Update January 9, 2013: It is my intention to completely overhaul this story and fix the countless errors its riddled with. It was written years ago and I never had a beta nor did I do a very good job of proofing at the time. As of right now, read at your own risk. 3
Trigger Warning: This contains reference to sexual assault.
Leonard McCoy took a minute in his private office amongst the chaotic mess his shift had become. Four crew members taken hostage for two days, only just returned. For the most part, the majority of injuries were trivial. His nursing staff, under the careful watch of Chapel, were taking care of three. However, patient four was what had him pouring a shot of his secret stash. Downing it, he took a moment and schooled his features into the clinical but compassionate expression of Doctor McCoy; trained medical professional. He was a healer of the sick, hands as steady as any surgeon, a sharp eye and an even sharper tongue that could cut through any lies patients were want to tell.
His last patient for the day was waiting for him...counting on him. He had readied a private examination room instead of the curtained-off cubicles; the patient it contained was none other than First Officer of the Enterprise, Spock. His crewmate, his brother in arms against the ludicrous workings of the mind their Captain often seemed to lose. A reluctant, tentative friendship had spawned over the months; late meals in companionable silence, shared smirks across the bridge at Jim's bright-spirited antics, hell, tonight they had plans to play a game of chess. Not fucking likely...enough of this, pull yourself together for Christ's sake.
Walking out of his office, head high, shoulders back with the perpetual brow crinkle firmly in place, he strode up to exam room one. A small room with an examination table, sink, and cupboards is what waited for him on the other side...and Spock. Signaling his presence, Spock's voice permitted his entry. Thank God for that...
Spock was predictably standing next to the table, his facade of calm almost as bogus as McCoy's own. The shoulders slumped just a little, the hands were at their respective sides but were slightly facing outwards making him appear lost and childlike. The brow was crinkled and the side of his mouth occasionally twitched. Damn the protocol to hell. No one is touching him but me. This crew is mine to hassle, nag, and in the end, patch up and save.
Clearing his throat, he began the clinical assessment, "Spock, I'm going to ask you a series of questions before we proceed with the physical exam. Before I do either, I will let you know what to expect from this. First, I'll need a detailed-as-possible account of the events that occured so I know what to look for. Secondly, prior to the physical, I will require you to remove all articles of clothing and/or otherwise, and place it in this cylander." Producing a long, plastic, air-tight cylander to show what he meant, he placed it on the bed and continued.
"Thirdly, I am required to perform a full body swab, including your mouth, genitalia, anus, and under your fingernails. It's Starfleet regulation, so they can use it as solid evidence that an individual from a hostile, non-Federation planet has not only violated sanctions but also in full-awareness, attacked a Starfleet officer. These are both serious offenses."
He paused to gauge Spock's reaction to all of this. Nothing. God, can't you even let this Vulcan bullshit go after something like this happened to you. I'm your friend and your doctor, everything here is confidential...
"...Do you have any questions?"
"No, Doctor. I appreciate your detailing of this examination. Shall I disrobe now?"
Inside McCoy died a little at the hollow, empty voice. Swallowing, not caring that his voice sounded rougher with emotion than it should have in this situation, "Yes. When you are finished, there is a paper robe in the closet behind you. I'll be outside, just page when you're ..." finished "...ready."
He immediately took three, large strides away from the closed doors. His breath shaky, he pulled out his PADD and made himself appear occupied with work. He watched his fingers closely, hovering them over the screen. They trembled slightly, to which he cursed each one individually.
The beep from exam room one made him almost throw up. Walking back through the doors, he saw that Spock was still standing next to the table, and as tight as he had tied the sleeveless, calf-length robe around himself, McCoy could see the dark green bruise of a handprint around his shoulder. Not once betraying himself physically, he began what would undoubtedly be one of the worst, and emotionally compromised, examinations of his career.
"Computer, this is the medical log for patient two-three-nine, attending physician, Leonard McCoy. Patient will remain anonymous for the time-being. This record will also remain sealed until further notice, medcode alpha-six-nine, authorization McCoy-five-two-zero."
His eyes flitted up from his PADD to look at his patient. Only a doctor's eye would have noticed it...His thigh is shaking...
"Are you ready to begin?"
"Please, walk me through the events that lead to your capture..."
A calm and military voice filled the room. This was the easy part...hell, all of them on board knew what happened regarding the mission fuck-up of the month. The bizarre-factor was mind blowing. So sure they had killed Nero, along with the rest of his crew...six months he was out there still. A handful of them, including Nero, had managed to beam out just before the blast. When they had somehow intercepted a transmission about the Enterprise's next away mission, Spock had been beamed away with Nero the second they materialized on the planet's surface. Two days with that psychopath...we all tried so hard to save you sooner. He grumbled inside...at least that bastard and his merry men were finally locked away, never likely to see the light of their beloved Romulus again.
"Thank you. Would you like a minute before beginning the physical? I can get you something to drink, or m-"
"No, thank you Doctor. I am properly hydrated and...eager to rest."
McCoy nodded, looking down for a moment...Eager to wash the filth of his hands off, I'm sure.
"Okay. Please, up on the table." He glanced to the side, giving Spock a moment of dignity, noting that he wasn't moving yet. Seconds ticked by and Spock was still staring at the table, as if willing it to obey his silent command.
Softly, "Do you require assistance?"
"...I may, yes. I believe that my...injuries have complicated the matter of fluid movement for the time being." Those human-eyes turned to him...pleadingly asking his help. Standing, he slowly helped Spock onto the step, a hand gently resting on the stiff lower back while he was leaned against. Again, only the eye of a doctor would notice the wince, but the quiet hiss of pain was like a fucking bomb going off in the room. McCoy, quickly as he could, had Spock's upper body down against the bed as to alleviate any pressure on his bottom half. Such a proud, strong man...this isn't right. I shouldn't be doing this exam. He shouldn't be here...
"Okay, let's try rolling onto your side. I'll need you to hold your knees to your chest."
McCoy prayed there were no injuries severe enough to impede the change in position. As invasive as this procedure would be, the stirrups would be avoided if possible.
Laying a hand on the warm shoulder, and the other hovering over hips, he gently nudged Spock to roll a few inches. A choked sob of pain escaped, and McCoy immediately laid him back out. A quick tricorder scan showed a rib fracture; too close to that lung. Please don't hate me...
"You have a rib fragment that's threatening to puncture your left lung. It will be aggravated with even minor twisting of your abdomen. I'm going to need you to slide down towards me. I need your feet in these stirrups
He noted that it seemed to be that request causing the Vulcan resolve to crumble. He had a feeling he would be pausing the medlog more than once throughout this procedure. After Spock's feet were nestled firmly in the cold stirrups, McCoy rolled his stool towards those pale, drawn together knees. Please don't make me have ask...
Shrugging into his latex gloves, he stretched above his head to grasp the bright, warm lamp and pull it down to their level. The knees still together, he glanced at the two pale hands threatening to dent both sides of his table.
"Computer, pause medical log." He breathed a long, heavy sigh and looked down, apologetic and almost ashamed. In his roughened drawl, he addressed his patient, his friend, around the lump in his throat: "Spock, I need you to open your legs."
Eyes locked to the ceiling, Spock's legs began trembling again. A visible swallow of a long pale throat...marred by a green bruise. Rage filled McCoy and he scowled furiously at the cold, tiled floor. He sniffed before looking back up to eye the trembling, silent form.
He hovered a hand over the knees, and assured quietly, "Spock. Please, I need to do this. I'll be quick, and I'll be gentle. I'm a good doctor."
Spock's eyes closed as his knees slowly gave in and parted. McCoy nodded to himself, "Computer, continue medical log".
Bringing the light in close, McCoy gently lifted back the gown and quickly swabbed around the abused anus, bloodied inner thighs, and around the cavity where Spock's penis was retracted. He refused to humiliate his commanding officer any further by asking him for a full penile sample. This would be more than enough. Before placing the samples aside, he swabbed the inner cheek and took a file under his nails.
"Okay, I'm going to proceed with a bodily examination to assess any internal damage. I will only be using my hands if medically necessary; I will be using a tricorder for most of this. I'm going to start with your head and base of your skull and then proceed downwards."
Taking his penlight, he tested pupil response and then gently applied pressure to Spock's forehead and temples. The flinch was expected; this was an intimate part of the Vulcan body. However, McCoy trusted good old fashioned, 21st century methods over modern when it came to examinations of certain body parts. I wonder of that bastard Nero mucked around in his head...
Continuing with the tricorder, he dictated: "No cranial damage nor does there appear to be any hemorrhaging to the brain. There is bruising along the throat, but no rupturing of glands or tissue. Appears to have sustained a minor fracture to the left shoulder. Major bruising along the abdomen, however, heart is functioning without any restrictions."
For a moment, he was struck with alarm when he felt the hem of uniform being clutched between desperate fingers. The Vulcan's heart rate was climbing. "Are you doing alright?"
The eyes, still glued to the ceiling, were shining with what appeared to be unshed tears. A blink and a swallow, the even voice replied, "Please continue, Doctor".
He ached inside as he pried the fingers away and entwined them with his own. With the computer ignorant to this breach of ethics, his voice never wavered as he began speaking once more, "All vertebrae are intact..."