A Lion's Share of Courage

by J. Rosemary Moss

Rating:  PG

Summary:  In the Mirror Universe, Dr. McCoy is dying. Spock tends to him, but his thoughts are centered on the doctor's counterpart….

~

Spock stroked his beard as he sat by Dr. McCoy's side. The doctor had been passing in and out of consciousness for the last five hours and thirty seven minutes. He was suffering from xenopolycythemia—an incurable disease that was killing him by destroying his body's capacity to replace red blood cells. 

He could no longer hide the disease, as he had apparently been doing for the past several months. And quite effectively: Spock had been watching him carefully, but he had not guessed. The doctor had taken pains to appear healthy. No doubt he feared what would happen once his fellow crew-members guessed his weakness.

There was little time left to the doctor now—and little that Spock could do for him except see to his comfort. To that end, Spock had made certain that he was given a private corner of sickbay and saw to it personally that he received his painkillers as scheduled.

It was not the habit of the Empire to waste a sick bed and medicine on a crewman who could not be cured. Nonetheless, Spock had insisted—and Kirk had backed up the order. Kirk had even devised a special punishment for the medical officers he caught taking bets on the doctor's lifespan…a punishment they were not likely to forget.

McCoy stirred on the bed. After a deep, ragged breath he opened his eyes. He stared at Spock for a moment and then managed a thin smile.

"You're still here," he drawled.

Spock raised his eyebrow at him. "That should be obvious, Doctor." 

He nodded, unoffended. "You've been playing the part of a nursemaid for several days now, Mr. Spock," he said. "And our captain has allowed it, I see."

"Our captain has always been pleased by your loyalty," Spock pointed out. "And I believe he holds you in some affection."

The doctor smiled again—a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, I know. He never had to worry about me putting a knife into his back. I just wanted to mind my own damn business here in sickbay."

He paused and then managed a shrug. "Still, it was good of him to allow me some dignity as I die. And it's good of you take such fine care of me—even if you're looking through me the whole time."

Spock cocked his head at that. "Looking through you, Doctor?"

"Yes, Mr. Spock," he answered. "You've been sitting here by my side, seeing to my every need…but not for my sake."

He fell quiet again after that. Spock regarded him steadily, but he did not press the doctor. There was no need. McCoy spoke up again without prodding.

"It's him, isn't it?" he asked. "He's the one you keep seeing whenever you look at me."

There was no reason for the doctor to specify the 'he.' He referred to his counterpart: the Dr. McCoy who served the Federation rather than the Empire in a parallel universe.

"Yes," Spock said quietly. There was no point in denying it. Spock sensed that this Dr. McCoy was gaining the peculiar clarity that seemed to grace humans when they were close to death.

The doctor shut his eyes again. "Tell me about him," he said. "Why is it—why is that you want him, and not me?"

Want—the doctor did, indeed, see clearly. He could now sense the mixture of respect, regard and raw hunger that Spock felt for the other McCoy.

But there was no jealousy in this doctor's voice, Spock noted. He was asking merely out of curiosity. Spock considered him for a long moment, but decided that there was little risk in answering honestly.

"He is very much like you," Spock began. "He is…sentimental. Cantankerous. And he often speaks without thinking."

The doctor opened his eyes at that and stared at Spock. "How does he differ from me?" he asked at length.

"He has a passion and warmth that you lack," Spock answered. "And far more courage. He is not a weakling."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "No, really, Mr. Spock—please be honest. Don't try to spare my feelings."

Spock raised his eyebrows appreciatively. "He is also, like yourself, somewhat of a—a 'wise-ass,' I believe, is the human term."

The doctor laughed at that—but it was a weak laugh that quickly became a fit of coughing. Spock placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"You should rest now, Doctor," he said.

But McCoy shook his head. "I'll have all the rest I could ever want soon enough," he pointed out.  Nonetheless, he shut his eyes for almost a full moment. When he opened them again, he cocked his head at Spock. "He wasn't here all that long—my counterpart, I mean. How'd you come to know him?"

"That is unimportant," Spock said. He had reached the limit of what he was willing to share with this McCoy.  He would not explain the mind meld that he had forced on the other doctor—on 'Bones.' Nor would he explain how Bones had accepted the meld, even embraced it, rendering it far deeper and more intense than Spock had intended.

McCoy sighed, but he accepted Spock's reticence. "I don't suppose it matters," he said. "But you've changed since then. I guess he's responsible for that."

The doctor paused and favored Spock with a wan smile. "Be careful," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I don't know what you have planned, but Kirk—"

"I have no plans against our Captain," Spock said, cutting him off. "And I am more than capable of looking after myself."

"But Kirk—he seems to have ears everywhere—"

"The captain and I have an understanding," Spock said firmly. "Whatever plans I have neither concern this mission nor endanger it."

The doctor cocked his head at him again, but he let the matter rest.

And that, Spock thought to himself, was another difference between McCoy and his counterpart. The other McCoy—Bones—would never have accepted that answer. He would have plagued Spock to reveal everything. And once he understood the depth of Spock's plan, once he understood that Spock meant to reform the Empire, he would have done whatever was in his power to help.

But this McCoy, even at full health, would never have helped him. He was too cowardly for such an undertaking. He was a good man, in his way—but only when he could afford to be. He lacked the courage of his convictions.

What a pale reflection this McCoy was of his counterpart.  Under normal circumstances, he would not even have broached the subject with Spock—it was only his imminent death that had lent him this sudden audacity.

Spock felt a surge of something akin to anger. He was saddled with this McCoy—but think what he could have accomplished with Bones at his side…

But Bones would not have survived here. He would have objected to Kirk's policies. He would have disobeyed orders to save lives. He would have shown mercy even to those properly punished and chastened by torture. And Kirk would have killed him for it—the captain could not have afforded to show Bones the off-hand affection he had shown this Dr. McCoy.

So Bones would have ended up dead. Either that, or the Empire would have broken him and twisted him…as it did this Dr. McCoy.

Spock pushed those thoughts aside. It was illogical, he reminded himself, to speculate on what might have been—just as it was illogical to hunger for something he could not have. He could not have Bones. He did have this McCoy, however. And this McCoy required his care.

And so Spock remained at his side. 

Dr. McCoy spoke up one last time before he shut his eyes and stopped struggling to remain conscious.

"I'm sorry," he said to Spock.

Spock lifted one eyebrow. "I was not aware that you owe me an apology," he said.

McCoy smiled at that and, with a last bit of effort, placed his hand on top of Spock's. "I'm sorry that I couldn't be him…I kind of like you better now—now that you've known him."

He paused and then struggled to say a few more words. "Do you think—do you think he's ok? This damned disease may be killing us both…"

"He is alive," Spock said abruptly. "I would know if he were not."

McCoy narrowed his eyes at him, but at length he just nodded. Then he shut his eyes and allowed himself to slide into unconsciousness. He did not wake up again.

The doctor died four hours and thirty-seven minutes later. Spock listened as his ragged breathing stopped and watched as his vital signs plummeted. But there was nothing to be done. He pulled a sheet over McCoy's head and then stepped aside so that the medical staff could prepare his remains for space-burial.

He went to the observatory. As he stared out into space, his mind turned back to the other McCoy—the only McCoy now living. His meld with Bones had shown him a world that he had not thought possible. His interactions with the other Kirk had confirmed that such a world did, indeed, exist. The Empire was not the only way. Tyranny could be overcome.

Despite the illogic of it, Spock wondered again what might have been. He shut his eyes, focused his attention and sensed Bones through the faint, lingering bond that had arisen from the intense melding of their minds. He was still alive, still cantankerous, still passionate, still sentimental…and he still possessed, as his given name suggested, a lion's share of courage.

Spock shook his head. For a brief moment—a mere seven point three seconds—he was glad, almost, that Bones was not here at his side.  Bones belonged in that other, better universe. He was, no doubt, most effective there.

But Spock's work was here—and it was time to get on with it. And so he pushed Bones from his mind and abruptly left the observatory.

~The End~