I'm ashamed to say that
this isn't the story I promised
Janet for this issue of Spiced Peaches. Despite my promise I hit a huge stretch
of writer's block around word count 10 000. At that point I realized that the
plot wasn't even halfway done and regretfully had to acknowledge that I
wouldn't be able to finish it in time.
This is a short apology-story.
The idea grabbed me some days
ago after watching 'Errand of Mercy'. As a reminder, that's the episode where
the Klingon empire wants to annex the planet Organia and the Enterprise is sent
to stop them. A war is threatening to break out until the Organians step in and
force a piece treaty. This is an AU of that episode.
Warning:
Sad.
Worst Case Scenario 1/1
by Thispe
*Flicker*
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*On*
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*Off*
It was not so much the
flickering of the lights in sickbay
that disturbed McCoy, but rather the complete unpredictability of the rhythm.
Never knowing when the light would go off and more importantly, never knowing
if it would come back on afterward touched an instinctual fear of the dark deep
inside him that he didn’t care to explore any further.
He had reported the damage
to engineering almost three days
ago and was still waiting for repairs. He understood the delay. These days
lights were never first or even second priority on the ship. Not even those of
sickbay. Not when there was the warp drive, weapons and shields to think about.
As long as the biobeds and the sterilization fields were up and running he would
have to wait like every other department. Only for emergencies was there a
short-lived but efficient secondary lighting system in place. Unfortunately
emergencies usually meant blood, pain and screaming. Not simply a doctor afraid
of the dark.
He sighed and went back
to work, forcing himself through
sheer willpower to ignore the flickering lights. There where still reports to
file and while he doubted that anyone would ever bother to read them, the soft
glowing of the padd provided at least a small amount of consistent lighting. It
also gave him something to do while he waited, either for the next catastrophe
to befall the ship or for his shift to end, whichever came first.
Like every night, he
was manning sickbay on his own. They
were so short-staffed these days that he sent his people off to get sleep
whenever he could. In two hours it was his turn and he would exchange his
lonely sickbay for his equally lonely quarters. Sighing and chasing away the
dark thoughts he went back to his report.
It was only ten minutes
later that he felt something change.
The back of his neck was tingling and hairs on his arms were standing up. He
tensed and cocked his head to listen but there was nothing to hear until, “Good
evening Leonard.”
Startled he swiveled
around with his chair and smiled. Spock
was standing only a few inches behind his chair looking down at him.
“Spock,”
he whispered. His smile broadened. “It is good to
see you, I missed you.”
Spock's face softened.
“I too longed to see you beloved.” He
held out his hand, his fingers ghosting over Leonard's face, almost but not
quite touching his skin. McCoy kept his eyes locked on Spock wanting to soak in
every last detail of his lover's face.
“How long can you
stay?” He finally asked.
Spock cocked his head
“Not long,” he admitted “but I will
try to as long as possible”.
McCoy's smile was bitter-sweet.
“Then I suppose we should
make the best of it.”
Spock nodded. “How
have you been Leonard? You look pale. You
aren’t taking care of yourself. How much time has passed since we last saw each
other?”
McCoy smiled, trying
to dispel Spock's worries. “Almost two
months. But you don’t have to worry about me, I’m fine.”
Spock frowned, “You
are lying, Leonard. You do not look fine.
You look ill.”
McCoy's smile faded.
Spock probably did have a point. He
sighed suddenly weary to the bone. “Not any worse than the rest of the crew,
I’m afraid,” he admitted. “The entire fleet is limited to emergency rations
because we have to make supplies last. The Klingons have been mainly targeting
our supply ships and we just don’t have enough fire power anymore to protect
them all. Half the people on the fleet are bordering on being underfed. Add
constant stress, injuries and lack of sleep and we are lucky that we aren't worse
off. Gods Spock...” he tiredly rubbed his eyes “...this war gets worse every
day. I just don’t believe there is going to be a winning side anymore. Last
week the latest rounds of diplomatic talks broke down. Almost all members of
our delegation were killed. The Klingons refuse to give in at all. They want
control over the entire Federation. Their damn pride won't allow anything less.
I'm afraid we and the Klingons will fight each other until we are both too weak
for any sort of defense. Then the Romulans will swoop in and have easy pickings
of us all.”
Spock did not respond
which McCoy took as silent agreement
of his assessment. The war had raged on for sixteen months now with no side
ever getting the upper hand. Attacks and counterattacks, small and large,
outright battle and stealth missions. Each side getting more and more desperate
over time. They were caught in an eternal impasse. No side was strong enough to
outright win but not weak enough to lose either.
War. What an ugly word.
It had cost them all so much.
“Please,”
McCoy begged. “Let's not talk about this now.
Every day there is barely anything else to think about. I want to enjoy what
little time we have without talking about the damn Klingons or my damn health.”
“As you wish, Leonard,”
Spock soothed him and brushed his
hand over the meld-points on Leonard's face. They tingled at the contact and
McCoy gasped in pleasure. They stayed like this, unmoving, for what felt like
hours. A strange tableau vivant – two lovers divided by more than space,
yet unable to look away from each other's gaze for even a moment.
“I love you,”
Leonard whispered. Between one breath and the
next Spock winked out of existence leaving McCoy feeling hollow and bereft.
Feeling every single day of his age, he heaved himself out of his chair and
left his office for the sickbay proper.
Against his better judgment
he went to the other side of the
room where a curtain separated a small, out-of-the-way corner from the rest of
sickbay. Delicate tubes and wires connected Spock's body to the machines that
kept him alive. Like every time he came here, McCoy first glanced at the
reading of Spock's brainwaves despite knowing that he would barely find any
activity at all. With a deep sigh McCoy curled up on the chair standing besides
the bed. He took Spock's hand into his own and rested his head on Spock's arm.
Just for tonight he would pretend that the body on the bed wasn't as good as
dead.
The conflict between
the Klingon Empire and the Federation
had been brewing for a long time. Skirmishes along the border had been the norm
for years. Neither side had been willing to attack outright, but neither had
they been willing to give up. Until sixteen months ago when negotiations had
broken down and the conflict had escalated into a full-blown war over the
planet Organia. As the only M-class planet in the neutral region closest to the
Klingon-Federation border it was an important strategic point for both sides of
the conflict. Whoever could claim the planet as a base would have a decided advantage
in the war.
As far as Federation
archaeologist could tell the planet had
been inhabited by a pre-warp society until about a thousand years ago. How or
why the Organians had seemingly vanished into thin air was unclear. Some
assumed a plaque, though there were no signs of one. Others thought that the
Organian people had been abducted for reasons unknown by a highly advanced
alien species. Whatever the reason, no inhabitants meant that the planet was
ripe for the picking without any local resistance at all.
The Enterprise had been
tasked to prevent a Klingon
take-over. In an elaborate ruse Kirk, Spock and forty disguised security
officers had convinced the Klingon landing party that Organia wasn’t as
uninhabited as they had thought. They had let themselves be conquered and in
the end had managed to assassinate the Klingon leader Kor, his second in
Command and two thirds of his ground-troops. Twenty-eight officers had died in
the following battle. Kirk and the twelve remaining officers had barely gotten
away with their life. Spock alone had ended up as a prisoner of war in the
hands of the Klingons.
The fight on the planet
had continued with a battle in
space, the Klingon army against the Enterprise and the only recently arrived
Starfleet backup. It had left both fleets badly damaged with no conclusive
winner. Spock had been transported out of the sector by a fleeing Klingon
battle cruiser. By the time Jim had managed to stage a rescue more than a week
had passed.
Leonard had known that
it was far too late even before then.
Spock had tried to protect
him from the worst of it but a
Vulcan mating bond was strong even when one of the pair was almost psi-null.
The Klingon's had wanted nothing but information – strategies, potential
targets, fleet strength. They wanted it all and they had ways to get it. McCoy
had felt Spock's mind slowly deteriorate under the onslaught of the Klingon
mind-sifter. Not even his disciplined Vulcan mind had been able to protect him
against the repeated assault for long, as the machine stole thought after
thought out of his head. By the time Jim had finally brought him back, Spock's
voice had long since fallen silent. All that returned had been an empty shell
devoid of life.
McCoy knew that the precious
glimpses of Spock he saw every
few months weren't strictly speaking real. No one but him could see, hear of
feel Spock. It was all in his head. In accordance with what little he knew
about Vulcan mind techniques he could only speculate that a part of Spock's
Katra had found refugee in his own mind through the connection of their bond.
Without a Vulcan body to support it, it was weak and barely noticeable. A mere
precious few memory imprints in McCoy's brain. But over time and with proximity
to Spock's body the imprints always grew stronger, until there came a point
where for a preciously short amount of time Spock manifested in his thoughts as
almost real and alive.
Until the energy waned,
the strength of Spock's memories
abated and Leonard was alone again.
McCoy didn't quite know
why he wasn't simply giving up. Most
days he wasn't even entirely sure that it really was Spock he kept
seeing and not just a hallucination brought on by wishful thinking and the
mental damage done by a violently broken bond. And yet, the hope remained that
it was all true and that he could get Spock back if only he could get them both
to a Vulcan mind-healer. With the ongoing war and the planet Vulcan closed off
in a protective lock-down that possibility seemed more unlikely every day. And
yet, the hope remained, niggling at him like a wound that refused to heal.
He lived for those rare
moments where he could see Spock,
talk with him and keep up the illusion that all he had to do to touch his lover
was to simply reach out. Sometimes he thought it was the only thing that kept
him sane. That it was the only thing he still lived for. And then he had to
wonder if it was worth it at all. Carefully he squeezed Spock's hand with his
own.
It didn't squeeze back.
- Fin
