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Infection (Kirk/McCoy NC-17) 1/4

  • Oct. 14th, 2010 at 3:49 PM
emiliglia: (mirror!kirk/mccoy)
Master Post & Mix



The unrelenting anger almost bowls him over. Kirk's vaguely aware of the press of fingers on his face amid the onslaught of images of spiraling through space and time.

“In 2387,” Spock, or the crazy old Vulcan claiming to be Spock, to know Kirk, begins. His voice is carrying simultaneously through Kirk's ears and echoing in his head, “The Terran Empire is controlled by the Romulans.”

Kirk sees, hears, experiences how the Romulans knew for decades that a nearby star was dying, putting their planet in grave danger, but they had to wait for the right time to make a play for Earth, for Vulcan.

“I was to use red matter to create a black hole that would swallow the star and save Romulus.”

He knows that the Vulcan scientists and Spock intentionally acted just a bit too slowly, arrived just too late, allowing Romulus to be destroyed so the Terran Empire would no longer be held in the grip of the Romulans. Kirk watches the Romulan ship and Spock's get pulled into the entity, and Kirk knows it's the ISS Kelvin meeting the Romulans on the other side.

“I arrived twenty five years after Nero did, and as I'd destroyed his planet, he destroyed mine.”

Kirk's standing on Delta Vega with Spock, as Spock, while Vulcan collapses in on itself, falling away into nothingness, and all he can feel is this rage from deep within his bones, so intense that-

The mind-meld breaks, leaving Kirk reeling, gasping at the Vulcan who claims to have known him better than anyone, who claims to be the same Vulcan who had him marooned here to begin with.

“I never should have become the captain,” Spock says distantly.

“You're the captain now,” is Kirk's response, and the old Vulcan seems to snap into focus.

“No, it has to be you. You have to take command of the Enterprise.”

Kirk's wondering if Spock is suggesting that Kirk kill his younger self, but his thoughts stray to how he might not have to if Bones has taken care of the acting captain already. They've never taken well to threats against the other, idle or otherwise, and Kirk doubts that Bones is willing to take this insult lying down. He doesn't know where the doctor's surge of almost protectiveness has come from, the most perplexing example being from just hours earlier when Bones had stowed him onto the Enterprise even though Kirk had been suspended from active duty.

“We need to get you back to your ship,” Spock is saying, snapping Kirk back to the present. He doesn't know how the Vulcan plans on accomplishing that, but at the moment he's all for going along for the ride and seeing what happens. Vulcans may have superior strength, but Kirk has the advantage of youth, so at the very least he should be able to run faster if those animals show up again.

And if this all pans out to be nothing, Kirk can always kill Spock. Both of them.

It's an understatement to say Kirk's surprised when he's beamed back to the Enterprise and assumes command. He smirks at Bones, orders a change in course, and carefully stores away everything he'd learned from the older Spock. It could be useful someday.




McCoy had been six years old when a stray dog followed him home from school. He got his parents to let him keep it, and the following Saturday they found the mutt cut open, one of David McCoy's ancient scalpels lying next to it with a broken, bloody blade.

“I wanted to see how it worked,” had been his explanation.

His father toed at the body with his boot, judging it with a professional gaze. “Your cutting was precise – no hesitation marks.” His father stopped pushing the animal around with his foot, unaffected by the blood staining the lawn and his shoes. “Did you name it?”

McCoy had frowned in response, not understanding the sentimentality. “What's the point? I was just going to kill it.”

It's this logic that, twenty two years later, leads McCoy to believe that Jim Kirk isn't going to kill him, at least not right away. McCoy figures he's going to kill Kirk first, the kid's like bacteria, trying to get under his skin and make himself at home with a quick smile and a sharp gleam in his eyes. Or maybe more like a virus, trying to work his way into McCoy's own DNA until it's indistinguishable who is who.

They're at a bar that smells like sweat, sex, and piss, but they have the best stock within five kilometers of campus, and Kirk only likes drinking at places they'd be willing to walk to. McCoy is on his second bourbon, neat, and Kirk is probably fucking someone in the bathroom just to piss McCoy off when there's movement to his left.

Kirk is probably the most dangerous person at the Imperial Academy with the way he goes around fucking and fighting like he's got something to prove. And he does, McCoy supposes, as George Kirk – the anti-hero of the Terran Empire who had sacrificed himself and his ship to save his crew, wife, and son – had left him with one hell of a heritage. There's very few social faux pas in the empire bigger than bringing up the ISS Kelvin.

McCoy's finished his drink and has mostly talked himself into just getting up and leaving without Kirk instead of ordering another one when someone's leaning in close next to him, his breath whistling in McCoy's ear.

“You're Bones, right?” The guy looks like he's about McCoy's height and weight but narrower in the shoulders, and he looks too pleased that he's caught McCoy without Kirk around like McCoy can't more than handle his own.

The last thing McCoy wants is for that damn nickname of Kirk's to start catching on, and he's about to growl out something to that effect, when the guy's knees buckle, his posture goes rigid, but he doesn't pitch forward. Kirk's face appears at the guy's shoulder, and McCoy knows Kirk is keeping him from falling.

“Only I get to call him that,” Kirk says tightly before releasing the guy's jacket, letting him collapse to the floor. Kirk pulls a small knife out of the guy's back, and only when McCoy hears the guy's breathing well enough to tell that Kirk punctured a lung does he realize that the bar's gone completely silent, everyone staring at them with wariness.

Kirk knocks open a beer against the edge of the bar before sitting in the stool next to McCoy, and the crowd's tittering becomes conversation with someone yelling, “Is anyone here a doctor?” Kirk winks in McCoy's direction as they drink in companionable silence, leaving before the ambulance shows up, and as they walk to the door, McCoy makes a point to step on the guy still on the floor, putting his weight on the wound to hear the gurgle and the hiss of blood and air.

McCoy shoves Kirk into the alley, fisting his hands in Kirk's jacket to lift him, push him against the wall while biting at Kirk's neck, jaw, his obscene lips as Kirk wraps his legs around McCoy's thighs and just laughs.

“You set that bastard up, didn't you?” The answer is obvious even without Kirk saying it. McCoy knows how Kirk works, sees how he fights and kills for the sake of it, without the appreciation for the art of it, but there's something so natural and fluid about Kirk's violence that McCoy finds him interesting enough to keep around.

Interesting enough that he's looking for excuses to not have to kill Kirk and is secretly pleased when Pike gives him one.


It doesn't mean that McCoy isn't bitter with Pike, though, and when the captain ends up on his surgical table as the Enterprise limps back to Terra, he takes some pleasure in doing additional damage that won't keep Pike from healing fully and walking again, but it will make recovery take longer.

McCoy becomes aware of Kirk watching the surgery at some point, but he doesn't acknowledge him. He won't kill Pike on Kirk's orders, Acting Captain or not. Kirk needs to learn to take in the big picture, to see that leaving Pike grounded is a worse fate than death, especially if it means Kirk is promoted permanently and takes Pike's ship out from under his nose.

He scrubs out, leaving Chapel to finish up with the laser sutures and goes into the office he's sequestered for himself. McCoy's not sure who it belonged to, certainly not Puri as his would've adjoined the primary sickbay that had been destroyed, not this secondary one, but no one has tried to challenge him for it. None of the other doctors have seemed eager to try and get him out of the way to advance their own position, which McCoy thinks would be so easy in the chaos of the last day.

Grabbing the PADD off the desk to read through ship-wide status reports, McCoy leans back in the chair, putting his feet up on the desk to recline, thinking he could fall asleep in here, when the door hisses open and Kirk enters with a much too exuberant, “Bones! How's Captain Pike?”

“Healing nerves is painful, so I'm keeping him sedated until we get back to Earth,” McCoy says as he takes in the sight of Kirk's bruises.

Kirk rounds the desk to sit on it directly facing McCoy, which forces him to lower his legs and sit properly in the chair. Kirk takes the PADD from McCoy's hands and sets it aside on the desk. “I'll never quite understand how you can be so blasé about killing someone except when they're under your medical care.”

McCoy scowls. “I wouldn't be worth anything as a doctor if I just killed all my patients.”

Kirk just hums in agreement, reaching out with his legs to hook his ankles through the armrests of McCoy's chair and roll him closer. Kirk reaches down, rubbing at McCoy's cock through his pants, and he agrees with a sadistic grin that they should go break into Pike's quarters. The captain won't be needing them; he has his biobed.


Space, it turns out, is more darkness and silence than danger and disease. Life on the Enterprise has fighting with unyielding aliens, fixing the damage they reap, at one end of the spectrum and time spent in warp, eyes burning with the strain of staring at PADDs and computer monitors for too long as McCoy reads through inventory reports and acquisition requests, at the other.

And there's really only so much time he can kill by fucking Kirk.

His personal lab becomes his sanctuary. McCoy's allowed unlimited resources in the forms of every microbial known to man and then some, thanks to the new alien planets they conquer, that he will be the first to report on.

McCoy continues his work experimenting with the brain, and he thinks it's a damn shame that Vulcans became so suddenly endangered because he thinks it would be fascinating to figure out how they work. Even a half-Vulcan would do for what he'd like to attempt, but Kirk has made it clear that senior bridge crew is hands off.

He keeps an eye on Spock anyway. He can be faulted for killing the Vulcan if he has aspirations of resuming his short run as captain, despite the Terran Empire never letting a Vulcan captain a ship long-term that isn't one of their own. Even then, Vulcan ships in the Imperial Fleet had only been armed enough to defend themselves. There's a first for everything, though, especially now that their entire planet is gone. The admirals might see it as a novelty, something to throw off their enemies to put a member of the newly endangered race in charge of an Imperial starship, the flagship most of all.

So on top of his time in his lab and the autopsy room, McCoy spends more time on the bridge than is necessary for the Chief Physician, if only to see how Kirk and Spock interact with each other, to try and get a read on the Vulcan, but compared to Kirk, Spock is like staring at a blank page.

Uhura, at least, he can understand, even if he doesn't get her relationship with Spock. McCoy thinks, though, that if Spock were to make a move against Kirk, Uhura would be a part of it, so he watches her instead.

McCoy learns a year in that he's not the only one watching. Scotty actually informs him that there's a pool going on when Spock is going to break again, release that bottled rage on Kirk once more. The bets aren't in Kirk's favor, but if McCoy's learned anything in the last four years, it's that Kirk is very good at defying the odds.


McCoy is taking his sweet time opening up the body lying below him.

The ensign is a gift, after all, a present from Kirk, who wanted to watch McCoy cut through flesh and muscle with precise movements, and he can hear how Kirk's breathing changes with each cut, and McCoy allows his motions to become more deliberate, drawing unnecessary designs in the epidermis with the blade before cutting deeper, intentionally reminiscent of the times he's cut Kirk's skin to lap up the trail of blood that follows.

Kirk jolts forward like an ambush predator across the autopsy table, pulling on McCoy's lips and hair with teeth and hands as McCoy's hands go straight for Kirk's waist, seeking out the scar on the captain's lower back but he still has the gloves on, so he rips them off with a snarl. His fingers are back on Kirk's skin, toying with the sensitive scar tissue with one hand as the other works the knot in the gold sash, undoing it to work into Kirk's pants, both hands moving to Kirk's ass, pulling their bodies closer, as they fall to the floor with Kirk straddling McCoy's thighs.

They became the two most dangerous men in Starfleet on the empire's flagship because they had something to prove, and as Kirk's nails scratch down his chest and stomach, McCoy has an idea. “We could control the whole damn empire, Jim.” Kirk's head's thrown back in a groan with his eyes fluttering. “Or have you forgotten what you said to me on the shuttle?”

“None of these bastards can stop us.” Kirk replies, voice coming out in a way that suggests he just might come without McCoy even touching him. McCoy, though, would rather save that as an experiment for another time, so he reaches his hand down the front of Kirk's pants, wrapping his fingers around Kirk's cock and manages to give Kirk exactly what he likes despite the awkward angle on his wrist. “Fuck, Bones, they won't even know what hit them.”

McCoy smiles at that, the expression lost in a groan at the way Kirk's grinding his hips in McCoy's lap and then bending his neck forward to bite and suck at the spot just below McCoy's ear. He releases Kirk, rolling to dump him off McCoy's lap, and grabs Kirk's pants to pull them halfway down his thighs, keeping him from being able to move his legs. Never one to play by the rules, Kirk pulls himself to McCoy with his arms, forcing McCoy to pull Kirk's tunic up so his arms as trapped against his body. Kirk's laughing as McCoy rolls him onto his knees and forearms, the laughter quickly lost to grunts and cries of, “Fuck, Bones,” as McCoy's tongue grazes his asshole, his left hand on Kirk's hip with his right one on his cock as McCoy fucks Kirk's ass with his mouth.

Kirk comes laughing, turning quickly to slam McCoy into the floor, causing him to see flashes of light when the back of his head hits the deck, but then Kirk's swallowing down his cock, his eyes like the devil's, and when McCoy comes, Kirk swallows every last drop, licking his lips.

“Pike will help us,” Kirk says with cold certainty.

McCoy doesn't know how Kirk knows, but at some point during the soon-ending five year mission, McCoy has gone from writing off Kirk's instincts as luck to actually believing in them. Trust is a word that tastes like poison on his tongue, but it's a near thing.


Pike's eyeing the set table with a feigned nonchalance that would be impressive to McCoy if he weren't used to seeing people trying to hide their fear. When the chandelier sways, it hits one of the scalpel blades just right to bounce the light at Pike's eyes, and it's instinctual for people to determine the source of movement, to identify a possible threat.

McCoy thinks he's not going to talk. He's not going to cave to being menaced, tortured. Kirk sits back in his chair looking certain, like he knows something that the rest of them don't, but McCoy can't help the hand that strays towards the table, fingers curling instinctively for the handle of the nearest scalpel.

“The admiralty debriefed Ambassador Spock,” Pike begins, his voice calm, and McCoy's hand halts midair. Pike doesn't notice him, though; his eyes are locked with Kirk's. “Where he's from, he kills you.”

He can't help the snarl that escapes his throat; McCoy really should have killed the half-breed bastard when he had the chance.

Kirk smiles like he already knew or at least suspected this. “Spock kills me and then takes command of the Enterprise.”

“He gained power and a following after that, enough to change things. It was supposed to make the empire stronger, but it had only made it weaker. The empire can barely defend itself against the Klingon-Cardassian Alliance. Once the Romulan Empire joins the fight, it's all over. The Terran Empire falls, and all of her people are enslaved.”

“And the Vulcan just told you all of this?” McCoy's disappointed. He'd hoped to have a little fun first.

Pike looks away from Kirk and at McCoy. “He's been a slave for nearly a century because of his own actions, and now he's given a chance to keep it from happening. He gave us names, dates, coordinates, frequencies, everything.” His gaze shifts back to Kirk, eyes hard as steel. “I'm only telling you because the emperor wants all the fleet captains briefed in three weeks. I'd rather have let you all know five years ago.”

He sees the way Kirk's shoulders tighten just a little before Kirk's out of his chair, kicking Pike's over backwards so the back of the admiral's head cracks against the floor. The area rug keeps it from knocking him out cold or even seeing black. Not what McCoy would've done for exactly that reason, but Kirk doesn't respond well to not being in control of a situation. It makes McCoy wonder if that's a similarity or a difference between the Kirk and the one Ambassador Spock knew. Maybe this Kirk wouldn't get killed by his first officer because he'd know about it before Spock himself did.

Kirk moves to stand over Pike, like he's going to kick the man while he's unable to move, still strapped to the chair, but instead he just smiles, the one that's a twist of lips and would send chills down the back of anyone who could feel fear. “Thank you, Admiral. Bones and I will leave you now to enjoy the rest of your evening. I hope you understand why we can't untie you.”

McCoy packs up the scalpels. He knows they're done here.

Pike's cursing follows them out the door.

“Never been to Paris before,” Kirk remarks, eyeing the Eiffel Tower in the distance over the treetops.

They pass a cafe with outdoor seating, the patrons drinking red wine and ignoring each other. It's how it works in the empire's capitol – don't make eye contact then you can't recognize anybody, and they won't have to kill you before you can kill them.

Kirk leans into him, a twinkle in his eye as he whispers into McCoy's ear. “I'll let you pick.” He says it like he thinks he's spoiling McCoy, but the complete lack of bloodshed this evening has left his fingers twitching and his nerves on edge.

There's a pale man in a gray sweater, though, who's already caught McCoy's eye. He wants to see that skin tainted red and hanging from iron lattice.


Kirk's quiet in an unnerving way after the briefing is sent out high priority to all of the senior crew in the fleet.

It omits key details – the older Spock's involvement, for one. McCoy's still surprised that they let him keep his life, but the emperor probably saw poetic justice or some bullshit like that in how Spock destroyed his empire in one universe and his home planet in another.

McCoy knows that Kirk is planning, using all of his tactical knowledge to try and sway this one in their favor. McCoy doesn't care one way or the other if they succeed in taking over the empire or not, but it'll be fun to watch Kirk try.

Kirk himself doesn't want the power so much as to give everyone the middle finger, to let the entirety of the fleet and the Terran Empire know that he is not his father. He'd enrolled at the Imperial Academy on a dare, finishing a full year early, and became the youngest commissioned captain in the history of the Imperial Fleet. McCoy knows that everything Kirk's accomplished so far is not enough, though, for him to clear himself of his father's stigma. A man who had let his crew and family escape instead of having them all die with the Kelvin.

In the eyes of the fleet, an act of compassion is the same thing as mutiny, and Kirk has been trying to rewrite his family's legacy since he joined, so he's planning something, a strategy that Kirk will only be satisfied with when he knows that it's going to work. To Kirk this is probably an easier challenge than the Kobayashi Maru had been – the emperor's throne has been overthrown countless times since the inception of the Terran Empire.

So McCoy waits and knows that Kirk will fill him in when he's ready.


A new five year mission means a fully stocked crew of naïve children that haven't learned how to project the proper insouciance yet.

He runs his experiments on the crew whom he deems expendable, which is nearly all of them in McCoy's mind, but he still has to be careful. Kirk may know about what he's doing, but it's less fun for McCoy if he doesn't have to be cautious.

He's grown bored with the brain, has moved on to muscles and nerves. He separates each fiber out, watching it flex and relax from electrical stimuli. He starts with the dead before curiosity drives him to see what happens when his subjects are still alive, drugged to the gills as he flays their arms and legs of the skin and viscera to see the movements underneath.

It slows down his take rate once McCoy starts keeping them alive. He keeps them until their livers fail. He could grow them a new liver, start all over again, but that would be a waste of resources that he wants to save for competent people.


The Enterprise is in orbit around some backwater shit hole of a planet as Kirk, Chekov, Scotty, and a security detail go down in search of weapons and spare parts. McCoy doesn't want to know what for. Between the engineering and tactical departments, though, McCoy sees the most injuries of any other department on the ship. He'd rather not know what they're making than end up dead for knowing too much.

He doesn't exactly expect Kirk to come barging into his office covered in blood that isn't human. “Bones, grab your kit; you're joining us dirt-side.”

“What the hell for? I have enough morons to put back together on this ship; I don't need you adding aliens from Podunk planets to the mix.”

Kirk's grin is razor sharp. “I never said your medkit, Bones.”

The prospect of torture gets McCoy moving. He types in the key code on the locked drawer of his desk, removing the kit that only the Chief Physician of an imperial ship is permitted access to. “This better be worth having to take the transporter.”

“You'll be thanking me later,” Kirk replies, and his promise goes straight to McCoy's dick.

The planet reeks of methane and sulphur, which makes McCoy feel like it's going to implode at any second. Kirk walks him to an abandoned shuttle bay that's more overrun with these lizard-squirrel creatures than anything sentient. Two of the six security detail are standing outside the door, and the other four are inside – three dead and one looks like he's almost there. McCoy takes one good look at the size of the wound in his chest, noting how the lieutenant's stomach looks like it had been ripped open and has been leaking acid all over his organs for the last gods know how long.

McCoy reaches across to grab Kirk's phaser out of his thigh holster, switches it to the kill setting, and shoots the lieutenant square in the chest before Kirk can even pretend to try and snatch the weapon back. He lets Kirk have it back, McCoy's attention now on Scotty, Chekov, and their prisoner in the middle of the shuttle bay.

It's a Cardassian, male, and he's strung up in a stasis field, hovering maybe half a meter over the ground, but he's conscious, struggling even though it isn't doing anything more than tiring him out. Scotty and Chekov also have brown blood on the front of their uniforms, and as McCoy gets closer, he can see that the Cardassian is missing his left hand. It's easy to put together where the security lieutenant's injury had come from.

“He wouldn't let go,” Kirk says with a hint of admiration. “Had to cut off his hand. Chekov wanted to stuff it down his throat, but I thought you should be able to have a turn with him first.”

McCoy's never tortured a Cardassian before. They've always made a point to avoid the Terran Empire, and it makes McCoy wonder how long they've been planning their invasion for. “It seems that I will be thanking you later.”

McCoy stops at a distance where he can take in the entire form of the Cardassian without having to tilt his head. He has to estimate a weight and wants to dose the psychotropics on the low end of the spectrum. Causing an overdose on the first injection would be unfortunate.

“Set it so he can't move,” McCoy says to Chekov.

“Yes, Doktor.”

Scotty's holding the hand, McCoy notices, pulling on muscles to make the fingers flex like a barbaric puppet show. He watches the fingers curl and relax for a moment before looking back at the Cardassian, seeing the way his muscles strain but get him nowhere against the stasis field.

“Let's start with the digestive system,” Kirk suggests, which draws a smile out of McCoy. Even these warrior species have a hard time remaining stoic at the sight of their own organs hanging to the floor.


He tries to show his gratitude by waiting in the captain's quarters until Kirk is off shift, using submissiveness as a gift since that's how it works in the Terran Empire, but Kirk just seems bored.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The question turns into a hard bite against McCoy's shoulder that has McCoy kicking Kirk's legs out from under him, wrestling him to the floor.

Kirk fights dirty, simultaneously using his body to cause pain and pleasure, biting his nails into McCoy's skin one second and giving his cock a teasing stroke the next. When McCoy ends up face down and naked on the floor, it's on Kirk's own terms, and fuck, McCoy can still smell the Cardassian's blood in his skin, like Kirk is sweating the torture out through his pores, and it spurs them on into a frenzied fuck that has McCoy coming in the carpet when Kirk yanks his head backwards by his hair to bite at McCoy's throat, his thrusts deep and measured until he reaches his own orgasm in McCoy's ass.

McCoy feels the snap of the restraints binding his wrists together before he feels the cool metal, and he uses his weight to unseat Kirk, wrapping his legs around Kirk's neck in a clear threat.

“I could snap your fucking neck,” he growls.

The world goes gold and hazy as something covers McCoy's eyes, and it takes him a moment in his post-orgasmic stupor to realize that Kirk is blindfolding him with the sash from his uniform. It doesn't block his vision completely, but he can't see much more than changes in light and movement.

“You could,” Kirk retorts, “but you won't.”

McCoy would be pissed at how right Kirk is if he weren't sliding his body down between McCoy's thighs, intent on sucking the life back into his cock.

“I'm not done with you yet, Bones,” Kirk says, and McCoy wonders about how much of Kirk's words mean now and how much mean ever. If he means the latter, Kirk will try and kill him, McCoy's sure. Pike had made sure that McCoy needed to keep Kirk alive, and McCoy's twisted it so Kirk won't survive without him, either, but something could happen. Things can change.

McCoy's last thought before Kirk swallows his dick all the way down is that he needs to make sure that doesn't happen.


Kirk keeps him tied up in his quarters for the next three days.

When he finally lets him out, McCoy uses his dagger to eviscerate the first one he hears in the corridors making a sniggering comment about the captain's woman.

“You'll join him if you bring him to sickbay,” McCoy threatens his companions, and they all scurry away like cockroaches in the light, leaving the man to slowly aspirate on his own blood.


The information McCoy drew out of the Cardassian isn't immediately put to use, which would be thought of as unusual by McCoy if he wasn't so used to dealing with Kirk. They still have orders from the admiralty that they're working on, still running on their leads with the Klingons and Romulans. Kirk won't just tell the admirals what they've learned, no; he's got to use it against them.

They're sent to a swampy planet that smells like human sweat and body odor, but the cesspool is rich in dilithium so it's deemed important.

The natives are stubborn, and McCoy's on the bridge as Kirk makes his last threats and ultimatums.

Kirk's jaw is a stubborn line, set tight and stern. “You've just wiped out your entire pathetic race,” he says coolly before having Uhura cut the transmission.

McCoy's standing between Kirk and Chekov, waiting to watch the firestorm erupt on the planet below when Kirk gives the order to blast it to hell and back, but the order doesn't come.

“Planetary methane concentration is too high for firepower to be any fun.” Kirk's rotating lazily in his chair, leaning his face against his hand with his elbow rested on a chair arm. “Have any interesting viruses stored in your lab, Bones?”

He tries not to shiver in delight at Kirk's insinuation. “There's no way to know what'll affect this species without testing specimens or trial and error.”

Kirk considers this. “We'll just have to see what sticks, then,” he says with a grin that he can't help but mirror.

In the end the population of the planet is ninety six percent lost to a smallpox pandemic. Even McCoy can appreciate the poetry of an alien race being wiped out by a virus that had been eradicated on Earth nearly three hundred years ago.


He wraps himself up in sickbay, putting back together the various degrees of morons on the Enterprise while he continues his experiments with those he doesn't think are worth enough to keep alive.

McCoy's current favorite is to deglove the arms and legs, which isn't enough to kill them, before tossing them in an agony booth to watch how the muscles constrict in its onslaught. It makes him wonder if Doctor Phlox used to step on whatever the Denobulan equivalent of the Terran ant is when he'd been growing up, if he'd wanted to create something that would make humanoids writhe and struggle just as hopelessly while they wished for death.

He shakes away the impulse to seek out a humanoid species with an extra set of limbs to recreate the image. He's getting anxious, McCoy knows; he doesn't remember if space had been this dull during the first campaign or if it's the anticipation getting to him.

I wonder what it would look like if he was scalped. McCoy glances at the time displayed on a nearby computer console. It isn't like he has anything else to do, and he'd grown up with his grandmother telling him about the evils of idle hands.


Despite his distractions, McCoy does notice that they seem to be stopping at more trade planets and space stations than usual. Kirk will take a shuttle down with Sulu, and sometimes it's days before they return.

When Kirk returns, whistling and covered in alien blood, McCoy knows that he's found whatever he had been looking for, and there's no way Kirk will abandon his plan now.

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4


[identity profile] wrote:
Oct. 15th, 2010 01:12 pm (UTC)
holy shit, i'm nauseated and in love at the same time.

[identity profile] wrote:
Oct. 19th, 2010 01:51 pm (UTC)
Which is totally what the MU aims for. XD Thanks!