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Title: Instinct
Rating: R
Fandom: Trek TOS
Characters/Pairings: Spock/McCoy, Kirk, OC, the crew, possibly Sarek in later chapters.
Summary: A new doctor is onboard, apparently to perform independant psych evals. But something is very wrong with Dr Moset, and people are starting to realise it. In time? Maybe not.
Warnings: Non-con. More of a psychic nature than physical, but the fact remains. And yes, it's weird for me, but hey. Also, maybe a bit fast.
Wordcount: 2424
Disclaimer: Trek isn't mine.
Instinct
Chapter 1
"I'm tellin' ya, Jim, I don't like her!" McCoy leaned forward over the Captain's desk, almost aggressively, and Kirk took a second to be mildly impressed. He'd have bet money that the only person capable of putting the good doctor in such a mood was Spock. Apparently, he would have been wrong.
"She's just here to do the psych evals, Bones," he said, raising his hands placatingly. "Starfleet just wants a second opinion, is all."
"I don't give a damn hoot about Starfleet!" McCoy spat, stiffening furiously. "It's not about that, Jim!"
Privately, Kirk thought that's exactly what it was about, given the degree of pride McCoy took in looking after this crew, but he wasn't fool enough to start saying it. "Alright, Bones," he soothed. "So what is it about? What's wrong with her that's got you so riled up?"
McCoy paused, and sagged a little, the anger pulled back some behind the professional mask. But not gone. Kirk had seen his friend pissed off enough to know that it was never gone until the explosion was over, and that hadn't even started yet. The doctor raised a hand to scrub wearily at his hair.
"I don't rightly know, Jim," he muttered, eyes going a little distant. "She acts alright, all calm and professional. Nobody's complaining, either. In fact, I think pretty much everyone she meets thinks she's damn good at what she does, and nice about it to boot." His forehead creased, and he shook his head. "But ..."
Kirk frowned. That sounded like a gut feeling, and McCoy's gut feelings were usually pretty damn accurate. "But?" he prompted, watching his friend carefully. Bones shrugged uneasily.
"But somethin's wrong," he said. "When people come out after talking to her, somethin's wrong. They ... don't act right. Somethin' seems ... I don't know, Jim. Somethin' seems stilted about them. You know when Uhura smiles at you, and it's that stiff smile she gets when she's fakin'? Like that. And Spock ..."
Kirk stiffened, a murmur of something like panic flashing through him. "What about Spock?" he demanded, and McCoy looked at him, bleak and knowing, worried. "Bones, what's up with Spock?"
"I don't know, Jim," was the soft answer. "He won't speak to me. Damn it, he won't even argue with me! You have to have noticed that, at least!" Kirk winced at the censure in that, but nodded. His first officer had seemed a lot more reserved of late. He just hadn't connected it with the new presence on board.
"You think it has something to do with Dr Moset?" he asked, slowly, and McCoy glared at him.
"What d'ya think I've been trying to tell ya!" he fumed. "I'm tellin' ya, Jim, somethin's wrong with her. She's doing somethin', and I damn well intend to find out what!" He paused, voice softening a little, saddening. "Before she does any more bloody damage."
Kirk looked at him, sad and worried and vibrating with rage. He thought about Spock's polite and distant refusal to play chess for the past two weeks, Uhura's fake smile, Chekov's jumpiness and Chapel's frowns. Bones was right, he realised. Something was wrong with his whole damn crew, and he could think of nothing save the woman's presence that might have set them off. And that was strange, seeing as how his own initial interview with the woman had been pretty painless, as far as visits to the shrink went. But she hadn't asked him for a repeat, like she had Spock or Uhura.
Which was damn weird, now that he thought of it, because he was pretty sure that it anyone on the ship could lay claim to insanity, he had to be right up there. According to what Spock and McCoy said, anyway. Repeatedly. Emphatically, even. And while Spock might be questionable from an outsider's viewpoint, what with the whole hybrid thing, Uhura? Not a chance.
"Hey," he asked, quietly, looking up at McCoy. "Has she had you in for an appointment yet?"
McCoy raised an eyebrow in a sterling imitation of Spock, and smiled in a kind of bitter triumph. "No," he said. "She hasn't. And that's pretty damn suspicious, Jim-boy, because I'm the first person she shoulda looked at. Who watches the watchers, and all that. SOP." His expression turned thunderous for a second, and so bitterly self-loathing that Kirk half stood, reaching to comfort. "And I shoulda noticed that a damn sight sooner than I did," he went on. "I shoulda never let it get this far."
"Bones," Kirk said, coming round the desk to rest his hand on his friend's shoulder. "You'd no reason to be suspicious. Hell, you still mightn't!"
And that quickly, the glare was back and aimed at Kirk where it belonged, instead of inwards at the person who least deserved it. "I've every damn reason, and you know it, Jim Kirk!" the doctor snapped fiercely, a finger coming up to stab Kirk in the chest, and despite himself, Kirk had to grin.
"Yes, sir!" he smiled, and McCoy faltered in confusion, before rolling his eyes in disgust. Kirk grinned at him a moment longer, then let the situation roll back over him, watching as McCoy sobered in turn.
"What are we gonna do, Jim?" Bones asked. "I ain't got the authority to override her, and neither do you. All she has to do is claim doctor-patient confidentiality, and we can't even ask to see what she's doin' to 'em!" And there was a snarl in that, Kirk noted proudly, a fierce defensive snap. If Dr Moset was messing with his people, Kirk didn't doubt Bones'd go to town on her and damn Starfleet, regulations, and patient-confidentiality. It was the spirit of his oath that McCoy held to, not the letter, and anyone who harmed one of his would soon know about it!
It was something Kirk had always admired in the man, and something he fully intended to hold to now. If they were wrong, he'd stand back and face the consequences, but even the chance that they might be right was enough to drive him on. These were his crew, damnit! No-one had a right to hurt them!
"We," he answered finally, slowly. "Are going to pay Dr Moset a visit, Bones. And we are going to find out exactly what she's doing to our people, and make her pay for it!"
***
Spock raised his hand to buzz Dr Moset's office, and found himself hesitating. His hand hovered in the air above the buzzer, and he could not seem to make it go that last inch. He frowned, Vulcan brows drawing down in confusion, and focused his thoughts inward to try and find the source of his hesitance. Nothing presented itself, but his hand trembled faintly, and every muscle in his arm locked itself against crossing those last few centimeters.
Obviously, his subconscious most decidedly did not want to enter that room. And equally obviously, and far more worryingly, he had no idea why. Frowning, he withdrew his arm, turning slightly away from the door. Ordinarily, he would face the unknown danger rather than withdraw, but he sensed here the danger was in his own mind, and for that he would need to meditate. Only then might he discover the cause of this mental aberration ...
"Mr Spock?" A gentle female voice sounded beside him, and Spock restrained a motion of shock. He had not heard her approach, despite superior Vulcan hearing, but not only that. His mental senses recoiled from her presence, refused to acknowledge her in any way. It was a defense, he recognised, but he had no idea why his instincts declared it necessary.
"Dr Moset," he answered blankly. "I apologise for my inattention."
"That's no problem!" She smiled at him, reaching out to lay her hand reassuringly on his arm. He flinched.
He flinched.
He stared at her blankly, face stiff and occlusive, hiding the storm of confusion and sourceless panic that surged through him. He could not explain his action. But the woman's touch had drawn something out of him, something older and deeper than logic, a feeling he recognised but only barely ... Sarpeidon! His ancient self, the self without control, the self driven by emotion and need, by aggressive instinct ... but why? Why here and now? Why this woman's touch?
"Mr Spock?" she asked, her hand hovering near him but not touching, care in every line of her face, but his mind cried out against that. Wrong! Not care! He didn't know why, and he could not allow this loss of control to continue. He must retreat from this woman, until he understood the reason for this sudden response to her presence, to her touch.
"Forgive me," he stated flatly. "I fear I will not be able to complete our appointment, Dr Moset. I will make certain to reschedule." That was all he could allow himself, against the pressure of that ancient instinct on the bounds of his logic, his control. He stepped back, expressionless, determined. He had to discover the source of this aberration immediately.
But she did not allow it. Frowning suddenly, she stepped forward to block his path, hand once more reaching towards him. Something roared inside him, a last primitive defense, and in the moment before she struck, he recognised the reason why.
Instinct was the only defense he had left.
Then she snapped her fingers against his temple, directly on the psi-point, and her presence ruthlessly drowned all his defenses, and sent him spiralling to unconsciousness.
***
With Jim at his side as they headed towards the woman's office, Leonard allowed himself a confidence he hadn't felt in some days. Whatever she was underneath that professional facade, Dr Moset gave him the heebie-jeebies, to coin an archaic phrase. Every instinct he had screamed out against her, though he'd be damned if he could have said why. But he trusted his instincts far more than he trusted the faces people put up for the world, and to those instincts her facade reeked of falsehood. She was hurting his people. He knew it, for all he couldn't prove it, couldn't say how, or even why. Every complaint he might have made fell short against her perfect professionalism. There wasn't a Starfleet officer going who'd have believed him over her.
Except Jim.
He looked sideways at his Captain, his friend, taking in the bullish stride, the fierce determination. Jim believed him, at least enough to see if she was hurting his crew. His people. Jim was a mite protective in that regard, alright, and if that protective streak was all that allowed Leonard to get his help with this, then he'd accept it and be damn grateful. But he sort of thought friendship might be playing a part too, and that was a thought that gave him strength.
And as they rounded the corner towards her door, he thought he was going to need all that damn strength he could muster. Something was wrong here, wrong in ways he couldn't put his finger on, and he had never been so glad for Jim's presence at his side. That woman had set his skin crawling since she first stepped aboard, and over time that feeling had grown to almost morbid proportions. If he was honest, he thought that on some unconscious level, she had begun to terrify him. All for a feeling, a groundless instinct, but he had to act on it. He had to.
They stopped outside her door, and Leonard met Jim's eyes, met the determined, leonine stare that meant Captain Kirk was set for battle, and nodded sharply. No thought. He couldn't think about this. This was a violation of patient rights, of professional courtesy, and all his training screamed at him, but the feeling went deeper. Something was calling him, beyond that door, a sense of something in pain, and Leonard McCoy had never in his life been able to resist that call.
CMO and Captain overrode the locks, and strode into the room.
And stopped dead.
For a second, Leonard's mind faltered, unable to process what he was seeing, unable to believe. Spock lay on the couch, supine, eyes open and blank. That alone sent shivers of raw panic through him. But it was Moset, her hands laid like claws against the Vulcan's temples, her mouth set in a sneer of concentration, her body pressed along Spock's naked torso so that as much skin as possible touched ... His human sensibilities roared at the suggestion of that posture, but it was his knowledge of Spock, his memory of the Vulcan's calm words of touch telepathy, of melds, of forcing ... he remembered the other Spock, the mirror Spock, remembered and recognised the violation in front of him ... and every controlling switch in his brain flipped off.
He rushed her.
He wasn't really conscious of what he was doing. He knew that, in the distant part of his mind that privately he thought of as somewhat Vulcan, the controlled, watching part. He wasn't thinking about his actions. It was raw instinct.
She tumbled to the floor at his feet as he yanked her away, screaming in fury as her mind came back to the present, but he couldn't hear it over the hoarse cry that emerged from Spock's throat at the loss, the shudder of yearning and terror ... Leonard roared for Jim, snatching furiously at the woman at his feet, feeling his hands claw as he all but threw her at his friend, his voice a snarl.
"Out! Get her out, Jim! Get her away!" He was already moving, reaching to Spock, laying hands on that shuddering frame. The Vulcan needed him, needed someone, he knew it. Her presence had pushed aside all defenses, made room for itself, and when it was ripped away all that was left in his friend's mind would be a crushing emptiness, a hollow weight ... "Jim, for God's sake, get her the hell outta here!"
And then they were gone, the fear and frozen fury of his friend, the terrible creep of her presence. They were gone, and he was alone with Spock, and the hole she had ripped in him, and now his only job, the only thing he need think of, was helping his patient. His friend. His Spock.
He placed his hands gently on the psi-points, cradling the thrashing head, his heart bleeding from Spock's moans of terror and pain and terrible need. Sinking to his knees beside the couch, his hands shaking as he strove to hold on, praying he wasn't about to do more damage than ever, Leonard took one deep breath and opened his mind.
And fell right into the maelstrom.
