☣BAD DOCTOR

     If it was abruptly clear to the duplicate that he was STALLING, Chekov couldn’t say he was exactly surprised. There was no other option, for the most part. Taking him to the bridge couldn’t be a good idea. Taking him ANYWHERE wasn’t a great plan. At least distracting him would heighten the chances of them finding

❝Historically, no. People do tend to wind up shot.❞ Or attacked by furious half-Vulcan’s, but that was a specification that wasn’t necessary. It would take time, but he knew he was running out. He wasn’t used to this, used to playing distraction or trying to slow people down. That wasn’t exactly his usual line of work. ❝You say that. Doubt it. Am not sure what standing your Chekov has, but know they would not risk you meddling for my sake.❞

         The dance was getting old. Bones had no interest in prolonging a conversation where a small child pretended NOT to be afraid, so rather than allowing it to continue, he stepped forward in a few quick strides and firmly caught Chekov by the chin, utilizing his free hand to smack the ensign’s hands away if he tried to struggle out of his grasp.

     ❝I prefer clever.❞ It was all he could do to stay calm, ignoring the sense of dread that was bubbling up in him. It was distinctly cliched and ridiculous, but it didn’t stop the thought that had cropped up about WHERE the duplicate had come from. It’d explain the scar, at least.

     ❝Why? You want the ship or you want to go home? We can help with the second one. First, not so much.❞ Maybe jokes about Kirk’s temporary death were tasteless, but the captain had started them while still in a biobed and Chekov was beyond caring right now.  ❝Our doctor might murder me if I get him killed again, anyway. Do you want the ship or do you want YOUR ship back?❞

            There it was, the unique, infuriating pompous attitude that apparently traveled between the multi-verse. That realization darkened his eyes as he leaned forward slightly, inhaling slowly while he allowed every syllable to sink into his skin. All the needless commentary was doing was prolonging the inevitable and ultimately irritating him.

“Yes, I do.”

He presses his fingernails against the sharp edge of Bones’s jaw, not hard enough to leave an imprint but prickly, a reminder of presence.

“We die.”

Everything dies.

Those things are not mutually exclusive. He can concentrate on the present because he knows how this ends. Bloodshed and nightmares of very real and massive proportion. (His life has been nightmares as far as he can remember. That’s the norm in their world. He almost envies some of the planets they’ve come across. Subjugated for their mineral wealth, mostly left alone as long as they produce enough, commune societies made equal by their distant enslavement.

It makes it easier to play his hand recklessly where it matters. With Bones it matters.

The grimace was less from the crescent shaped moons Kirk was pressing into his skin and more from the lead in his throat, shortening his breath and leaving his mouth, his tongue, his lips dry and poisoned, a sickness in him far worse than any physical ailment. 

Around them, the air was thick with it-- the unspoken contract that was more than success or wealth or common benefit. There was absolutely no benefit for either of them on this path, no quick escape or backup plan. Death was every time their angry, bated breaths turned into a tension that couldn’t keep their bodies and hearts apart. It was what they were participating in right now.

“Then you shouldn’t be here.”

        At this point, he’s too versed in the idea of multi-verses to manage surprise. As far as he can tell, the entire world he’s in is an alternate universe from the world Spock Prime came from and there is an infinite amount of possible permutations. The idea of a McCoy that looks DEADLY isn’t the strangest thing that the multi-verse could spit out. It took a moment to find his voice again, squaring his shoulders as he pushed away the nagging sense of fear bubbling in the back of his mind. It wouldn’t help.

❝Multiverse. You tripped. Transporter malfunction, perhaps.❞

            “Perceptive.” Enough to be cautious, though he wasn’t entirely certain the kid had seen the whole picture. Wherever he was, it was a contradiction to where he was from. It wasn’t right.

No, you don’t.

A protest that died on his tongue, that illuminated every horrible possibility that’s already played in his mind a million times over. Nights where they saw each other more often, in secret, behind closed doors. Nights where they were exploited, where he was used as a hostage, an example, until Kirk played their bluff and he left his daughter an orphan. That was the best of them. The worse ones left him alone on a ship with someone more in opposition to him in charge, an alien’s plaything until he was completely wasted, until everything Kirk touched was gone, washed away in a greater sea of blood, of misery and farce.