TOS "Shadows of a Man" 2/4 (S/Mc, NC-17, h&c)

[syredronning]

*
When McCoy awoke again, Spock had already left for his shift. Spock's side of the bed was untouched, once again, and McCoy felt a sudden, strong sadness. For all the gruesome time on Rura Penthe, it had brought a companionship and nearness to another being that McCoy had never thought he'd be able to enjoy, much less need. When he'd left for the second mine, he'd given that up, and now that he was onboard the Enterprise, Spock's behavior towards him was a strange mixture of invitation and distance. He wasn't sure what the Vulcan had in mind for them. In the past, they had shared two pon farr - one after the challenge, one after the fal-tor-pan - and it had always been clear to both what the deal was about. There had been no thought about and no need for starting a classic relationship. But now, McCoy wasn't sure if he wasn't starting to project something into Spock that the Vulcan would never want to give.

McCoy slid out of bed and went to the bathroom. He returned, still unshowered, and sat down at the table. There were the additional nutrient pills and orange juice to swallow them down, but he decided to order a full breakfast instead. He put on a robe and called the yeoman. She was young, sweet, and slightly nervous around him, but did her job and quickly returned with a tray. Fresh scrambled eggs and bacon were on it, two bagels and a large pot of fresh coffee. When she had left again, he sat down and very slowly ate his meal, focusing on every bite of it. Food was still something marvelous after all the starvation, and he couldn't quite deal yet with the copiousness that ruled onboard the Enterprise, everything he wanted only a call away.

With his strength slowly returning to him, McCoy started to think about his future, but it was vague. They were still in the middle of a war, though it looked as if the Klingon Empire was soon to lose, with the Federation troops slowly approaching Qonos. Maybe he would be able to resume a half-shift in the medical department. He wanted to be of help, not just a passenger on the Enterprise. With a sigh, he got up and walked to the couch on which Jim's uniform jacket was displayed. He took it in his hands, feeling the fabric, running a forefinger along the large tear that was bathed in blood. A relic for Spock as much as it had been for him and McCoy wasn't sure it had been a good idea to bring it back home, after all. Seeing it made him think of the day he'd lost Jim as clearly as if it had been yesterday, and it still hurt, probably always would. Hadn't he given a lecture to Spock about moving on only a day ago? What a lie.

Trying to force his thoughts back to the present - or even the future - McCoy laid the garment aside and went into the bathroom and took a long hot shower, after which he decided to start returning to normalcy.

*

Spock called McCoy shortly before lunch, and they agreed to take the meal in his room. When Spock arrived, he was pleasantly surprised to find McCoy's appearance changed; the doctor wore one of his robes and was shaven, the long hair shortened to shoulder length.

"I thought shaving would be a good idea," McCoy said as he saw Spock's gaze. He ran his forefinger over his slick jaw line. "There's hope my face will look a little bit fuller again over the next weeks," he said. "No flesh on these old bones. That's why I kept the hair for now. Don't want to look like the living dead." A white strand escaped from behind his left ear and fell down, easing the sharp angles.

Spock drew close, eyeing the no longer hidden face of his friend. "There are scars," he said and gently guided McCoy's face around, taking a closer look at its right side. Three darker lines ran roughly parallel, with a few similar scars scattered around the main pattern. "Do you want to have them removed? I am sure Dr. Miller would be able to."

"Not right now," McCoy said. He brushed over his cheek, feeling the little rugged reminders of the day that changed many things in his life on Rura Penthe.

It was roughly one circle after McCoy was able to work as a doctor that one of the hauling shafts collapsed. Karon and he were called to the disaster area and helped in the relief efforts. Nineteen dead prisoners, six badly wounded; ten had only a few scratches. McCoy was busy saving the life of an Andorian whose left arm had been crushed and mostly severed from the shoulder. There was slight green blood everywhere, as he tried to bring the flow under control. His right hand pressed against the artery, he called for Karon to bring him the surgery equipment. Karon placed it next to him on the floor, but before McCoy could grab it, someone shoved it aside with a booted foot.

"Enough!"

McCoy looked up to face Koroth, the commander of Rura Penthe.

"I can save him, but only if you let me!" he stated, unwilling to let himself get intimidated by the towering, broad-shouldered Klingon.

"A man with only one arm, what is he good for?" the Klingon snarled. "How long will he need to recover?"

"Two weeks, maybe," McCoy said.

"Too long," Koroth snapped. "Throw these out," he ordered three men behind him, waving his hand over the six critically wounded prisoners. "They are useless."

"You can't do that!" McCoy blurted out, fingers still on the artery. His whole arm was drained in the Andorian's blood, and he clamped his other hand into the Andorian's fur. "They are still alive. I can save them."

"But you won't," Koroth growled. With one mighty slap, he pushed McCoy away from his patient. McCoy fell to the ground and whipped up instantly. But of course, Koroth was faster - the next slap delivered right across McCoy's face with the studded and spiked leather glove threw him into the wall, knocking him out of air. The last blow right into McCoy's stomach put him over the edge. He sank to his knees, arms clamped around his chest with a deep groan.

"Don't do that ever again, or you'll be thrown out with your patients," Koroth snapped. Dazed, McCoy had to watch the Klingon guards carrying the severely wounded away to their certain death. He shook his head, faintly feeling the warmth of his blood running down his cheek. "Koroth!" he started when the commander turned to leave, and went up on one foot again, fighting for his balance. "You bastard! Murderer! Animal!" he spit after him.

McCoy was pulled down and taken into a strong embrace that was tight enough to silence him. Above his head, Koroth and Karon fell into a loud, sharp, but very short Klingonese debate. Karon held him down until the steps vanished in the distance, then pulled him into a shady side corridor.

"Maqoch - why did you do that? He was about to kill you!" Karon hissed at him. McCoy sank to the ground and rolled to the side, arms still around his hurting body.

"What does it matter," McCoy whispered. "Dead, alive… nobody cares. At least it would be over then."

"I care," Karon said. "I care very much."

"Not enough to make me forget everything else," McCoy said, tears stinging in his eyes. He had rarely felt so utterly defeated and beaten. On his face, the warmth of his blood still grew stronger. He reached up with one hand, but it was captured on the way. Gently, Karon touched his face and lifted it up from the ground, wiping the dirt out of the wounds the Klingon commander's studded glove had torn deep into his cheek. McCoy closed his eyes, knowing what would happen. It had been building almost from day one, and while he had had certain encounters with men in the past, none of them had prepared him for this kind of feeling…this mixture of desperation, need, arousal, and pure want of living the young Klingon evoked in him. The alien teeth raked over his wounds, a rough tongue licking the blood away. Karon's low growl resonated in McCoy, and he inhaled deeply, ignoring the pain in his chest. The Klingon covered his face and neck with bites and kisses - McCoy wasn't sure if there was a real difference between the two. Unwilling to make this a one-sided thing, he pushed himself up on one arm and captured the Klingon's head with his free hand. Karon's dark brown eyes met his, and then they kissed on the mouth for the first time. It was a little strange and Karon used a lot more teeth than McCoy was used to, but then the young man eased off and adjusted to human preferences.

"Let me make you forget, Maqoch," Karon whispered, his hands already under McCoy's fur. McCoy didn't say a word, just stroked the young man's long hair as the Klingon shoved aside the protective layers and opened McCoy's pants. The air was cold and McCoy's half-engorged organ faltered at first, but the Klingon caressed it back to life. He bent down and took it into his mouth. Again, a few too many teeth in the mix for McCoy's taste, but it was good nevertheless. Oh god, he hadn't realized how much he needed to feel his own blood, alive in his veins, the throbbing pulse in his head, the heat that flooded all of his body. He arched, pushing deeper into the offered mouth. Strong hands held his hips, making him aware of Karon's arousing strength, his energy and virility. The young Klingon sucked him off, determined and still gentle, keeping McCoy on the edge for a little while before pushing him into a mind-blowing release. With the human sperm still partly smudged in his face, Karon licked over McCoy's face wound again, mixing the fluids in a strange ritual of brotherhood.

McCoy offered to reciprocate, but Karon claimed that he was content for the moment. They left the place of the disaster behind and went back to work, knowing that in the night, they would be able to indulge in more exploration without anyone disturbing them.

The Andorian's blood on McCoy's uniform sleeves started to smell so strongly that after three days, McCoy gave up and discarded his torn, worn-out uniform. He didn't want to wear Jim's uniform, which he guarded like a relic, so he switched to another jacket instead, a thick, warm, brown thing that bore better under the conditions.

It was like the final step for everyone to forget that he was the human McCoy - from there on, he was only Maqoch, Karon's friend and lover.

"Doctor?" Spock asked, placing a warm palm on McCoy's face.

"Just lost in memories for a moment, Spock," McCoy said. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize," Spock said and pulled away. "It is time for lunch. I will call the kitchen." He ordered one recommended meal from McCoy's diet card and one vegetarian noodle soup for himself.

They ate in silence, both focused on the food. Finally, McCoy leaned back in his chair and sighed. "People would've killed for a meal like this on Rura Penthe," he said.

Spock nodded in understanding, and ordered two coffees from the kitchen. After they were delivered, he sat down and intently looked at McCoy. "May I ask a question? Although it may shortcut your current flow of narration."

"Sure, go ahead," McCoy said and stirred in his coffee to dissolve the sugar.

"I am curious. I understand that you had a life comfortable enough to survive for more than two years in the main mine."

McCoy nodded.

"How did you end up in the other mine?" Spock asked.

McCoy took a deep breath. "There'd been rumors about the second mine for a while, but nobody knew anything specific. Until the day I was pulled out and sent there for two days, to check on the prisoners. It was unbelievable, Spock. They couldn't have gotten much dilithium out of that mine; it was foremost an extermination camp. There were POWs, from all over the Federation, and they were dying. Beaten, tortured, starved to death. It was one of the most brutal things I ever saw in my life. I stayed there for two days and did what I could to help them, but it was very little. They had transferred the most sadistic guards from the first mine to the second, and let them run with whatever they had in mind with the poor folks. The POWs were like a beaten bunch of cattle waiting for slaughter. It tore me apart to see them. Afterwards, I decided I wanted to come back and stay with them. To use my position to alleviate their situation. To do whatever I could to make their dying at least… less painful.

"Karon objected. Oh god, how he debated with me. He was so angry, and so desperate." McCoy's eyes glittered. "He didn't understand why I was willing to go down to a certain death when I could stay with him instead, in the relatively comfortable position we had managed to achieve. He asked me why, if they were my people and I felt so connected to them, I hadn't told them who I was. Nobody realized it was me; my looks and language had changed so much, I was simply Maqoch to everyone, and I hadn't told them the truth. I don't know why. Maybe Karon was right and I wanted to keep a distance - but I failed, Spock. They were my people; fellow comrades in the same 'Fleet. I had to go to them.

"We didn't parted on good terms. It was terrible for me to leave like that, with not a word from him, no good-bye. I loved him, but I couldn't close my eyes to my duties…as a man, as a commander - as a former CMO. It would be my downfall, but I had to try, even if the price was my own life."

"At first, Koroth didn't want to let me go either, but I insisted. And finally he gave in. I was sent to the second mine, with the clear message that I wouldn't ever be able to return to the first one. Not that I expected to."

McCoy took a sip from the coffee that had grown cold and bitter over his story. "I didn't regret my choice, most of the time. I could be of some help, little was it was. Managed to improve some of the conditions. The guards were largely keeping away from me, even though they didn't exactly treat me like in the other camp. I had a reputation; they didn't feel like fiddling with me as long as I didn't get into their way. Which I did at times, and paid for that. The POWs were surprised about my return, but didn't question me a lot. The Klingons didn't want me to divulge my identity, because they feared I'd become a hero for the POWs. So I ran as "Maqoch" with everyone. Only Pori ever realized who I really was."

He took another sip. "I couldn't do much to help…basically, everyone was slowly dying. But at one time, I managed to start a little hunger strike that made them increase the rations again. About my only little heroic moment."

It was maybe a circle after his arrival in the second mine. McCoy moved with the line that waited for food, his bowl in hand. The rations given to the people in front of him were rather small, in his opinion. When he offered his bowl, the Klingon guard behind the server whispered something, and McCoy received a full portion. He moved on, an eye on the man behind him. Again - only a half ration for the other one. McCoy halted his step.

"What are you doing?" he asked loudly in the pidgin Klingon of Rura Penthe. "Everyone's put on half rations?" He pointed at the bowls of the men right and left of him.

"Not you, Maqoch," the Klingon snarled. "So what do you care?"

"I care for everyone here," McCoy stated sharply. "And they won't survive with half rations." People around them started to understand what was going on, and gathered at the food table. "These people need more food."

"Shut up and eat your meal," the Klingon ordered.

"I won't," McCoy said and poured his soup into the bowl of the men next to him. "I won't eat anything until we all get enough to survive."

"Fool!" The Klingon called more guards, and they took McCoy to the office of Kreita, the commander of the second mine.

"He caused trouble." They pushed McCoy to his knees in front of the large, broad-shouldered Klingon. Kreita had a reputation for sadism and McCoy wondered if this was the day he'd find out the true scope of it.

"You can't give them only half rations, sir," McCoy stated. "That will kill them!"

"What does it matter?" the Klingon said.

"Your mine won't be productive if you do that."

The Klingon shrugged.

"I won't eat until you go back to normal rations," McCoy stated.

Kreita eyed him. "I exempted you from the decreased rations. Why do you complain?"

"They are my comrades. Their fate is my fate."

Kreita waved his hand. "Bring me his bowl, with food." Then he said, eyes on McCoy, "Your fate will be worse if you don't obey me, old man."

"I won't," McCoy said. He expected the blow that sent him to the ground. They held him down on his back, one of them closing his nose so that McCoy couldn't help opening his mouth to breathe. Kreita stood above him and took the bowl, then slowly poured the soup into the opening. McCoy coughed and shook his head, trying to get the fluid out. It streamed down his cheeks and chin, bathing the floor.

"Bastard!" McCoy pressed out.

"Let's do it the right way then," the Klingon ordered. McCoy was dragged to a nearby cell, stripped, placed on a bed and tied to it spread-eagled. "The steel gag," Kreita said. They forced McCoy's teeth open to insert the gag that would keep him from closing his mouth. "Now the tube!"

Tears stung in McCoy's eyes as they forced a rubber tube down his throat without caring about damage; then Kreita poured the soup through it. "Now we will see that you eat," Kreita said, laughing in his face.

McCoy felt like vomiting, but he knew that, with the gag in place, it might kill him. The feeding went on for a while, then they left him, with the gag and tube still in place. He was kept like that for maybe two days. With his body forced in this uncomfortable position, he was soon subjected to severe cramps, but his captors did nothing to ease that. He was fed every few hours, as if he was an animal, and then left alone again in his growing agony.

When they finally removed the tube and the gag and untied his limbs, he was barely able to walk. They dragged him down to the main hall, where they shoved him into the midst of some waiting prisoners.

"Maqoch!" Pori said and gently led McCoy down to the ground. Others gathered around them, touching McCoy's body as if to assure themselves that he was still alive. "You've won."

"Won?" McCoy whispered, his vocal chords chaffed from the tube. Winning feels a lot different, he thought warily.

"Everyone joined the hunger strike. We fought for normal rations and that you would be freed again. They threatened us, beat us, force-fed some of us, but finally they had to give in. We were just too many for them to deal with. And it was your example that gave us the strength for that. Thank you."

Too exhausted to speak, McCoy briefly nodded and closed his eyes. They cared for him and he soon was able to work again…but never had he missed Karon more than in this painful time.

The intercom whistled, disturbing the moment of reflection and announcing to Spock that he was wanted on the bridge. McCoy waved him off. "You've got a ship to run," he said. "See you later."

Spock left.

*
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