis be enough time?” Chekov panted.

“We’re about ta find out.”

The emergency lights flashed on and off rhythmically, just bright enough for them to see a few feet ahead at a time. Their footsteps echoed in the eerily empty hallways. As they passed a view port, McCoy saw ship debris floating in space, explosions, phaser fire, and other things his brain had no time to process before they’d reached their destination.

There were plenty of ready escape pods due to the now-smaller size of the crew. A shuttle would take too long to get to and be too dangerous to pilot in the carnage. Scotty helped Chekov into one first, then launched it from the ship.

Nearby shouting and footsteps made McCoy’s hand automatically move to his phaser.

“Your turn, Doctor. Better hurry.” Scott gestured to a pod, then his eyes flicked behind him and got big. McCoy spun around.

At least ten or more Imperial officers had spotted them and drawn their phasers, taking aim. Before either Scott or McCoy had a chance to react, the group was attacked from the side, several of them already falling to the floor. Kirk, Spock, Uhura, and Sulu came into view, firing their own phasers with ruthless accuracy. Kirk switched to his dagger and slashed a red line deep across someone’s throat. Spock broke another’s neck, taking his head and twisting sharply the wrong way.

“McCoy! Get out of here! Now!” Kirk yelled.

“Where the hell have you been?!”

“A little busy!” The last officer fell at Kirk’s feet. Kirk turned to face him, glowering, then stalked into the room, Spock, Uhura, and Sulu following him.

“The lad set the timer for ten minutes. We’ve got maybe five left,” Scott said.

“Get into a pod,” Kirk growled at McCoy.

On Kirk’s right, Spock stared him down, earnestness in his expression. “Doctor, I urge you to comply with the Captain.”

McCoy planted his feet and crossed his arms. “Where’s Marcus?”

“We don’t know, Doc. That’s the problem,” Sulu answered instead.

“Right, so get into a damn pod.” Kirk’s uniform was bloody, knife still in hand, dripping red on the floor. To anyone else, he would’ve made a terrifying sight. It had little effect on McCoy.

“Ladies first,” McCoy replied, meeting Kirk’s glare defiantly.

Uhura smiled with a dangerous sweetness. “Very kind of you, but I think I’ll go after.”

“Why’s it so important that I’m next?”

“We don’t have the time to argue!” Scotty interjected. “Either somebody get into a pod or—“

“Well, you’re right about that,” said another voice, deep and familiar, causing a stab of fear in McCoy’s chest. Kirk and the others spun around, raising their weapons.

Marcus, dressed all in black, complete with golden sash, stood there surrounded by twenty or more officers, all carrying new and advanced-looking phasers. McCoy’s heart pounded painfully loud. There was no chance they’d make it out now.

“Right about what?” Kirk shot back, concealing any surprise he felt better than McCoy had.

“Look, I know about your little warp-detonation device. That’s been disabled already, so why don’t we do this the easy way and you surrender before anyone else gets hurt?” Marcus drawled. His icy blue eyes shifted to McCoy and back, something Kirk must’ve noticed as he gripped his dagger tighter.

“I don’t think so.” Kirk took aim and threw the blade so quickly McCoy almost didn’t see it. When he blinked, one of the officers had the knife sprouting out of his chest, having thrown himself in front of Marcus. He collapsed and Marcus let out a wry chuckle.

“Nice try, Kirk.” The Emperor signaled with his hand and the other officers raised their phasers. “Don’t hit McCoy.”

Horror filled him at those words as a better understanding of the situation began to form in his mind. “You want to use me against the Vulcans,” he said faintly. Spock’s head swiveled towards him.

“No shit, Sawbones. Why do you think we were trying to get you out?” Kirk spat.

“Fire,” Marcus said lazily.

“Wait!” McCoy stepped out in front of them, immediately feeling Spock’s hand wrap around his arm to stop him from going further. “If you let them escape, I’ll go with you.”

Spock’s hand tightened. “Doctor, that is illogical.”

“Shut up, Spock! I’m trying to save you.” McCoy attempted to wrench his arm back and failed.

Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed dramatically. “I’m not surprised you betrayed me, Kirk, but you shouldn’t have dragged everyone else into it. I’ll go ahead and take McCoy if you and your buddies wanna leave. If you don’t, too bad.”

“As we speak, the Vulcans are destroying your ‘fleet. What good will it do for you to take him now?” Kirk said, obviously playing for time.

“Fine, have it your way.” Marcus signaled again. “Shoot them.”

Phaser fire filled the room immediately and McCoy moved without thinking. Spock’s hand didn’t leave his arm, but he still had just enough leeway to shift in front of the Vulcan. He felt a sharp pain in his side and another in his chest.

“No!” Several people shouted simultaneously.

Spock caught him as he fell.

The taste of iron came up the back of McCoy’s throat and the smell of it invaded his nose. He tried to swallow, to breathe, but the blood was too thick and he started to cough and choke on it instead, every attempt to inhale making it worse. Sheer, unfiltered panic was the last thing he felt as Spock knelt with him, fear in his brown eyes.

* * *

Someone was speaking Vulcan in a soft tone. A palm felt his forehead, then brushed McCoy’s hair back. Feelings of safety and warmth washed over him and he understood instinctively they weren’t his own.

“Ashayam,” a comforting voice rumbled, the hand still stroking his hair. “Please respond.”

McCoy’s eyes fluttered open with a small gasp. The ceiling above him was a sandy brown color, perhaps made of stone or something similar. He blinked several times, realizing his vision was different, sharper and more focused somehow.

“The healers have repaired your left eye with a bionic replacement,” Spock answered his unspoken question. “How do you feel?”

McCoy shifted his head to the right to face Spock where he sat. “Like shit. You?” He rasped.

Spock let out a small exhalation, like the Vulcan equivalent of a sigh of relief. “Improved. What do you remember?”

“Getting shot.”

Spock gave a solemn nod. “I killed Marcus shortly after.”

McCoy blinked several times, rapidly. “What?”

“After you were injured, the Captain and I, in addition to the bridge crew, were able to neutralize the remainder of our enemies. They believed they had strength in numbers. They were incorrect.”

“No, I mean, how did you kill him?”

“I choked him.”

“What?”

“Indeed.”

“How?”

Spock tilted his head, visibly confused. “I pressed on his lary—”

“No, no, Spock, I mean, what did you—? How did you even get close enough?” McCoy stuttered.

“The Captain can be quite… determined. I, too, found it of no difficulty to eliminate our obstacles after you were shot.”

McCoy let out a small huff of laughter, which was quickly cut off by coughing and a sharp pain lancing through his entire body, making him wince. Spock’s hand returned to his forehead while he placed the other on McCoy’s chest, underneath the hospital gown. The pain immediately abated and McCoy relaxed into it, Spock’s hands warm on his skin.

“That feels better,” McCoy admitted, allowing his eyes to close and the unfamiliar sensation of being able to see from both of them to cease. “Thanks.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

“What about you? And Kirk and the others? Were you injured?”

Spock didn’t answer for a long moment, but the hand on McCoy’s head resumed stroking his hair.

“Lieutenant Sulu was killed in the fight. Captain Kirk and I, as well as Lieutenant Uhura and Chief Engineer Scott sustained multiple injuries, but were otherwise unharmed. As you know, Ensign Chekov had already returned to Vul—”

“What injuries? Where?” McCoy’s eyes flew open again.

“To which of us are you referr—”

“To you, Spock! Where were you hurt?” McCoy began shifting himself into a sitting position, but Spock was already on his feet and gently pressing him back down.

“It is of no consequence. I was not as direly wounded as you were.”

“It’s of consequence to me, you stubborn, arrogant, green-blooded—”

Spock leaned down and kissed him. It hardly lasted more than two seconds and was nothing more than a brush of his lips against McCoy’s, but had the desired effect of stunning him into silence.

“I assure you, Doctor, I am more than adequate,” the Vulcan said, his face still very close to McCoy’s.

“You might as well call me Leonard at this point,” he whispered back hoarsely, then closed the distance between them again, wrapping his arms around Spock’s neck and kissing him hard.

* * *

In later years, McCoy recalled the start of his new life with a fondness he came to realize he’d never felt before then.

“Looks like you’re staying here, then, Sawbones?”

“Looks like it.”

“You don’t seem too choked up about that.”

“You know… I don’t think I’ll mind it too much, actually.” McCoy glanced at Spock as he entered the room. The Vulcan met his smile with warm eyes and the smallest upturned corner of the mouth.

Kirk snorted. “Took you two long enough.”