THE OTHER ONE
TOS S/Mc, h/c
[NC17, for m/m and violence]

For the first time in his life Dr. Leonard McCoy was eager to feel the transporter effect. They couldn't get out of this snake pit fast enough for him.

He wasn't really in pain any more; the lidacin had taken care of that. But he was dizzy and disoriented, worried that he was going to collapse if he relaxed even the tiniest bit. He was afraid he was going to be sick right here on the transporter pad. His vision was blurring in and out of focus; he was still in shock from the forced meld. He hadn't dared take a stimulant-- his hold on consciousness was fragile enough now, without adding that to the mix.

From behind the transporter console the Vulcan regarded him coldly, speculatively. McCoy bit down on the inside of his lip and forced himself to act as if nothing was wrong. Somehow, he kept his hate from showing. *Just a little longer,* he told himself. *You can do this. You have to.*

Jim was still talking, trying to persuade this bearded, bloodthirsty pirate of a Spock of the illogic of Empire. Bones could have told him he was wasting his time -- except that he couldn't. Spock had covered that possibility, too. Every time he tried to speak to Jim, his throat seemed to close around the words. He'd given up after his third failure in as many minutes. Black eyes glittered evilly at him from the corners of his mind.

No. *Just let me get back home again and I'll be all right.* All he had to do was hold on. It wasn't anything that bad -some bruises, a bit of torn skin, a little internal bleeding -easy enough to fix if only they could get the hell out of this place. Even his head didn't feel too bad -- he'd felt worse after many an evening spent pub-crawling with Scotty and Jim.

He'd treated much worse than this, before -- just, not on himself.

It didn't matter. If he could just get out of here, he'd be fine...

Finally, it was time. The Vulcan manipulated the transporter controls with the same easy grace as his counterpart. And Bones had never been so grateful in his life as he was to feel a moment of nauseated confusion, and see the welcome sight of his own Enterprise taking shape around him. Gone were the knives at their belts, gone the overly theatrical uniforms, all of it. Gone. The sight of Spock at the transporter controls sent an involuntary shiver down his spine -- but this was the Spock he knew, not that bearded madman they'd left behind. Even so, he couldn't bring himself to meet the Vulcan's eyes for more than an instant.

As soon as was practical he headed for Sickbay, thankful that Spock and Jim were still deep in conversation. In *this* Sickbay he'd be safe. In this one, he could take refuge from the thought of what had happened to him on that other Enterprise.

At least, that was the plan. But when he finally sagged forward onto his desk, the last of the bourbon dripping unnoticed from his overturned glass, all his dreams were full of hot dry fingers burning his face, touching his neck -- of being paralyzed, unable to move or speak. Of burning black eyes locked on to his, and that other mind filling his skull, smothering him, those hot hands pulling him down into darkness and pain. He moaned and tried to escape, but he couldn't wake up. He couldn't get away. He couldn't keep the other out of his head.

Leonard McCoy was finally sleeping, safe at home -- but he found no peace there. None at all.



-----///-----



At last, it was quiet. The USS Enterprise sped on through the night, an island of warmth and light and safety in the endless sea of darkness that separates the stars. All who belonged aboard her were safely home once more, and those ...others... had been sent back from whence they'd come.

The captain had finally headed for bed, drained and exhausted but very happy to be home. Uhura and Scott had vanished to their respective lairs some hours ago, neither being bound by the necessities of command. Spock had not seen McCoy since they'd left the transporter room -- and although he would have been ashamed to publicly admit to such a feeling, he was actually rather grateful for that. It had been hard enough maintaining his control in front of Jim's searching hazel eyes; the doctor would have seen through him in an instant.

As he always did.

Spock knew, intellectually, that *this* McCoy was not his enemy. This man had saved his life more times than either could remember; this man was one of the two real friends he had. One of the few people whose touch he could stand. Only this one, and Jim....

For a moment, he wished that Jim's nature was different. Given that the existence of other universes was now proven, somewhere that was undoubtedly the case. Somewhere, the one he wanted was his.

Not here, no. But somewhere. Here, he was fortunate to have discovered the truth before he had spoken of anything so personal. Jim did not know his feelings and never would. It was enough to be near him, even in silence. Enough, to be his friend.

But right now, though the doctor was also a friend, he did not wish to see McCoy. Not now, not with his control still so precarious. Not with those memories still so sharp, so strong. He needed time. He needed to meditate, to ground himself, to accept and pass beyond what had happened to him. And until then, Spock thought it best for all concerned if the two of them simply did not meet.

In any case, he did not require the services of a physician. All he needed was a dermal regenerator and a few moments of privacy and he would be well. His ribs would knit soon enough; he'd had broken ribs before, he knew what to do until they healed. He was lucky in a way -- his injuries were actually quite minor; had he dared to use the healing trance, they would already be gone. But the trance required the help of another to bring him out of it, and that in turn would mean explaining -no. It was out of the question.

Once again he found himself wishing that things had gone otherwise. Had he been in the transporter room when they returned, as he'd intended, he thought that surely he would have noticed there was something odd about the landing party. About Jim, if no-one else...

But he had already been unconscious in Sickbay, knocked off his station on the bridge by a power surge during the ion storm. By the time he'd awakened it was too late. That other McCoy was there with him and had sent all the staff away.

He'd tried to rise and found himself hardly able to move. The doctor had injected him with something while he was out. The standard Sickbay restraints, which he should have been able to snap like spidersilk, might as well have been chains made of battlesteel. That other McCoy had laughed, as he locked the door to the examining room...

Spock shivered, frowned, stopping himself from remembering it yet again. It would serve no purpose. No-one but he and that other knew of it, and that one was gone now.

He had awakened dizzy and nauseated, in pain and alone, down on Deck 18 in one of the cargo holds. It had been necessary to replicate another uniform before he could leave the hold, as what was left of his own was in tatters. An empty laundry hamper near him gave mute testimony as to how he might have arrived there unseen.

Not daring to wait long enough to treat his injuries, he'd dressed and made his way back to the bridge. He had been quite relieved to find that Mr. Sulu, who had taken over the conn when Spock was injured, had subsequently thrown the impostors in the brig. The other Captain Kirk had given him an order to begin orbital bombardment of the largest Halkan cities, and that was when Sulu had put out the silent Security alert.

Given that all four imposters were by then safely imprisoned, Spock saw no reason to mention what had happened to him. Nor to mention what he'd seen in his assailant's mind. No. Instead, he'd busied himself with calculations, plans, theories on how to reverse the switch. Sulu had not asked him where he'd been.

In truth, he thought it best to act as if the assault on him had simply never happened. He was determined that he would make it so. And in fact, once the switch back proved successful, he said nothing of it to anyone. What purpose would it serve? The monster was a universe away, hopefully forever, and now no-one but he knew what had occurred. He could maintain his Privacy.

Spock already knew that Sickbay was empty tonight, no patients in residence. He had checked. That being so, he expected that no-one would be on duty there during the night shift, since the physician on call could be reached any time there was need. With Sickbay empty, he could hopefully get what he needed without any questions or unnecessary fuss.

As he walked down the deserted, dimly-lit corridor, he repeated to himself phrases from the Tradition. *What is done to the flesh is of no importance. No physical harm can touch the mind if I do not permit it. I am a Vulcan; there is no pain.*

Somehow, it didn't seem to be helping much. Whatever that one had injected him with had been making him dizzy and nauseous ever since. Every time he'd tried to meditate he had been forced to stop, his mind reeling, his stomach in rebellion. He hadn't eaten anything yet; he hadn't dared to try. It had taken all of his energy simply to act as if nothing was wrong.

No matter. He had survived the day. He was here, now, and that other was not. He stopped in front of the door to Sickbay, fighting to reassert his control. Only when his pulse and breathing were once more as they should be did he permit himself to go within.

Even so, he was distracted. He did not smell the bourbon right away. The soft sounds of a human in uneasy dream-haunted sleep never penetrated his awareness. He was intent upon his goal. He walked across the darkened room, focused entirely on the surgical supply cabinet. He knew exactly what he wanted. It was a matter of mere moments to open the locked cabinet and pocket what he needed. He ignored the waves of dizziness that still plagued him; it would be some hours yet before his body could purge itself of the last of the drugs that other had used.

Finally he turned, ready to leave -- and that was when he saw McCoy. The human was slumped over his desk, unconscious, an empty bottle and an overturned glass beside him.

A jolt of pure adrenaline fizzed through Spock's bloodstream, even as he realized who it was. Illogical, to be so affected by such a thing. This was not *him* -- this was Bones.

Spock stood motionless, deep in thought, until he was once more calm and in control. Then he turned, intending to leave as quietly as he'd come.

That was when he heard it...

The doctor moaned, very softly. His fists were clenched, his face was a grimace of pain, and he whispered brokenly, "Ah! No... Spock, no -- *please*... don't..."

Spock froze, unwanted knowledge suddenly made painfully clear. *Truly a mirror; more so than any of us knew...*

All that he wanted to do was complete his turn and leave as he'd intended. But he couldn't do that. Not if what he suspected was true. If he was right, the doctor would need his help.

Whether Spock could give it, and whether McCoy would accept it from him, were completely different matters. But Spock was currently the only telepath on board. He was no Adept, of course -- years since, he had chosen the Outer Path, rather than the Inner; the stars, rather than the temple. It did not matter. There was no-one else. Only him. And he owed this man his life, many times over.

He stood quietly for a time, as McCoy fought without success to escape from the nightmare. Finally, Spock sighed and came to a decision.

He sat down across the table from the doctor, very careful not to touch him. Keeping his voice low and as non-threatening as he could, he said, "Dr. McCoy -- Leonard -- wake up..."

He had to repeat himself a few times, but finally the human snorted, blinked a couple of times -- and froze, the blue eyes wide with shock and fear. Spock held up a hand. "Leonard, please -- relax. I am not *him.* That one is gone. You are home now."

McCoy frowned, shook his head, blinked again. He had gone very pale, but he didn't bolt, as Spock had half feared he might. "Oh, man," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes. "You gave me a helluva start there, Spock. Like to have scared me half to death."

Spock lowered his eyes for a moment. When he looked up again, he willed his face to be open, not cold and still as was his usual habit. "My apologies, Doctor," he murmured. "I did not wish to alarm you. But we must speak."

McCoy looked as if he'd rather have been almost anywhere but here. He shifted uneasily in his chair and winced. "Um... Yeah. OK, sure, Spock. Um... what can I do for you?"

Spock took a deep breath, concentrated on calmness. He would have greatly preferred not to say what he was about to -- but it was the only way he could think of to convince McCoy of the fact that his intentions were benign -- and why. He looked into the wounded blue eyes, and wondered if his own expression was as revealing as McCoy's. "Doctor -- I need... to have you scan me. There is something I must... discuss with you, in confidence."

There. He had said it. At least, as much as he could bring himself to say.

The human rubbed at his eyes. He scratched his already disheveled hair until it stuck out wildly in all directions. He found a hypo, gave himself an alcohol antidote and waited, shivering, until it had done its work. Finally he nodded sharply, once, visibly assuming his on-duty manner. "OK, Spock. Gimme a second, here..." He rummaged in the cupboard until he found what he wanted. "Right. Now, let's see..." He ran the scanner back and forth over the Vulcan a few times. Then he frowned, recalibrated it, and scanned some more.

And sat down abruptly, gone pale all over again. "Oh, shit." He looked over at Spock, the blue eyes hot with outrage. "Who did this to you? *When?* What *happened?*"

Spock took a deep breath. He noticed that his hands had curled themselves into fists and made them relax, lie flat on the table once more. He looked up, forced himself to meet the doctor's eyes. "It was while the landing parties were transposed. It was your counterpart, Doctor..." The human winced. The Vulcan continued, his dry tone giving little clue to the turmoil within. But the doctor could see it -- he'd spent so long watching this man, he could read him like a book... Spock's voice was as calm and even as ever, but McCoy knew better. "Once the initial switch occurred, there was a period of approximately two hours, before the switch was detected, Security was notified, and the impostors were put in the brig.

"I was injured during the storm, taken to Sickbay. Mr. Sulu had the conn when the landing party returned. It was not until what he thought was the Captain gave him orders to begin destroying Halkan cities that we discovered what had happened.

"In the meantime, when I regained consciousness I was alone in Sickbay, except for..." He stopped. Even now, he could not bring himself to say it. It was highly illogical, he knew. But he simply could not do it.

McCoy grimaced, all too aware. "Ah, that's all right, Spock. I, ah, I can figure out the rest, from reading this." He held up the scanner. Then he looked up, his face full of nothing but concern. "How do you feel now?"

Spock spread his fingers in the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug. "The residual effects of the drugs are somewhat... troublesome, but they are fading." He reached into his pocket, showed McCoy the dermal regenerator. "With this, I believe I can manage..."

McCoy nodded. "Yeah -- tell you what, though -- it'd be a good idea if I set those ribs for you. It'd be safer that way -- you never know what's gonna happen next, around here."

Unwelcome and illogical, to feel such unease at the thought of this man touching him. The doctor was correct. And this was Bones, not the other one. Finally he nodded. "Very well. That is a logical precaution. I will accept it."

McCoy got the bone stimulator out and began to run it over the fractured ribs, very careful how he touched them. "God, Spock, I'm sorry. He's a filthy *bastard* -- you should've seen what Sickbay was like over there. Torquemada himself couldn't have done any better." He scowled. "I'm a *doctor,* goddamnit, not a cheap stand-in for the Marquis de Sade. I don't give a damn if he is me. I wish he was here right now, I'd give him a damn good dose of what-for!"

Hot sparks of anger flashed in the blue eyes. Then he thought of something, and he looked at Spock again as he finished setting the Vulcan's ribs. "Uh, Spock -- was *that* what you wanted to talk to me about? Because I can promise you, this won't go in your records. I'd like to follow you up in a day or two, make sure there's no problems -- but there's no need of writin' it down, if that's what you're concerned about."

The Vulcan permitted himself a small sigh. He did feel better with his ribs set. And what the human was offering was what he would have asked for, if he could have brought himself to say it... That still left, however, one other matter which they needed to discuss. "I am... grateful, Doctor. You were right, to do this.

"However, I must also apologize to you. I did not intend to overhear you. But when I first arrived here I was somewhat... distracted. You were asleep and I did not see you. As I turned to leave, you spoke. You were dreaming. You said... my name." He paused, drew another deep breath, made himself continue. "I am... concerned, Leonard. Did my counterpart force you to meld with him? For if so, there are certain dangers..." He stopped.

McCoy had gone as white as a sheet.

Now the human covered his face with his hands, shaking. "Oh god," he whispered, his voice suddenly rough, "god... I don't know what to *do,* Spock. It's like -- it's like he's still in my head -- I can't get it to *stop*..." He let his hands fall to the desk and tried, without much success, to smile. "Ah, hell. We make quite a pair, don't we?"

The Vulcan nodded. "Indeed, we do..." Both of them fell silent for a time. Then Spock cleared his throat and spoke, somewhat hesitantly. "Leonard -- if you are willing, perhaps I can be of some assistance. What my ...counterpart... did to you goes against all modern Vulcan traditions; any Vulcan who follows the Way of Surak would feel obliged to offer aid." He paused, noting that McCoy was still very pale. Very quietly he added, "if you would prefer, I could arrange for a Healer, in strictest confidence..." To himself, he could not help wondering what sort of place Vulcan must be, in that universe. It was a grim thought indeed.

McCoy shook his head. "No... no, Spock, that's all right. I've trusted you for years. I know it wasn't you that did this. And to tell you the truth, I'd just as soon not involve anyone else, you know?"

"I believe so -- in truth that is also my own preference. Very well. I would advise not waiting; the longer this is left uncorrected, the more difficult it will be to put right." The Vulcan braced his hands on his knees. There. That was better; it was easier to stay upright, so.

The human gulped. "That makes sense. But Spock -- are you up to doing this, so soon? The scan showed..."

"I am aware." Spock winced a little as he moved. His control was still not what it should have been. It could not be helped. "I believe I can compensate, Doctor. I will not maintain the link if either of us has difficulty. But the dangers of waiting are quite real."

The human swallowed again. "Yeah, I guess so... OK. Well, there's no time like the present, my grand-daddy always said. What do I need to do to help?"

"Only relax, as best you can, Leonard. I shall not force the link if you find yourself unwilling..." The human nodded, and Spock lowered his eyes.

"It will take me some moments to prepare." Spock closed his eyes and bowed his head over his folded hands, reciting to himself from Tradition. *Slow the breathing. Steady the hands. Find the light within, the calmness that is the eye of the storm, and stand there. Gather the power in the palm of your hand. Lower the shields, slowly, carefully...*

There. He was ready. He opened his eyes, saw McCoy nod.

"Go ahead, Spock..." The doctor's face was pale, but he looked determined.

Very gently, Spock rose and knelt beside him. Placed his fingers on the meld points of the human's face. Very softly, he recited the ancient words, unchanged since long before Surak was born...

Darkness, at first. Then the memory of heat -- hot, dry fingers, pressed against his face. Fear, anger -- how it felt to be powerless against the intruder. One touch, and he couldn't move. The contempt in that other's mind, as he brushed aside all of the human's defenses. Pain, as the searching mind tore roughly through his memories and seized the information he wanted.

Slow dawning of horror, as the human learned what they were to one another in that world, as he felt the heat gathering in the other's body and mind, as he realized that he was helpless in every way... He couldn't even cry out; that, too, was taken from him. Spock winced and nearly lost the link, seeing again the truth of what he'd felt when the other McCoy had touched him, earlier; the mirror of that other Spock's thoughts, reflected now in the mind of his friend. He kept them joined by main force of will, and slowly he drew Leonard's awareness back to the present. <<see, this is now, this was then... know this for truth, my friend, and this, for his lies... those two will surely kill one another, some day -- but i will never hurt thee...>>

Very carefully, he found the places where that other had forced his way through McCoy's defenses. With a slow, delicate touch of thought he began to reweave, to rebuild what had been torn apart. In the process, a certain amount of knowledge was shared, both ways -- now, each of them knew exactly what had been done to the other. It couldn't be helped and it didn't matter. Instead, Spock poured himself into the link, gave McCoy whatever was needed to repair the damage that other had left behind.

The first oath a young Vulcan swears, after the oath to his House, is to touch no other mind unwilling. That he will use everything in his power to prevent such abuse of the Gift. That if he cannot prevent it, he will do whatever he can to make amends...

The thought that in some other world he, Spock, was such a man as could willfully do this thing to another was... disquieting. Bad enough to physically assault McCoy, given his superior strength. But then to force him into a meld unwilling; to use the mind arts for violence against another... To keep a man paralyzed and conscious while doing to him what was done to his friend...

Surak must have died young and unknown, in that place. By comparison, Spock thought, what had been done to him was relatively minor. His ills were purely of the flesh.

When at last he allowed the meld to end, he found it was more than he could do at first to rise. He stayed where he was, kneeling, leaning on his hands, catching his breath. He watched as McCoy shook himself, blinked, and came back to full awareness once more.

He was relieved when the human met his eyes and smiled, albeit somewhat shakily. "Is it well with you, now?" Spock asked him.

McCoy nodded. "Yeah, Spock. I think it is." The doctor closed his eyes in thought for a moment. "Oh yeah. It's ...better, now... Thank you kindly, my friend." The meld had left a mild euphoria; Bones knew it would fade soon enough. But for now, he was well.

Spock looked away. "It was necessary. I could not let such damage pass, when it was one of my people who did this." *When it was me...* "No Vulcan could, who honoured our Traditions." Both of them knew there was more to it than that, but neither spoke of it.

McCoy leaned back in his chair and stretched. "Damn, what a difference. I hadn't realized just how bad it was, until you made it stop..." He turned and met the Vulcan's eyes. "Now, I have a suggestion for *you.* Why don't I go ahead and treat your injuries? We both know you could do it yourself -- but some of that would be a lot easier for me to reach, don't you think? Besides, Spock -- I owe you one." *It was me that did this to you.*

Spock thought about it. His first impulse was to refuse -- but that was an illogical reaction. Finally he nodded. "You are correct, Doctor. Very well, I will allow it." Gathering what remained of his strength, he managed to rise from the floor and stand there. His vision blurred for a moment, but he didn't fall.

"Better sit down first," said McCoy. "It's not like either one of us has to go anyplace right now." He took out his scanner again, turned it on for a minute. "I can help git that damned drug out of your bloodstream, for starters. I'd guess it's makin' you feel pretty sick right about now."

"This is true." Moving carefully, Spock lowered himself into a chair. McCoy dug a hypo out of his pouch and fiddled with it briefly, then gave him a shot.

A few moments passed; then the lean form shivered for an instant. McCoy nodded, once. "There you go, that ought to help some..." He waited, saw that the Vulcan agreed. "All right. If you can get on the table, that'd probably be the easiest."

Spock reached down, slowly pushed himself upright. He had given up on trying to pretend he was unharmed. He had done so all day and he was tired. Exhausted. Now that he was no longer nauseated, he could barely keep his eyes open. It didn't matter. It was the same for McCoy -- he had just Seen it, in the healing meld.

"I believe I can manage, Doctor." He would greatly have preferred to do no such thing, but again, that was an illogical reaction. He had just touched this man's thoughts; he knew the human meant him no harm.

Even so, it was harder than he thought it should be to climb on that table and sit.

*At least it is not the same table.* He supposed it was illogical to find comfort in that fact. He was too tired to care.

"You warm enough?" McCoy asked him.

"Not entirely, no..." In truth he felt quite chilled, more so than usual.

The doctor spoke. "Computer -- close doors, do not lock. Raise temperature in here 15 degrees. Authorization McCoy M-1-Alpha."

The computer chirped, "Working."

"Whenever you're ready, Spock." The Vulcan shrugged and pulled off his shirt. The doctor muttered curses under his breath.

There were angry green abrasions around Spock's wrists, across his shoulders and back. Turquoise and indigo bruises. His whole back was bruised and scratched -- and bitten, in several places. There were small burns scattered amongst the other damage. The backs of his thighs were in much the same condition, once McCoy got that far. The doctor scowled. His perverted asshole of a counterpart must've spent quite a while enjoying himself at Spock's expense.

Dear god; this made what that other Spock had done to *him* look like nothing. McCoy just sighed. He took out his medkit, started at his friend's neck, and worked his way down from there. After a while, he asked Spock to just lie down on his stomach, offering him a blanket. The Vulcan did so, carefully expressionless.

By the time the doctor had finished and brought him a clean uniform, Spock was having serious trouble keeping his eyes open. He wavered when he reached for his boots, and decided to sit down for a moment.

"Hey," McCoy said, very quietly, "if you're too tired to walk to your quarters, you can sack out in my office for a while. I keep a cot in there." It wasn't a very comfortable cot, though. Most often, when he didn't feel like leaving, he just climbed onto one of the biobeds and slept. He could feel the other's response to the welcome suggestion. Dark eyes lifted to his, and Spock asked, "and where, then, will you sleep, Leonard?" He did not wish to impose...

McCoy just grinned. "Oh, on a biobed, like I usually end up doin'. I guess I'm about the only one on this crew that doesn't hate those things. I don't see my quarters twice in three days. Chris is always yellin' at me to go on and git out." He sighed. "I dunno, Spock -- seems like, I just sleep better here, than I do there."

"Perhaps so." An eyebrow lifted partway, bemused. "I must admit that I do not find the biobeds particularly comfortable." He had always preferred to convalesce in his own quarters, in private.

"Ah. Well, y'see, Spock, it's different if someone's *ordered* you to stay there, or if you're just catchin' a nap. Can't tell you quite how -- but it's different."

"I... see." He didn't, and Bones knew that he didn't -- but it didn't matter. Spock thought about accepting the offer, but in the end the deep Vulcan need for solitude and privacy kept him from doing so. "Your offer is... kind, Leonard. But I believe I will rest better in my quarters."

McCoy tried to keep his relief from showing on his face, not noticing that Spock's expression was the same. He waved a hand in the Vulcan's direction. "Go on, then, Spock -- get some sleep, before you drop."

"I shall -- but you should do likewise, Leonard. Your need is surely as great as mine." And with that, he took his leave of the doctor, padding quietly down the hall.

"Huh... yeah, I guess it is, at that." McCoy walked out into Sickbay, made himself at home in a biobed, told it to shut up, told the computer to put out the lights. Soon enough the doctor was asleep. It really had been one king hell mother of a day.



PART 2