He fought, desperately, to keep something anything private from the invasion of his soul. Memories like the ones being exposed now were the kind he would never tell anyone. Some of them, he wouldnât even tell Jim, hadnât even shared with his daughter or his wife. He was a private man and this violation angered him, tore at his vulnerability. He didnât know what his body was doing, once this evil man had tore past his defenses and flicked away his hastily constructed mental guards. The whole of his energy shoved into his mind and he wished now for Spockâs mental powersââ
He saw before himself memories of the previous hours, exposure of their secrets as the better halves of these evil men. And then the Vulcan pulled him sideways through the corridors of his memory, slammed into the door of one called âSpockâ and pounded for it to open.
He lashed out, vaguely aware of the physical aspect of his resistance. Of all the memories, of course it would be the one of his counterpart, wasnât it? Of course it would be the ones he held most secret of all. Of course it would be the ones this man could use against him, somehow.
The throbbing Vulcan voice bore into his soul, flooded his body. He sensed himself yelling, his eyes unable to register sensory information as he focused so consummately on the defense of his soul. âYouâve got what you wanted, stop it.â His voice was haggard, hardly beyond a whisper.
But he was only a man and unlearned in the art of the mind.
The door crashed down and every delicate thought flashed out in the space between them. Their gentle banter, their fervent arguing⊠the affection he was beginning to feel for the Vulcan, a quiet wordless shoot in the fresh ground of his heart.
McCoy felt his heart rev with nervous energy, blood pounding his brain, as if the thoughts were intensifying in his head beyond his own natural emotions. He saw himself watching his own Spock, those thin Vulcan hands and the cold eyes, a conviction in his heart that the man was too afraid to be human, that he was too arrogant to accept his other half, that if he but opened his heart to accept his humanityââ the rightness of error, the goodness of frailty, the beauty of loveââ then Spock would be more the man he hoped to be.
It was draining, suddenly, and McCoy felt the energy leave his body. A pounding headache crashed his head and he felt adrift, reaching for stabilization.