TOS "Shadows of a Man" 1/4 (S/Mc, NC-17, h&c)

[syredronning]

(Re)Posting it fully to lj for archiving and linking purposes.)

Title: Shadows of a Man
Author: syredronning aka Acidqueen
Series: TOS, Rura Penthe AU
Codes: S/Mc
Rating: NC-17; intense hurt&comfort adventure with sex sprinkled in between; character death (not Spock or McCoy); descriptions of violence and torture
Word Count: 32.000

Summary: McCoy returns from Rura Penthe, but the past cannot be overcome as quickly as Spock would prefer.


***
Author's Note: This is the second of three, Kirk/Spock got never finished two stand-alone stories in my Rura Penthe AU universe. All stories start with the premise that Kirk and McCoy couldn't be saved from Rura Penthe in ST VI, the Federation President is killed and a war between the Federation and the Klingon Empire takes place. What happens to our heroes? Story written in 2008.

Many thanks to cyranothe2nd, whose superb suggestions saved this story from total mediocrity, and also for a wonderful edit! Additional thanks to Inky for great input. Thanks to the lj-group "Klingon" for the terms of endearment. All remaining errors and flaws are solely mine.

Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom owns Star Trek, I own my brain. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made.
Archive: Spiced Peaches, my own website at http://www.syredronning.de , ASCEM, my lj, all others ask, please.
***

The air was ice-cold and carried a stench that was distasteful to Spock. It was the strong odor of dozen of races; their sweat, body excrements and blood - he presumed - and he tried to keep his breathing low as he walked down the long stairway. In front of him three armed security guards paved the way, led by the Enterprise's first officer Leduc. Although Rura Penthe was left by all Klingon forces and in the process of being evacuated by approaching Federation ships, Leduc absolutely had refused to let her captain go down to the penal colony without an armed escort. Spock had logically pointed out that the highest danger lay in virus infections and the cold but the first officer would have none of it and Spock finally considered the topic too irrelevant for longer debate.

Now that the Vulcan saw the ragged prisoners drawing close to the newcomers, more and more of them appearing from invisible back rooms, he appreciated Leduc's insistence on an escort. Some of the prisoners were from species he recognized but many more were from species he had never seen before, all clothed in various layers of fur. Unshaped dusty figures whose eyes were lifeless and tired, the haggard faces showing the lack of food and sunlight - all ashen, no matter what original skin color they may have had.

The grey figures kept streaming out of their niches, filling the main hall with more acrid odor, and soon crowded around the group in a half-circle. Some of the gazes were hostile and greedy glances were shed at the warm winter jackets and the weapons of the Starfleet men. But Spock was used to dealing with such possibly critical situations on his own and waved Leduc back as the tall woman wanted to address the crowd. It was necessary to present a leader to these people; only Spock would be able to gather information he sought from them. Passing his crewmembers, he opened his winter jacket to show his dark-red Starfleet uniform to the burgeoning group. Then he pulled the glove from his right hand and raised it in a Vulcan salute.

"Greetings to you, in the name of Starfleet. I am Captain Spock of the Enterprise. We intend no harm."

"Did you come to bring us home?" an old man from a race unknown to Spock asked in a Klingon dialect.

"Unfortunately, our ship is not equipped for evacuation," Spock said, half addressing the man, half the rest of the group. "But we have food and heating equipment with us that we will distribute among you later. Other ships are approaching this sector and will bring you home or to other worlds from where you can move on. As you know, the war is still in progress. We estimate it will end within the next three months but we cannot guarantee that."

The prisoners accepted his words with tired nods and murmured assents, keeping their distance from the Starfleet group (probably not the least because of the drawn weapons, Spock mused). Now that the ground was laid, Spock placed his real question.

"I am also looking for two men, Starfleet comrades that were convicted two and half years ago," he said. "Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy. Do you know them?"

The people looked at each other, something like a frown on several of the faces.

"They were humans. They wore the same uniform as I do." Spock completely removed the winter jacket and gestured at his uniform. "Jim Kirk was accused of the assassination of the Klingon Chancellor Gorkon. You must know about him. Leonard McCoy was his physician - a doctor."

Some shrugged; some took a few steps back, as if not knowing the answer to his question might bring his wrath upon them.

"One of you must know something," Spock insisted. He pulled out a photograph he had printed out the night before; it showed Kirk and McCoy in casual wear not long before their conviction, taken on a semi-official shooting for press pictures. He held it in front of the humanoid closest to him, then walked along the first line, catching the eyes of each man and woman before showing the picture. "Do any of you know what has happened to these men?"

A short blue-skinned woman, one of the few females, briefly gazed at the picture, then shook her head. "Sire," she said roughly, "nobody looks himself after a few months in the mines. And rarely does a human survive for longer than a year on Rura."

A powerful feeling of defeat rose in Spock; it had accumulated over the last years, but he had always been able to keep up the hope - illogical as it may have been - that he would see his friends again one day. Now it seemed his self-deceit was revealed and reality had to be acknowledged. They were dead; they probably had been dead for years. Not mourned for, not buried as they should have been; no ritual procured for them. A terrible fate that Spock had brought upon them with his peace plans, which had failed so spectacularly.

"Captain," someone said gently, and he looked over his shoulder. There was a sympathetic look in Leduc's eyes. "We're going to make a circle search of the quarters."

Spock nodded and temporarily switched off his universal translator. He turned to Leduc and quietly said, "Use the tricorders. The Elisa reported that only a few among the prisoners are from Federation races. The men should be able to identify them all. We will take them with us; there is enough space on the Enterprise."

Leduc nodded and walked away with one of the security guards; Spock took the second and the other two built a team of their own. As predicted, they only found two Tellarite prisoners, whom they quietly beamed to the Enterprise, as not to raise too much interest - but none of them knew Kirk or McCoy. At the end of the round, everyone returned to the main entry. Spock listened to the reports of his group with a stony face. Nobody had found a trace of their missing comrades; no Starfleet material, no other humans on Rura Penthe, no hope. It seemed the search was over, and all that was left for Spock was to mourn his friends.

"Sir, maybe if we start another search …" Leduc vaguely suggested, but Spock was unwilling to invest more energy into a hopeless venture. "I do not think that -" he started, when a bronze-skinned alien cautiously approached him. He resembled vaguely a Federation race, the Ithanites, but was too tall for it.

"The picture…again?" he asked in broken Federation standard. Spock pulled it out of his jacket and showed it to the man. A few more prisoners approached as the alien eyed the photo. "Maqoch!" he suddenly said. "He's looking for Maqoch!"

The prisoners around him frowned; the man showed the picture to the ones next to him, and a hearty debate in a rough, Klingonese-based pidgin ensued, most of which the universal translator was barely able to render into Standard. But finally several of the people nodded their heads in obvious agreement. "Maqoch. It has to be Maqoch," the man said and pointed at McCoy.

Spock raised a brow as the translator offered "trusted male friend of a man" as translation for that Klingon word. "And where is Maqoch now?" he asked the alien.

"Maqoch…leaved."

"He died?"

"No - not here. Maybe there. Other mine. On the other side. Two circles ago."

Alerted, Spock looked at Leduc; it made the woman turn on her heels and contact the ship. There had been nothing in the reports that had indicated a mining activity on the other side of the asteroid. If it had escaped Starfleet's attention and chances were that the prisoners stationed there were starving to death by now. The Klingon forces had retreated one week ago, leaving nothing useful and barely any rations on the asteroid. Several of the undernourished, exhausted prisoners had died already before the first Starfleet ship had made it to the asteroid.

"What do you know about Maqoch?" Spock asked the man.

"He doctor. Everyone good friend." The alien returned the picture. "Not know he human. Blue-eyed, human?"

"Humans do have blue eyes on occasion, though it is rarer than brown eyes," Spock said. "The other man - do you know anything about him?" He pointed at Kirk.

"No." The man shook his head.

"How long have you been here?" Spock asked.

"Six months. Only know Maqoch."

Leduc faced Spock again, closing the communicator. "They're scanning now, sir. Two circles correspond to roughly one month in Earth time."

"Who was sent to the new mine?" Spock inquired from the alien.

"The war prisoners. Bad life."

"Worse than here?" slipped Leduc's tongue.

"Yes," the man said.

The Starfleet group eyed the dirty, smelly, icy surrounding with new eyes. Worse than this labor camp? Their imagination didn't want to go there.

Spock was suddenly eager to escape the unbearable atmosphere of despair and slow death and head on to the search of the second mine. He waved the alien aside, Leduc on his heels.

"What's your name?" Spock asked the man.

"Til'ala," the man replied. "I'm from Okkaya. Colony of Trokk."

The species and planet were unknown to Spock, but he wanted to take the man with him. He might be able to give them further important information on the asteroid. "Til'ala, do you want to come with us?" he asked. "I cannot promise a prompt journey to your home planet, but at least a transfer to the next starbase, comfortable quarters and food."

"Yes - yes!" The alien broke into something resembling a smile.

"Good. Please follow the security guards outside." Spock sent his men upstairs and followed a little behind with Leduc.

"Commander, you take care that all rescued prisoners are given medical treatment and are assigned to joined quarters. Keep them under loose surveillance. After all, some of them may have been convicted for real crimes. "

"Yes, sir," she said with a nod.

They quickly left the mine. When Spock stepped out, he took a deep breath and paid dearly, as the sharp cold painfully penetrated his lungs.

"Seven to beam up," Leduc spoke into her communicator, and with a last gaze at the unforgiving ice planet, Spock vanished to rematerialize in another world.

*

It took them more than four hours to locate the second mine. None of the other two Starfleet ships currently orbiting the asteroid had had information about another mine, and due to the lack of radiation or heat output it had escaped the usual scans. They found it only because the Enterprise' inventive navigator tracked Klingon activity in certain ice patterns and extrapolated the place where the other mine had to be. Spock would mention her in his report.

Once again, Spock and Leduc beamed down with four security guards; this time, however, they also took the Enterprise's CMO and one nurse with them. Dr. Miller had been assigned to the Enterprise six months after McCoy's conviction and Spock was reasonable content with the man. He was an acceptable doctor and would be needed in this forgotten second mining camp. The door to the entry was large, metal, and bolted and fused from the outside. Outwardly controlled, Spock ordered two of the men to blast it open. Everyone else stepped aside, unsure what to expect. But when the entry was free, there was nothing to be heard. The mine lay dark and silent.

"Let us go in," Spock said and closed his hand hard around a flashlight. He noted that Leduc wanted to step in his way, but Spock would have none of that this time; he could take care of himself and he needed to see whatever disastrous scenes awaited them down there with his own eyes, instantly.

They walked down a stairway similar to the one in the main mine. The air was stale and very cold; a tomb, the thought crossed Spock's mind. They walked a little deeper into the mine, their lights dancing through empty hallways and rooms and falling on discarded things, half-broken wooden pathways for the guards. When they came to the entry of the mining area itself, they stopped in their tracks. The way was completely blocked by debris. Obviously, the Klingons had detonated explosives on their retreat that made the hallway collapse. Spock placed his gloved hand on the stones, taking in their enormous size and estimating their weight.

"Suggestions?" he said, his voice rough from the cold and the dreaded emotions that rose in him once again. He fought them down with determination. No matter what they found behind the blockage help needed to be brought to the other side as quickly as possible.

"We can't get this cleared with our weapons. A beam-out would be best," Leduc said.

"More of the hallway may collapse, if we do that," the leader of the security team pointed out - Brown was his name.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Spock saw the CMO frown. "Doctor?"

"I think I hear something," Miller said.

Everyone instantly quieted and strained to listen into the bleak silence. Spock closed his eyes; there was the sound of breathing, the soft rustling of their clothes, a distant sound of wind from the entry behind them, and…

"Someone is singing," he said and opened his eyes.

"Yes," Miller nodded.

"Survivors, at last," Spock forced out from his stiff lips. He waved at Leduc and Brown and they sat down to make up a beam-out plan. It took them one point two hours and twenty enhanced communicators that they placed on the stones, before the elaborate beaming sequence could be started. One by one the ship beamed out the stones, and after each they paused briefly, checking for a shift in the other stones or any danger of more of the hallways' ceiling to break down. The whole process took another fifty minutes. Frozen from the cold despite a heater unit, they could finally walk into the hallway. The singing was clearly audible now, but still in the distance. They followed the noise, walking along dark corridors in which the reminders of dilithium glittered in the lights of their flashlights.

At last they approached the source of the singing and stepped onto a kind of balcony. From there they could look into another large hall at their feet. Dozens of people sat on the ground, huddled together; their voices, each weak but joined together in a chorus, touched Spock deeply. The song was unknown to him but it sounded Terran. It echoed in the hall, whose sleek walls seemed to have prevented the outbreak of the prisoners. Almost reluctant to stop the song's flow, he put his hand on the handrail of the balcony, wondering how to get down.

"Sir - a staircase!" Brown pointed to the left. It was a large metal construction, and it took them a moment to find the leverage mechanism that allowed them to lower it to the ground. With much noise it settled on the hall's floor but the song never stopped. Only when they went down the stairs and drew close enough to come face to face with the captives did the prisoners started to look up. They all wore leftovers of Starfleet uniforms or those of allied forces. Obviously, the Klingons had made this mine exclusively for human prisoners of war. Their eyes were overly large and the skin spanned over exhausted faces made heads look like skulls. Spock had been correct in his prediction; these people were close to dying from starvation. Some of them didn't move even now, and he saw Miller and the nurse walk along the line, checking everyone and closing the eyes of some.

Spock went down on one knee next to a woman who seemed somewhat familiar. "Lieutenant Ala?" he said and gently lifted her face. She had been on the Enterprise for seven months before she had been transferred to a ship that was later reported MIA.

"Sir…?" she said, her unfocused eyes resting on him without a flicker of recognition.

"This is Spock. Captain Spock from the Enterprise. We are here to rescue you."

"Sir…" The woman's eyes fell close and her body slacked. Spock eased her head against the wall and waved for the CMO. Miller was instantly at his side, checking on her. "Just unconscious. She'll probably make it," he said softly.

"Captain Spock…?" a man two places to her left murmured. Spock changed position, and it took him a moment to realize that the curled, haggard figure was a man who in the past had been a broad-shouldered, lively Marsian.

"Captain Pori." Spock knew the fellow captain from various official meetings and had always enjoyed his company. He clasped the man's hand. It was blue and stiff. "Captain, you will all be rescued as quickly as possible. You have my word to it." Spock took a deep breath. "I'm looking for a friend. His name is McCoy. He was reported to have transferred to here from the other side of Rura Penthe."

"Maqoch," Pori murmured.

"Maqoch, yes. Where is he?" Spock asked urgently.

"With the dead."

"He died?"

"No…other room."

"Thank you," Spock said. "Help will come to you immediately," he repeated and then rose to his feet. He searched the hall and when he saw the exit into the next corridor, he rushed to it.

"Sir, be careful!" Leduc called after him, but Spock ignored her. There was nothing to fear in these corridors…nothing but the dead. The first room to the left was empty, but the one to the right was not. In it, covered bodies were laying in small piles, carefully arranged and waiting for the next dead to follow. Spock walked into the room, passing the immobile bodies with baited breath.

"Leonard McCoy," he called out. "Spock here. If you hear me, please make a sound. Anything." He fell silent and listened. The room was larger than he had first thought, and full of dead Starfleet personnel. A tomb indeed. But the cold at least prevented the odor of decay from becoming too overwhelming.

"Maqoch! McCoy! Answer me." Spock shouted into the room. "This is an order, commander!"

Again, only silence - then, suddenly, from somewhere, a little laughter that was instantly followed by a cough.

"Nobody has dared to speak to me…like that…in ages." The voice was weak, but Spock would recognize it everywhere. He followed the sound around a corner, and fell to his knees as he saw the small, folded figure down on the floor. Huddled in several layers of fur, the hair long, a beard covering the face, sat the long-missed doctor.

"McCoy," Spock said, barely able to speak. He put his hands around the man's shoulders. "Leonard…" He embraced him and pressed his cheek against the human's cold one. Hands weakly patted his arms in an answering gesture. When Spock sank back on his heels, blue eyes met his, focused and alert for a moment. "Never thought that I'd see you again…" McCoy whispered. He lifted a hand on which the skin looked almost translucent, showing the veins and bones, and touched Spock's face. "Spock… I'm so sorry…"

Spock captured the cold hand. "Is Jim dead?"

"Yes. Killed shortly after our arrival. I'm so sorry…" The hand slacked in Spock's grip as McCoy's energy ran out.

"I am here with the Enterprise, which is still under my command. This place will be evacuated as quickly as possible." Spock crouched at McCoy's side. "And you will be the first one to leave." He placed his right arm under McCoy's legs, the left one behind his back. "Hold on to me, doctor," Spock said, but then noted that his friend was too weak to do so. Without further commenting on it, Spock scooped McCoy in his arms and rose to stand. He couldn't believe how light the body was; there was barely any weight to it. The heaviest things were the manacles around McCoy's ankles, a chain between them that jangled in the silence.

McCoy's head sunk against Spock's chest. "That's awfully nice of you," he whispered and fell silent, lids closing.

Spock rushed back to the main hall, passing the lines of dead without another look. When Miller saw him approaching, he quickly finished with his current patient and checked on the man in Spock's arms.

"Bad state, but I think he'll make it. We can't beam from down here, so we've got to get everyone up the metal stairway and back to the main hall near the entry. You'll carry him?"

"Yes."

"Okay. More crew and medical personnel are on the way; Leduc's doing a great job organizing it. Go with McCoy. Doctor T'Vei is waiting for the first patients in sickbay."

"Yes, doctor. Thank you," Spock said hoarsely. He briefly checked with Leduc and indeed the first officer had everything under control. For once finding that his personal need to save McCoy was greater than any thought about others, Spock was relieved to be able to put the rescue mission into Leduc' responsible hands. He left the icy underground grave with McCoy in his arms and climbed the stairs as quickly as he could. The cold needled his aching lungs, but he ignored it, not willing to stay a second longer on this asteroid than absolutely necessary. The hallway was starting to get crowded, but everyone gave way to the captain and his load, the visible urgency keeping everyone from addressing him.

Spock arrived at the beaming point in the main hall just when it was established and enhanced with several pattern buffer stabilizers. Even with the magnetic shield off, the composition of the penal asteroid at this position was not conductive to beaming living beings out of underground caverns. Transporting only worked because of the stabilizers. Spock stepped into the circle formed by them and nodded to the crewman at the side.

"The captain and one patient to beam up into sickbay," the man said

"Acknowledged," the reply came promptly, and seconds later, Spock felt the beam catching them to deliver them to their next destination.

*

In sickbay, quick care was taken of McCoy; he was undressed and washed, check-ups were run, and outer injuries were dealt with. T'Vei, the Vulcan doctor and healer, assured Spock that McCoy would very likely survive, but gently made it clear that the captain was to wait outside for the time being. It gave Spock half an hour to deal with the ship's business. When he returned to sickbay, McCoy rested on a bio-bed, a thermo blanket pulled up to his throat. One arm was covered under it; the other lay outside, so slim and bony that it seemed to Spock a miracle that the medical team had been able to attach infusions to it. The rough beard and the long hair were still in place, and gave McCoy a strangely wild look.

"How is his status?" Spock eyed the readings. In contrast to the medical tricorder, he had always found the bio-bed readouts to be less logically ordered and conclusive; too much data, some of it irrelevant in his eyes. But that was the way most human doctors preferred it, and T'Vei obviously had adjusted to it. The young Vulcan woman went to his side and placed a hand on his arm. Spock briefly closed his eyes and accepted the unique reduction of stress a healer's touch always brought. T'Vei was onboard due to a suggestion of Sarek, and for once Spock was grateful for the advice - and the healer.

"I apologize for my loss of control," he said when she removed her hand.

"No apology necessary, captain," she said. "He was the carrier of your katra, and of the highest honor."

"Was?"

"The humans' language pattern will be my undoing," she said. "He still is, captain. He will survive. However, he is very weak at the moment. It will take at least two days until he will be able to leave this bed."

"What is the diagnosis?"

"He suffered from severe starvation and anemia, but he also has a weakened heart due to the cold and several other side effects from the conditions of his imprisonment. There are many old wounds and several damaged teeth. But his prospects are good; there will probably be no lasting reminders."

"I thank thee," Spock said formally in Vulcan, gathering strength from his home's unemotional language.

"He keeps asking for someone called Karon. I have not been able to answer his questions. It would be helpful if you inquired about the whereabouts of this person."

As if by signal, McCoy moved slightly. The Vulcans turned their focus on him. Spock took his hand and pressed it gently. "Leonard, do you hear me?"

A small smile on the lips showed an unspoken yes.

"I will go and look for Karon."

"Karon," McCoy repeated in a harsh, Klingonese pronounciation. "Yes."

"If he is still on Rura Penthe, I will locate him," Spock promised. There was no answer, and T'Vei put her hand on McCoy's shoulder. "He sleeps. But he will recover," she said. "He has a high level of endurance."

"Indeed," Spock said. Then he walked to the next intercom and ordered Til'ala to be brought to the captain's office, on explicitly friendly terms.

*

As expected Til'ala was nervous when he faced the Vulcan captain but Spock was able to dispel the alien's fears of being left behind on Rura Penthe, or anything worse. Spock quickly accepted the man's excessive praise for the good living conditions and the food, determined to come to the point.

"I only need more information from you," Spock repeated again. "Information that will help us, just like you helped us with the second mine."

"You find Maqoch?" the man asked.

"Yes. His state was not good when we found him. The prisoners in the second mine had been barricaded to starve to death in the mines when the Klingons left. We could only save thirty-four of what must have been hundreds of prisoners of war. But Maqoch will live."

"Good - good." Til'ala smiled. "You ask."

"Do you know anyone called Karon?"

"No," the man said, shaking his head. "Sometimes Maqoch speak of Karon, but never see."

"What did he say about him?"

"Must have been good friend. Klingon. Doctor."

"A Klingon doctor," Spock repeated. "Do you know if he went to the other mine with Maqoch?

"New mine, only human. Not know where Karon."

Spock gave up, deciding to focus the search for that man on the Rura Penthe databanks instead. "Thank you, Til'ala. You will be brought back to your quarters."

"Can I see Maqoch?" the alien asked.

"At another time, maybe," Spock said. He would have to ask the doctors if visitors were allowed, and of course, ask McCoy if he wanted to see this man or anyone else anyway. He rose from his seat to end the discussion, and the alien mirrored his movement.

"Good ship," Til'ala said as he walked out of the office. "Had ship too, before Rura Penthe. Maybe get back."

Spock was curious why the man had been convicted, but postponed the question, as it might damage the good rapport that they had right now. Maybe he would need more information from him in the future.

He ordered the man to be brought back to quarters and went to sickbay. McCoy was asleep and unresponsive, and the doctors estimated he would be like this for the next several hours.

Spock briefly conferred with Miller and T'Vei regarding the state of the other rescued prisoners and walked around to speak a few words with everyone, shaking hands with the two people he knew more closely- Captain Pori and Lieutenant Ala. Gratitude lay in their touches, and he embraced the emotion, knowing that without his search for the one, many would have died. It was a belated justification for his diverting to Rura Penthe, which he had logically argued for in his statement to the admiralty, but which had been entirely motivated by emotion.

Finally coming to an end, Spock decided to leave for the bridge. But when he was at the door a nurse walked out of McCoy's corner, waving at him. Spock stopped and turned, raising a brow in question.

"Sir, Doctor McCoy would like to speak to you for a moment," she said, and Spock walked up to McCoy's bed.

"Spock…" McCoy said weakly when Spock went behind the curtain. "Thanks for everything."

The Vulcan sat down at the left side of the bed and clasped the hand of his friend. "Doctor."

"Didn't think I'd see you ever again." McCoy smiled, his eyes crossing over Spock's face. "You haven't changed a lot, Spock. Looking good and healthy."

"Now that you are onboard the Enterprise, your health will soon be restored," Spock said. "T'Vei told me that your prospects are favorable."

"Yes, she said something like that." McCoy closed his eyes again. "Spock…"

"You are tired, doctor. We can talk later," Spock said.

"You've got to get my doctor's equipment from Rura. It was nearby me when you found me. It's a dirty-brown, bulky bag. We need it."

"We?"

"Yes. We do." McCoy didn't elaborate and seemed to fall asleep again. Spock left and ordered the retrieval of the bag.

*

The next time Spock visited McCoy, he placed the bag next to McCoy's bed. "It was found at the described place, doctor. Is there anything special I should do with it?"

"Take it to your room and get everything out until you get down to the bottom," McCoy said. "There's something for you in it."

Spock thought for a moment and then said, "It can wait until you will be there with me."

"There with you?" McCoy asked, his right eyebrow slightly rising.

"I had the room redecorated; you will be able to inhabit it with me."

"Spock, I…"

"I need you," Spock said quietly.

"What?" McCoy's eyes widened.

"I require your company, doctor. And then we will talk about everything."

McCoy searched Spock's eyes for a second, then nodded. "Very well, Spock. I guess it's a good idea. T'Vei doesn't want me to leave yet, but maybe, if I just move into your quarters and you babysit me, I can escape sickbay sooner."

Spock nodded. "I have some duties left to deal with; then I will return and ask for the doctor's opinion on your release to quarters." Then he remembered something. "One of the rescued prisoners asked me if he could visit you."

"Who?"

"Til'ala. He was the one to recognize you in the picture I showed around in the first mine."

"Til'ala? Can't remember that name," McCoy said.

"Bronze-skinned, medium size, claimed he is a Trokk."

McCoy creased his forehead in thoughts but then shook his head. "Really, can't remember," he repeated helplessly.

"It is of no importance," Spock quickly said when he noted McCoy's distress over this lapse, and touched his friend's cool hand. "Sleep, Leonard - I will return later."

*

T'Vei and Miller agreed with Spock's plan when he spoke with them at the end of the beta shift, on the condition that McCoy would wear a transponder bracelet that constantly sent his life signs to the medical department for surveillance. He also needed to take additional nutrients twice a day, and to follow the diet plan created for him by the medical department. McCoy agreed reluctantly but Spock quietly assured the doctors that he would keep an eye on his friend.

McCoy put his foot down on being carried or wheel-chaired around, and walked to Spock's cabin on his own two legs, but he at least accepted Spock's support. When the door closed behind them, Spock carefully lowered him onto the large bed.

"Queen size," McCoy stated, amusedly patting the cover with his hands. "Not what I'd have expected from you."

"Just a temporary change, doctor." Spock gently removed McCoy's boots.

"What did you do?" McCoy eyed the activity critically.

"I had to promise the doctors that you would rest as much as possible for the next days. Your body was at the limit of endurance and needs to restore its strength slowly."

"Don't like that," McCoy grunted without edge, but allowed Spock to help him out of the jacket and pants. Down to a t-shirt and boxers, McCoy soon found himself in bed and covered by two thick blankets.

"What did you mean, you need me?" he asked in a low voice when Spock straightened the covers over his chest.

"I need to…experience you," Spock said.

"Strange expression," McCoy replied. "So, are you ready to open my bag?" he asked in a swift change of subject.

"I am, doctor," Spock said, and sat down on the nearby table. The medium-sized, bulky bag was a dirty grey and filled with various items of medicinal usage, including something like a Klingon tricorder. Spock pulled out the objects until the main compartment was finally empty.

"Feel the bottom for the latch. Lift it up." McCoy had turned to the side, his head propped up on his left hand.

Spock's fingers glided along the edges of the bag's bottom and hooked on a little opening. The fake, first leather bottom lifted, and he took it out. Beneath it, his fingers felt another material - fabric. The Vulcan caught it and pulled it out. He took a deep breath as he stretched the garment out on the table in the bright light. The uniform jacket looked almost like it had the last time he had seen it, except for the big cut in the middle of the chest and the much darker, brown color all around it. His fingers glided over the material, straightening it without thinking.

"How did he die?" Spock asked at last, eyes still on the jacket.

"In the mines," McCoy replied from the bed. "On the second day. There was a fight; he got involved. They wanted him to get involved. He'd been in a fight within the first minutes of our arrival. There was a reward on our heads. He won the first fight. The next day, though…shovels are sharp tools. And I didn't have the means to help him…or fix him," McCoy added sadly.

"It was not your fault, doctor," Spock said. "Without me, you would never have been in that situation." He took the jacket in his hands and lifted it. When he turned it around, he saw the patch. It was still there, right in the place where Spock personally had attached it. The device supposed to save Kirk and McCoy from Rura Penthe.

Spock turned to face McCoy, his throat tight. "You could have escaped. Why didn't you leave the shield?"

"Why should I have done that?" McCoy asked back quietly. "Jim hadn't told me what this patch was about. It was a day after his death that I really noticed it and had a sudden idea what it may have been good for, but I couldn't be sure. And then the war started and the idea of escape became obsolete because they brought me in for interrogation."

"He didn't tell you?" Spock was unable to hide the horror that came with realizing the results of this failure.

"He tried but I didn't get it." McCoy waved his hand. "I don't blame him. Command decision. I know the deal. But you can still tell me what you had planned."

"You and Jim had to get out of the magnetic shield. With this viridium patch, we would have been able to locate you from two sectors away, would have flown into Klingon territory and rescued you."

"Good plan. Might have worked if I had known about it," McCoy said emotionlessly.

"Doctor…"

"Spilled milk," McCoy said, unwilling to discuss the subject further. He leaned back into the cushions and pulled the warm blankets up to the chin. "Don't you have a ship to run?" he asked.

"I do, doctor." Spock gently placed the uniform jacket on the table. "I will return later. If you need anything, call Yeoman Bougres over the intercom."

"Fine." McCoy turned to his other side as Spock left and tried to sleep, but his thoughts returned to the past.

It was their first real day on Rura Penthe and, after a brief excursion to the distasteful toilet area and lining up for a breakfast - which consisted of a bowl of watery, cold soup - they took the lift to the mines. They waited for Martia to show up but she never came. Finally they descended to the lowest level. There was no introduction to the work, and they tagged along into the mine's arm and did what everyone else did, hammering the wall away to get to the blinking dilithium.

"Seems your date wasn't keen on meeting you, after all," McCoy said to Kirk as they started to swing the pickaxes.

"She'll show up," Kirk said and flashed a grin.

"Let's hope so, by goodness." McCoy eyed the wall in front of him and wondered if he'd develop muscles faster from the work than he'd lose them from the lack of food. It was warmer in the mine than on the main level, and he was soon sweating under his many layers. Other prisoners came, some passing them, all finding their own spot. McCoy didn't realize for a while that they started gathering closer to them - not until a few had slid up next to him.

"That's my wall," McCoy said to the man closest to him. He poked the stone. "Mine," he repeated and pointed the forefinger to his own chest. The man gave McCoy an ugly look and shoved him into the wall.

"Guess they're not coming for your dilithium, Bones," Kirk said with a resigned expression in his face. The captain took the pickax in both hands and turned with his back to the wall. McCoy, belatedly understanding, was instantly pulled away from Kirk and held back as four large aliens started to besiege his friend. McCoy struggled against his captors without much effect, and finally gave in, watching the fight. He had every trust in Jim that he'd make it, like the day before. Jim was a survivor par excellence. That he'd die down here in the mines wasn't something McCoy could ever see happen.

Not until Kirk lay on the ground, groaning in pain. The alien ambushers retreated as if they had just been a ghost, not even making sure that their victim was dead yet. McCoy sank down on his knees next to his friend, taking a shaky breath as he shoved the fur out of the way to assess the damage. The gruesome slice from a sharpened shovel had gone so deep across Jim's belly that McCoy could see the inner organs. Even on the Enterprise, this would've been a close call. In a place like Rura Penthe, wounds like this were a death warrant.

"Jim, my god," McCoy whispered and placed his hands on the large wound, as if he could hold it together with his own fingers. Blood was streaming out of the injury and it would be only seconds before Kirk would lose consciousness; at least that would end the agony his friend had to be in. "Jim…" he repeated helplessly and felt tears rising.

Kirk clamped one hand into McCoy's fur and tried to say something.

"Jim, what is it?" McCoy said and bent down, trying to understand him. Kirk repeated his words, again and again. "Take - my uniform," McCoy finally understood.

"Yes, Jim, I'm going to take your uniform with me," McCoy promised.

In an inhuman effort, Kirk raised his voice once more. "Gotta escape. Get back to Spock."

McCoy nodded again. "I'll do it," he said, not having a clue how he would accomplish that.

"Good. My uniform. You'll make it." Kirk's lids fluttered, and agony mirrored in the well-known face for some more seconds before all pain receded from his features and the body slacked. McCoy sat above him, the fingers still on the wound as the blood flow ended and the red-brown fluid quickly stiffened in the cold. He sank back on his heels and wiped his hands on his own fur, then closed Kirk's eyes. "Farewell, Jim," he whispered.

How often had he thought that Jim or Spock had died, only to be rescued at last moment? Even Spock had returned from the very dead. But this was final. There would be no last minute intervention, no miracles. Jim was dead, and McCoy felt like a goddamn loser for still being alive. He was the perfect, easy target, not Jim. It should've been him dying in this ice hole, not Jim.

McCoy wiped away a tear that cooled on his chin, and started undressing Kirk. He took the uniform shirt, wet with blood, and folded and stowed it under his own. Then he dressed Jim into the furs again, preparing him for the last journey to wherever. "Oh, Jim," he whispered and cradled his friend's body for a while until the guards approached their location. The Klingons arrived very late; it was obvious they had been told to keep away. They took the body to dispose it wherever, and ordered McCoy up to the main hall for the day. He lay on the bunk - Jim's bunk - and curled, wishing the aliens had outright killed him too, or the Klingons had at least allowed him to keep on working. This way, he was left alone with his gloomy thoughts, expecting his own death blow to come at any minute.

He didn't get Jim's reference to his uniform and the escape until one and a half days later, when he pulled out the uniform from under his clothes to hide it under the bunk. Only then did he notice the patch and realized that there had been a plan B…but nobody had told him. "Shit," McCoy murmured and stowed it away. He spent the next hour thinking about his options, but then they came for him, rendering any hope of escape futile.

McCoy turned over with a sigh and finally fell asleep.

*

McCoy slept most of the next twenty-four hours, and much better than he had in sickbay. There he often had felt disturbed by the noises from the other side of the curtain, but in Spock's cabin the silence felt peaceful and protective and lulled him into sleep much more easily. It also helped a great deal that Spock refrained from asking him more questions. Thinking about the past was painful for McCoy, and he was thankful to be spared it for a little while longer.

Twice, T'Vei came over to check on him. McCoy liked the young woman a lot, and the cool, detached way in which she discussed his various medical conditions was more bearable than open commiseration. And yet she wasn't distanced or cold. She was just professional in a Vulcan way, reminding him of the healers after the refusion. They made a tiny little bit of small talk while he took the nutrients, but she always left quickly, returning to patients that needed her more than he did, and that was perfectly alright.

Finally, it was the hunger that dispelled McCoy's sleep, but he felt too deprived of energy to get up and call for a yeoman. Good for him that Spock arrived only half an hour later and instantly contacted the kitchen for food. While they were waiting, McCoy made it to the bathroom without help and saw that as a little victory. He went to the toilet, then took a long, warm shower. The towels were soft, and Spock had prepared a fresh robe for him. He cradled himself into the plushy material and sighed happily.

The face in the mirror didn't yet look like him - or any other civilized being for that matter, he thought, although they had shortened the beard and the hair in sickbay. He was happier about the tooth job he'd received. He opened his mouth and looked at the results. It had been a while since all gaps had been filled with his own teeth, and he was glad about the prospect of soon being able to bite normally. The new teeth still felt a little strange, and he'd been warned that the maxillary sinus needed to adjust to the change, but that was just a little inconvenience compared to the past.

When he came out of the bathroom the meal was ready and served on the table, water and wine next to it. They ate in comfortable silence, McCoy cherishing every bite of his light vegetarian pasta. He barely managed to eat a quarter of the plate though, his stomach still small and unused to normal food. Spock helped him back to the bed, ignoring his complains, and sat down next to him.

"You like putting me in bed, it seems," McCoy said a little disgruntled. "Is that your revenge for all the times you had to stay in sickbay? I'm not tired yet."

"But you also didn't regain much strength," Spock said. His eyes wandered to the bottle of lotion McCoy had been given by T'Vei. "This lotion was prescribed to you, but it looks untouched. Your skin needs nourishment for healing from the effects of dehydration and malnutrition."

"I know, but I feel too tired to apply it," McCoy admitted.

"I will do it," Spock stated. "Please remove your shirt."

"Uh, Spock -"

"Please, Doctor," Spock said calmly, and helped McCoy strip off the shirt.

McCoy sighed. "Your voice has developed that classic command inflexion, did you notice?" he said as he lay down and closed his eyes. With sure, warm fingers, Spock distributed the lotion on McCoy's chest and from there distributed it all over the upper front body.

The Vulcan noted the irregular patterns of white lines, thinner and broader, longer and shorter, all over McCoy's chest, but did not comment on them. Whatever had been done to his friend, it didn't seem to have an impact on McCoy anymore, as the human lay relaxed and peaceful under his hands.

"Mind telling me what became of our friends?" McCoy asked. "They've all left the ship, haven't they?"

"Yes. They were too valuable to stay here. Uhura is on Earth, working for the cryptography department of the Intelligence Agency. Mister Scott is also on Earth, working on improving the 'Fleet's engine and weapon systems. Captain Sulu and the Excelsior excelled in the war so far, as did Chekov with the ship he's commanding now, a smaller cruiser named 'Moscow'."

McCoy laughed. "What a fitting name. So, we've come through with only a few losses, did we?"

"Commander Rand died on a station that was attacked by Klingon forces."

"Oh. That's sad." Silence fell upon them for a while, the sound of skin on skin the only one in the room.

"What about Valeris?" McCoy asked at last. "She liked you a lot. I sometimes wondered if -" The way Spock looked away made him stop.

"I'm sorry if I touched an open wound," McCoy said quietly.

"Yes, you did. But it was one of my own doing, so no apologies are necessary." Spock removed his hand. "Please turn onto your stomach."

McCoy obediently turned around. The lotion felt cool on his back, and a shiver ran through him before Spock's warm hands could ease the transition. It felt good to be cared for - something McCoy rarely had been able to admit to himself in the past, but that had changed on Rura Penthe. Without Karon, he wouldn't have made it. Come to think of it, it hadn't felt much different… Under the soothing strokes, he almost fell asleep when Spock resumed speaking.

"You are correct," Spock said. "Lieutenant Valeris was very much interested in me, and for a while after your arrest, I considered taking up her offer. However, she was found to be part of a larger conspiracy and the one who had been responsible for the sabotaged databanks of the Enterprise."

"What?" McCoy said in disbelief.

"She also gave Jim's recorded log entry to the Klingons, which was used in the trial, and hired the men to assassinate the Chancellor. She later killed them to keep it a secret."

"But why?" McCoy whispered.

"She believed that a treaty with the Klingons would be the end of the world as we know it," Spock said, the sudden force in his pressure showing his tension more than his words. "And she was correct - it would have changed many things. But in a way more preferable than this war."

McCoy sighed. "Oh damn. And there I thought you and her might have got together." Spock's touch broke stride for a moment, and McCoy snorted. "Don't deny that you've been lonely. Jim and I were your best friends. Don't tell me you didn't miss us, even though you haven't exactly been on Jim's good side after the crap you pulled at that meeting."

"I wasn't, and believe me, doctor, there is little I regret more in my life than the decisions I made in the course of that one month," Spock said quietly.

"Dining on ashes…" McCoy rose from the bed and half-turned on his elbows to look at Spock. "We've all been close to dying one time or another. If not this time, who knows what would've gotten him the next time."

Spock briefly looked away. "You know it was my doing that brought you to Rura Penthe."

"Having just learned that there was a full conspiracy behind it, I'd say it was not your fault. And of course, who could have known that Jim and I were stupid enough to beam over?" McCoy said.

"Everyone who knew you. And it was a logical decision," Spock said with a frown.

"I know. Just wanted to ease your mind. It's done and over, Spock. We can't change the past." McCoy sank his forehead down on his palms, wondering when this bone-deep tiredness would end. He probably should start to work out, but couldn't imagine pulling his weak, still starved body into the gym for an aerobic competition with the fit crewmembers.

"May I proceed on your lower part of the body with the lotion?" Spock asked.

"Sure," McCoy said, enjoying the way Spock distributed the lotion onto his extremely dry skin… and wondering what Spock was up to - or what he, in the depth of his mind, would want Spock to be up to.

"So, you had to lead the Enterprise into the war," McCoy said after a while.

"It was either that or resigning to a desk job, and I felt less qualified for that. For a while, I also assumed that we would be able to rescue you from Rura Penthe. But that hope diminished over time."

"Jim would've been happy to give her to you," McCoy said, a sudden fatigue and sadness washing over him. "He always thought you'd be a great captain."

"My crew accepts me, but I will never be able to evoke the same commitment in them," Spock stated. "Or show the same brilliancy in decisions as he did."

"Don't say that. I've heard a few stories in sickbay about the Enterprise's brilliant captain and the heroic battles he's led the ship in. They adore you, as much as they adored Jim."

Spock's hands tightened around McCoy's lower legs, and McCoy could feel the upcoming argument. He decided to cut it short.

"Spock - they adore you. Their captain is a Starfleet hero, and they're serving on the legendary Enterprise. Don't sell yourself short, Spock. That's not a Vulcan trait."

The bed moved, and McCoy realized Spock had stood up. He turned his head, seeing Spock out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm sorry if you can't stand the truth, Spock, but I can't bear to see you fall back into the 'I'm only the first officer' stance. You're the captain, once and for all. Jim's gone. Deal with it."

Spock had gone to the couch, on which Kirk's uniform lay. "Have you dealt with it, doctor?"

"Yes. That's what you learn when you're becoming a doctor. Letting people go. Letting friends go, comrades, even loved ones…and move on." McCoy sat up. "Remember the encounter with the Tholians?"

"You were so ready to give him up," Spock said, a tinge of accusation in his voice.

"I had to, because I had to make the first officer ready to take command," McCoy said, folding his arms around his knees. "I didn't like it, but it was my job."

"So when Jim died, you simply moved on?"

"Not right away, Spock. Because losing him deprived me of all reason to live. And when they took me in for interrogation… I didn't think I'd make it for long."

Again, fatigue swept over McCoy. He sighed. "I'm sorry, Spock. I'm exhausted, and I'm losing grip on this conversation. Let's talk later." He sank back and curled in the bedding.

Spock froze, Kirk's torn uniform in his hand. He wasn't used to arguing with McCoy anymore, as little as he was used to being confronted with his feelings. T'Vei was the only one he would ever talk about these aspects with, but she was a Vulcan healer and would never become argumentative as McCoy was. He felt slightly at a loss as he put the uniform down. He had thought he had come to terms with his role on the ship - and certainly, the crew that had gone through many missions with him thought so - but thinking through McCoy's words, he realized that there was an aspect of hero admiration regarding Jim Kirk that he had never overcome. He reflected on it and decided it was not necessary to do so - it was not illogical to accept that Jim Kirk had been the greater, more successful leader.

He stepped to the bed, wanting to tell McCoy this, but refrained from doing so when he stared down on the still, ashen face and the exhaustion that mirrored itself in the figure. Arguments were costly in energy, and nothing McCoy could indulge in for now. Spock would speak to him later… if McCoy remembered the discussion at all.

After a last, gentle touch on McCoy's forehead, Spock left his quarters and went to the bridge.

*

"Captain, we have received new orders," was the first thing Leduc said to him when he sat in his center seat. The first officer gave him the PADD.

They were ordered to diverge from their present course to Starbase 10. Unexpected, but not unusual.

"I already laid the course, Captain."

"Good."

"There is also a second order, Captain." The woman hesitated. Spock paged to it, reading it twice before meeting her gaze again.

"Doctor McCoy shall be separated from the other rescued prisoners. As he already is." He returned the PADD to the first officer.

"Sir - they want us to put him in solitary detention," Leduc said quietly.

"He will not go anywhere," Spock said. "He is under my personal supervision and surveillance. If Starfleet suggests that I should place a just rescued, still recovering officer into a cell, surely all sense of military civility and courtesy has been lost in this war. Dismissed." He raised a brow at Leduc as she remained at his chair.

"Captain -"

"Dismissed, Commander," Spock repeated.

"Yes, sir." The woman made a small courtly bow, then went to her own station, submerging herself into the newest battle tactics.

*

The next eighteen hours brought a few smaller conflicts with scattered Klingon parties, and kept Spock largely away from McCoy. It was only in the evening that they met again in Spock's cabin, sharing dinner.

McCoy seemed relaxed and energized, and Spock finally inquired about what had happened to McCoy after Jim's death, including the role of the mysterious Karon. Spock knew better than most that McCoy had never been averse to homosexual activity, but within certain limits; the doctor had always said that he would never consider pursuing a serious relationship with a man. Maybe this had changed on Rura Penthe, out of necessity to keep McCoy from becoming the unwanted interest of other men, or because of true personal interest.

"I am curious, doctor," Spock began as the meal was over and they resigned to coffee and tea. "I am under the impression that you had an intimate relationship with Karon, the man you inquired about. May I ask how that came to pass?"

"Oh, yes, you may. It's not as if we had a lot of secrets from each other over the last decade," McCoy said, a smile crossing his face. "Yes - yes, he was my lover." He saw Spock's rising brow and said, "Why don't you let me start at the beginning, Spock? That would make some things much easier."

"Of course," Spock said.

McCoy cradled his cup of coffee. "Beginning after Jim's death, that is. It was a big blow for me, though not really surprising. With the reward on our heads, I expected them to come after me too. Kobayashi Maru. I don't think I would've fought them. But strangely enough, everyone kept away from me. I went into the mines for a day and worked. It was harsh labor, the air icy and dusty. After a day, the war began, and the Klingons came for me and put me in solitary detention. They started interrogating me, wanted to get information about the Enterprise, the fleet…anything I would've been able to give them. I didn't tell them anything, so they gave me the third degree." McCoy took his cup and sipwped.

"I was in bad shape after a while, so they sent their version of a doctor to me. It was a fellow prisoner, a man who had been something like a caretaker on the colony he came from. A young Klingon, not yet twenty five years old by their standards."

"Karon," Spock assumed.

"Yes." McCoy's gaze drifted as the memory came back to him.

Completely naked, McCoy sat on a kind of metal chair that was sealed into the ground. His arms were laced through the metal bars that formed its back, the elbows brutally tied together and to the gutter without much regard for human anatomy. The seat was cut in the middle and his upper legs and ankles were tied to the right and left side of the chair's metal legs, leaving his vulnerable parts exposed. His violated genitals hung between the two halves of the seat, the burns from the electro torture one of the throbbing reminders of the last day. The room was cold, and his teeth were chattering. Freezing liquid added to the cold, Klingon spit and Klingon piss. He tried to get his mind to drift to a nicer place, but reality was too painful to ignore.

When the door opened, he blinked at the light that fell into the dark room. Was it time already? He desperately wanted it to end.

"Please…" he whispered, acutely feeling his torn lips and the broken teeth that cut into his mouth's inner side. "I don't know anything. I don't have the information you want." A lie, but he would never become a traitor.

One of the men slapped him across the face. "Shut up," the Klingon snapped. They took the water hose and bathed him in icy water, cleaning him from head to toe. Finally McCoy felt the ties released, then the guards left except for one young man. He stepped closer, a device in his hands, and said something in Klingonese. McCoy didn't understand a word.

The man nodded in understanding, then took his arm, waving to the metal bed in the corner. McCoy tried to stand up, but his legs gave way, and he slid from the torture chair towards the ground, grunting in agony. The man caught him and lifted him without effort to place him gently on the bed, arranging the numb limbs in a comfortable position. Then he examined him carefully, making sure that he didn't add to the injuries and the great pain McCoy was in. He was the gentlest Klingon McCoy had ever encountered, and an incredible feeling of gratitude rose in him.

McCoy shook himself out of his reverie, returning to the here and now. "Yes. Karon was told to treat me, but didn't have the knowledge. He barely spoke Standard - I didn't know any Klingon. His tricorder and bone knitter had signs I'd never seen. Nevertheless, we somehow figured out a few things between us, and he was able to treat my worst injuries. He showed up a few more times, and we build a kind of friendship. He made sure that the interrogators took a little care for my human frailties and didn't outright kill me. Though there were moments in which I didn't really appreciate that."

"Couldn't you just let me die?" he whispered after an especially harsh session on the chair, when he woke from his unconsciousness because of a stimulant shot into his arm by the Klingon. He eyed Karon as the young man diligently treated his worst wounds. "You're only prolonging the inevitable." He knew that Karon's Standard wasn't good enough to capture the full essence of his words, but the Klingon understood the gist of it. Surely the young man would have the means to ease his final escape, if he wanted to.

Karon frowned deeply and shook his head. "Good doctor. Not long."

"It is already much too long," McCoy murmured, then gasped in pain as Karon dealt with the deep burn in the middle of his chest. It had felt as if the Klingons had wanted to push the painstick down to his bones, and considering how much weight he had already lost, it wasn't far from that. A stroke would have been a welcome thing, but fate didn't grant him that mercy.

"You we need," Karon said. "Soon, end."

"I wish," McCoy said, wincing as the door was torn open and the Klingon guards returned. Any kind of end would be better than what his interrogators would have in store for him.

Karon tried to talk them into untying McCoy and giving him a little rest, but the Klingons would have none of it. Time was of essence, and McCoy's information would soon be outdated. They sent the young man out and went back to the torture. Only his ingrained stubbornness kept McCoy from screaming right away. They wouldn't get him…bastards!

A resolve that always ended in defeat.

Momentarily dizzy just from the memories that washed over him, McCoy was grateful to find Spock offering him a glass of juice. He took it and sipped from it. "Sorry for drifting," he said roughly.

"You know that you can tell me everything, Leonard," Spock said softly. "You do not need to filter the truth for me."

"Maybe I need to filter it from myself." McCoy took another sip.

Spock patiently waited until he was ready to resume his story, sitting opposite to him with hands laced on the table. McCoy resolutely decided to get to the point in his memories where he was freed.

"They did bring on the mindsifter after some time, but lo and behold, they couldn't get a fix on my scattered marbles," McCoy said and darkly grinned over the memory. "Must have had to do with our little katra sharing.

"When the Klingon commander of Rura Penthe, Koroth, fell ill, Karon insisted that I was brought on to the case. He got me out of the cell and I healed the man with Karon's support. They put me back and I thought that was it, but a day later, they let me out. Obviously, they realized I was worth a lot more as a living doctor than as a dead prisoner. Karon took care of me. He'd organized a bunk next to his, had secured my few belongings - including Jim's jacket - and had some medicine set aside for me. Soon I was able to work as a doctor, and I took him under my wing, teaching him as much as possible about the profession. He taught me Klingon medical terms, I taught him the Standard versions." McCoy brushed through his beard with his fingers. "Whatever happens in the future, Spock, I know my Klingon physiology now. By god, I know medical data of races the Federation hasn't even heard of yet!"

"You may write a sequel to your book about xenomedicine," Spock suggested.

"Yes, maybe." McCoy rubbed over his face and yawned.

"You are exhausted," Spock said. "Please, let me bring you to bed. I will return later for the next installment of your story."

"All right." McCoy instantly gave in. When he went up, Spock was there to stabilize him as he swayed. McCoy clung to the strong shoulders. "You know…it's really a miracle that I'm here now," he whispered, his eyes meeting Spock's.

"Yes," Spock agreed. He could feel McCoy's bones beneath his skin, every rib under his fingertips. So frail, a human's body. And still, McCoy had survived.

"Rest, my friend," Spock repeated and gently put McCoy to bed. He straightened the covers over him, as he did every time. One little thing he could do, where there was quite another need building in him, demanding its rights. It would have to wait.

"Night, Spock," McCoy said sleepily and was gone seconds later.

"Good night, Leonard," Spock replied quietly and left his quarters for one of the small observation lounges to engage in meditation for two hours.

*

Part 2/4 * Part 3/4 * Part 4/4