Well, this is one idea that wouldn't go away since the first time I watched the episode Mirror, Mirror (easily one of my favorites). McCoy's face turning from simple apprehension into obvious fear as Spock begins the mind-meld and then how he staggers into the transporter room afterward just captured my imagination. What exactly went on and how did it affect our poor doctor? So this was born, and it has gone further than I ever expected, but I'm not displeased with it. I hope I do this wonderful episode and our good doctor justice! Rating is just to be on the safe side - there won't be anything too terrible, just (hopefully) dramatic and angsty.
Smoke. Darkness. Colors, light, white noise, fading, softly, softly, silence…he opens his eyes, and he is in his Sickbay. His kingdom. The familiar, soft humming of instruments, the spotless walls and floors and faint, sterilized smell that signifies sanctuary. He smiles a little half-smile and turns a full circle to survey his domain. He pauses, and a frown replaces the smile. It is not his Sickbay. It looks the same, smells the same, but the feel is not the same. On closer examination, there are things out of place. There are instruments he does not recognize, and the place is unnaturally quiet. On any given day, Christine can usually be heard humming to herself, or the doors are hissing, signaling the arrival of visitors or patients, or several of the nurses are playing cards or poking their heads in to make reports or tell him the latest joke or bit of gossip. Here, he is on his own.
He turns again, scanning, and suddenly he is no longer alone. There is a man stretched out on one bio-bed, eyes closed, as if sleeping, but his doctor's instincts kick in and he knows that the man is unconscious. As unsettled as he is, here in this familiar/unfamiliar place, he automatically moves towards the bio-bed, reaching for his hand-held scanner. As he gets closer, he recognizes the man as Spock. How unusual, and how disturbing. He steps a little quicker, anxious to see why on Vulcan Spock has allowed himself to be housed in Sickbay. As he bends over the unconscious form, there is an inexplicable thrill of fear. Something is not right. It takes him a moment, staring at the silent face, to figure out what, and when he does, his breath hitches tight in his chest and his heart thuds once, painfully, against his ribs. Spock has a goatee.
Suddenly, he cannot breathe. He opens his mouth, but no air enters his lungs. He drops the scanner and latches onto the bed for support as his legs threaten to give. He is nearly overwhelmed with inexpressible panic, and it is making him physically, violently ill. His fingers fumble wildly for something to grasp, something to convince himself that he is not dreaming. Because this is a horrible nightmare if he is. He has been here before. No, this is not his Sickbay. This is the other place, the other universe. This is not his scanner, or his instruments, or his Spock. He takes a step back, his eyes darting wildly around, searching for a way out. The door! Surely, if he can just get out of this place, out of this hellishly twisted place, he'll be all right…but as he begins a lunge for the door, a hand snaps cold and hard around his forearm, and he is yanked cruelly back around to face the fathomless, burning depths of black that are the Spock's eyes.
"No…" he whispers. "Not again, please, not again."
"Why did the Captain let me live?" The Spock asks.
"Please, no, not again, let me go, let me go!" He tries to fight, to wrench his wrist free of that steel grip, but his limbs are frozen, and will not obey him. He is forced back a step, and then another, as Spock slides off the bio-bed to his feet with that cat-like grace; the killer stalking his prey. The Spock pushes him relentlessly forward until his back meets the unrelenting wall and he is trapped, trapped again, aching with terror, sick with anticipation for what he knows is coming.
"No, please. No." His voice is only a whisper, but the Spock ignores him, and one long, delicately-fingered hand raises slowly, three fingers extended. He recoils, staring into those horribly captivating eyes, petrified, sweating, wanting to die rather than feel their icy touch against his skin again. He tries to struggle again, but is frozen, a watcher, horribly of, but not of, the scene. He is utterly helpless against the strength of the Spock, and it makes his stomach twist. All he can feel is the grip of the hand on his wrist and the cold wall pressing against his shoulder blades and small of his back.
The fingers make contact against the soft flesh of his face, and his breath stops, his jaw clenches shut, his nostrils flare with the acidic bile that rises in the back of his throat. The fingers press cruelly against the skin of his temple, cheek, and jaw, and even as they settle into place, he can feel the presence of the Spock touch the corners of his mind with an ugly, invasive pressure. He tries to swallow but can't and his mind begins to whirl. The Spock's mouth is moving, and he knows the words, can hear them ringing, pounding through his skull though the voice does not register in his ears.
"Our minds are merging, Doctor…our minds are one…I feel what you feel…I know what you know…"
Pain. Swirling, color images, faces, planets, landscapes, racing through his mind, dragged from depths and memories far distant. A cacophony of sound, screams, laughter, voices, familiar voices babbling and shrieking and calling-phaser fire, explosions, maniacal laughter, crying, wailing, rushing waters! The feel of a scanner in his fist, the beeping of the bio-monitors, flesh beneath his fingers, the acidic smell of blood mixed with whiskey, mint, and coffee and sterilized floors. Dozens of still, cold, feature-less faces, corpses, staring up at him from bio-beds, dead, dead, because he could not save them…his own hands stained in blood and sweat, his own face reflected back at him, eyes dark and soulless, empty, empty. Hard hands against his, the warmth of a hug, the chill of snow and ice, a hot drink sliding down his throat, pain in his chest, in his arms, legs, head, a terrible headache, and then-
Joanna's face. Jocelyn's face. Jim. Spock. Scotty. Uhura, Sulu, Chekov, Chapel, M'Benga, Father...A kiss on his lips, the feel of small, thin arms around his neck and a sweet, girlish voice saying his name. "Daddy…" Heartache. Heartbreak. Tears sliding down his cheeks, a fist aching, fingers broken because he has slammed it into the ground over and over. Throat raw and bleeding from screaming at the sky. Swelling, days of alcohol, days of anguish and anger and guilt. Guilt. Despair. Fear. Pain. Terror. Anger. Hatred. Loss. Spock. Spock. Spock...
He wakes up.
I'm rather fond of it, but I wonder if its too dramatic...let me know what you think! That means review if you want more! Please, of course.