Chapter 2 - Personal Log 0063: L.H.McCoy

Dr. Leonard H. McCoy
Personal Log 0063
Stardate 2323.1

I don't like these. I don't really feel right talking to myself, or even keying to myself. But I can't sleep, and Geoff says if he sees me in Sickbay when I'm supposed to be sleeping one more time, he'll sick Jim on me. That's the last thing I need right now. He's already giving me sideways glances, but he hasn't said anything yet, and I want to keep it that way. I know Captain's discretion means Jim could read this one day, and if you do, sorry Jim. Nothing personal, I just can't talk about it right now.

I feel like shit in more ways than one. My head is killing me. I've been self-medicating with a combination of acetaminophen, isometheptene and dichloralphenazone, but it's starting to last for a shorter time every day, and I'm worried about increasing my dose. I don't need a chemical dependency on top of everything else. I've been tense since... well of course I've been tense. But I think the tension is starting to wear me out, because neck and shoulders are sore, which isn't helping the headaches. And, of course, I can't sleep. I'm using tryptophan at night, but tonight, even that's not working. What I'd like is a stiff drink or three, but I can't risk it with this prescription cocktail running through my blood.

Then, there's Spock. I hate talking about this, but I figure I need to get it off my chest. Maybe, it'll... ah bullshit. Nothing will make it easier. Spock... he's... I think he's starting to notice. I'm trying to act normal, but I can't. I get near him, and I can feel my whole body tighten up. I don't want him to see, so I avoid looking at him. I know if he even brushes my hand, it'll spill over, and he'll know something's wrong, and I don't want that either, so I try to keep distance between us.

But the whole damned problem with all this is, I know he already knows something is up. He keeps staring at me whenever I'm in the room. I can see him trying to maneuver himself into a private conversation with me, but I can't... I can't. And I hate myself for it. People tend to think Vulcans can't feel anything, but they can, and they do. And I'm pretty sure it's not just the human half of Spock that feels. If that other one was any example, they feel every bit as strongly as we do, if not moreso. Which means, I know he's got to be hurting right now. He's probably confused, and maybe he thinks he did something wrong. But every time I decide I'm going to reach out and tell him he hasn't done anything wrong, I freeze and all but run away. I'm so disgusted I can't even look at myself in the mirror anymore.

I know what's wrong with me. I can see it, plain as day. If I were to diagnose a patient who described these feelings, after what happened to me, I'd say immediately - it's post-traumatic stress, caused by physical and mental attack. But even as I say that, I know it's not quite true. I've been physically attacked before - Starfleet is a dangerous career choice, even for a ship's doctor. We've been scanned by telepathic beings before, too. But this was... it wasn't like getting your brain passively scanned, or even like the feeling of helpless anger you can get after taking a beating. It was more like being r-ra... God help me, I'm a doctor and I can't even say the damn word.

I can still see it. Vividly. Shoved against a wall, unable to fight against that Vulcan strength. Then his mind. Probing angrily, roughly shoving away the unnecessary to get to the point - the plan. I could feel his fury that I'd refused to answer, that we'd invaded his ship. There was surprise and confusion when he came to me and Spock, and a frantic searching of everything I knew about Jim - looking for why he would let this evil Spock live when it made more sense to kill him. And there was a whole lot of disdain for just about everything else. I was puny, insignificant, weak even compared to his own Dr. McCoy.

And then, as quickly as he'd forced his way in, he'd withdrawn, leaving me feeling nauseous, and exposed, and just utterly sick through and through. I barely remember the rest. Dragged through the halls of the wrong Enterprise like a rag doll, watching him do something with the computer, then in the transporter room and handed off to Scotty like a faulty phaser. I'm still not sure why he let us go. Jim was working his magic, and something in anti-Spock made him listen. But the emotions I remembered hadn't prepared me for it - maybe because he was taking, and he wasn't letting me see all there was to see. I couldn't even rightly enjoy the fact that I was alive and back with my own people. I managed to put on a smile, crack a few jokes on the bridge, but when I was alone again, the weight of everything just came crashing down on me. I had nightmares that first night, and I felt like I could still feel him, sneering at me, ripping through my thoughts. Since then, I've been afraid to close my eyes even for a moment. And seeing Spock, even without the facial hair, just... I'm getting nauseous again just thinking about it.

I hate this. I hate myself for punishing Spock for something he didn't do. I hate myself for being too scared to tell him, or any of them, about it. Even though I know all the signs of PTSD, I can't make myself stop all the irrational feelings that come along with it. I'm a coward. I, Leonard H. McCoy, am a coward without even the guts to look at the man I love and tell him I don't hate him.

Damn. This is why I didn't want to talk about this. Stomach hurts and headache's back, and I'm not about to close my eyes now for the world. Shit. I always knew those god damned fucking transporters were no fucking god damned good.

Chapter 1
Chapter 3

Table of Contents
Star Trek Fic
Fic Masterlist