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Blame this on the kink meme; the top two prompts on my "to write" list are for girl!Spock/McCoy and Spock/Reaper!McCoy. Combining them *seemed* like a good idea. Seriously, though, the things that meme is doing to me aren't even funny. I'm actually thinking about writing mpreg, and that hasn't been my thing since I was thirteen and reading Harry/Draco like there was no tomorrow. I might as well give in and write Kirk/McCoy, too. *facepalm*

TITLE: No Going Home
CHARACTERS: Kind of gen-ish, really girl!Spock/Reaper!McCoy I am not even kidding.
WARNINGS: Violence. Nothing terribly graphic, but it's Doom, right?
SUMMARY: Klingons and Olduvai are not a desirable combination. And Starfleet was working so well for him, too.
NOTES: A Star Trek/Doom crossover, with appearances by—still not joking—the Avengers. Yeah, you think this is sad, wait until you see how many sequels are rattling around in my head.

Baby, I've been here before,
I've seen this room, I've walked this floor—


There's nobody in this galaxy who can do what Leonard McCoy does.


They get the call from K-7 at the end of eight long days of stellar mapping. The cartography department is beside themselves, but the rest of the crew is restless, verging on bored—Jim no different. Even Spock is displaying signs of restlessness, as Bones himself would be if he hadn't had a centuries-long lesson in waiting.

He spends the morning going over inventory with Chapel, then takes himself up to the bridge after lunch to harangue Jim about his physical. Jim doesn't actually need a check-up—he's in every other week with a more-or-less life-threatening wound, so Bones is pretty damn aware of the captain's physical condition—but hell, if he has to squint at the date on one more hypospray he's going to go mad.

Jim is slumped back in the captain's chair, head lolling as he sways idly back and fourth. Spock is shooting him disapproving—or are they exasperated?—glances from her station, but Jim either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

"Jim," Bones starts, "do you realize how terrible that is for your spine? Bad enough that that chair forces you to have God-awful posture, but you don't have to help it ruin your vertebrae."

"Nice to see you, too, Bones," Jim tells the ceiling. "Spock, how's it going?"

"Stellar cartography reports that they will be finished in two-point-five days, Captain," Spock says, her cool, disciplined tones always an interesting contrast to Jim's casualness. "We have cruising orders to patrol the Neutral Zone immediately upon completion of our current mission."

"Two-point-five days," Bones says. "You know, Jim, what you could do with those two-point-five standard days?"

"Get Lieutenant Sulu to teach me how to fence?" Jim suggests. "Learn Romulan? Get Archer off our backs about the Cardassian thing?"

"I think all of those might take slightly longer than two days, sir," Sulu says.

"Nonsense, Mr. Sulu," Jim declares. "With you as a teacher, I feel confident that I can master anything between now and our next exciting mission of patrolling a dead area of space that hasn't been breached by the Romulans since Rome burned." Uhura shares a glance with Chekov and rolls her eyes.

"Or," Bones says, and folds his arms, "you could do the responsible things, and come down to sickbay to get your physical. I'm supposed to sign-off on you every three months, Captain."

"Bones, we've been over this—"

"Nevertheless, Captain," Spock cuts in, and Bones knows she's bored when she's deigning to jump in the middle of this well-worn argument, "it is standard procedure, and your superiors may not look kindly on your choosing to subvert protocol at will."

"Thanks a lot, Spock," Jim says. "I can always count on you to have my back, can't I?"

"I do not 'have your back,' nor any other part of your anatomy," Spock corrects, "but you are welcome, Captain." Bones could swear that her lips twitched just then, and he rocks back on his heels with a sense of smug satisfaction. It's probably not healthy, this fixation he has on catching every flicker of emotion that crosses Spock's face, but seeing that stoic Vulcan facade crack is worth the nagging doubts about his motivation.

"Captain," Uhura says, "we're receiving a message from...Deep Space Station K-7." She frowns and adjusts something on her board.

"Onscreen," Jim says lazily. The display flickers once and then the entire bridge bolts to attention as one. The tangle of hair, the cranial ridges—

"Hello, Kirk," the Klingon says.

It's surprising enough to receive a message from any Klingon, much less one calling from a Federation base—but the scene visible behind the Klingon is beyond startling: it's both all too familiar and all too sickening. Bones fights the urge to vomit as his system floods itself with adrenaline.

"Who are you?" Jim demands, but his eyes are tracking the carnage. Two bodies in science blue draped over a console, their abdominal cavities gaping, another in command gold with lieutenant's stripes glinting from blood-stained sleeves and half her face torn away, a pile of others in red, gold, civilian clothing—Bones counts eight, maybe nine visible corpses.

One is still twitching.

"My name is General Kordak, and you will address me as such," the Klingon says. He has a smear of blood on one cheek and some sort of yellow effluvia glinting from his hair, and in his eyes burns the sort of senseless and fanatic conviction Bones has seen only once before. He keeps himself from flinching, but just barely.

"General Kordak, what is the meaning of this," Jim grinds out.

"I have a message for your superiors." Kordak bares his teeth. "Tell them this: I hold in my command this station. If they wish to see the rest of your outpost's inhabitants alive, they will acquiesce to my...request."

"And what request is that?" Jim's all steely blue eyes now, and Spock crosses the bridge to stand at her captain's shoulder.

"Tell Starfleet command—" Kordak begins, and then, terrifyingly, smiles. "Tell them that I wish to know the secrets of Olduvai. Tell them I want the key to the twenty-fourth chromosome." The last thing they see is that flash of teeth; Kordak cuts the transmission, and the display goes blank.

"Lieutenant Uhura—"

"No use, Captain," Uhura says, one hand pressed to her ear. "He's filtering incoming signals—"

"Did we receive any distress signals from K-7?"

"No, Captain," Uhura says, and says something else, and Spock cuts in, and Sulu puts the ship on yellow alert, and all this Bones hears from far, far away; it's difficult to think past the rush of blood in his ears, past the throb of his heartbeat and the overwhelming tide of memories—

And he thinks of Sam.

"—a research facility stationed on Mars in the early 21st century, owned and operated by the Union Aerospace Corperation," Spock says. "Although my knowledge of Earth's history in that time is not extensive, I understand that the research was divided into archeology and weapons-development; however, UAC operated an illegal program that focused on genetic manipulation of human chromosomes."

"I remember that much from the Academy," Jim says, "but what would the Klingons—"

"Captain," Uhura says, "I have high command. Putting them onscreen."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Jim says, and then—thank God, Bones, thinks, it's Pike; at least they'll be talking to someone competent.

"Captain Kirk," Pike says. "What's the issue?"

"Sir, we just received a message from Deep Space Station K-7," Jim says. "The station has been captured by the Klingons."

The temperature on the bridge drops three degrees just from the chill that creeps into Pike's eyes. "Situation report, Captain."

"A general by the name of Kordak has taken K-7 by force. He claims that he'll relinquish control of the surviving prisoners if Starfleet gives him the..." Jim shakes his head. "The 'secrets of Olduvai,' he said."


"Olduvai," Jim confirms. "The carnage was—bad, Admiral."

"Enterprise," Pike says, "you are being recalled to Earth, effective immediately. Cancel all current operations and proceed home with all due haste. You will receive further instructions upon arrival."

"Uh—" Jim says, clearly caught off-guard. "Yessir."

"Good. Pike out," the admiral says—

But just before he signs off, his eyes bore into Bones for one endless second; and Bones has to wonder just how much the admiral knows. The weight of that gaze settles heavy on his shoulders.


Bones hands the rest of his shift off to M'Benga and retreats to his quarters. He considers drinking himself into a stupor, but that's never a good solution and the shipboard synthetic alcohol is shite, anyway. Jesus Christ.


Two centuries gone, and he still couldn't escape it. Olduvai: It took his parents, his team, in the end even his sister; he'd sacrificed countless nights of sleep and a marriage to the ghosts of Olduvai, he'd been running from Mars since before the Federation had even existed, and now some motherfucking Klingon digs the whole thing up again.

He slumps on the end of his bed and buries his face in his hands. He hasn't held a weapon since at least 2060; for the past—for however long, he's traveled from life to life as a doctor, re-enrolling in medical school as necessary, never staying in one place for more than a decade or two lest someone notice that he ages at one-fiftieth the rate of a normal human. And then he'd met Jossie, and he'd loved her, but it wasn't ever—

The door chimes; Spock is waiting on the other side. "Commander," Bones greets.

"Doctor. May I speak with you?"

"Sure, Spock," he says, and backs away. She steps just inside the door and stands almost at attention, hands clasped behind her back; she normally eschews the uniform skirt in favor of trousers, but when she does wear the skirt Bones is always struck by how slender she is. Tall, yes, and his equal or close to it in strength—but he could span her waist with both hands. She carries herself like an amazon; her presence is enormous.

"Doctor," Spock starts, "you reacted with unusual intensity to General Kordak's transmission." She pauses and shifts, and Bones can't get a lock on her—is she prying for information, or trying to offer comfort, or what? And he hadn't thought anyone noticed his slip up on the bridge; his lips compress as he waits for her to continue.

"I have further researched the Olduvai incident," Spock says, and pauses again, her eyes trying to cue Bones into speech. "You bear a remarkable resemblance to a Sergeant John Grimm, one of the only two survivors from the UAC Nevada facility.

"What's your point, Commander?" Bones says. He's weary.

"If the general reminded you of some ancestral tragedy, Doctor, I only wished to say—I grieve with thee."

Spock's words are formal, her bearing stiff; Bones isn't even sure the sentiment is culturally appropriate, given the circumstances, but he relaxes all the same. "Thanks," he says. "It isn't exactly what you're thinking, but—thanks."

Spock nods. "I trust you will be able to continue harassing the captain with no further distress."

And there she is: That bite, that quick mind, that sharp lick of humor it took him months to detect. "Get outta here, you green-blooded menace," he growls. She lifts an eyebrow and turns on one heel.

Despite himself, Bones cracks a smile.


He still hasn't stirred from his quarters when they drydock at San Francisco Fleet Yard. The call comes from Jim almost immediately: "Bones, they want us down there in fifteen minutes. You, too."

"Great, Jim," he mumbles, and then, "Fine. I'll meet you in the transporter room. McCoy out." The name rolls as easily off his tongue as the one he was born with, perhaps even more so. He doesn't bother with dress uniform.

Jim and Spock are already there when he arrives; Scotty tips them a nod and then throws a lever on his control panel, and Bones fights the lurch in his stomach. He learned to deal with Ark travel, and someday he'll get the hang of the damn transporters. Sam, he thinks, would laugh at him.

They're beamed down directly in front of the antechamber where High Command meets; Jim curses out loud, and Bones can't blame him—beaming directly inside a building, instead of outside or to a transporter pad, is bad manners. Jim straightens his tunic, Spock clasps her hands behind her back, and Bones takes up point at Jim's left. They enter together, united to the eyes of Starfleet's most senior officers.

And that's when the shit hits the fan. He knows they kept tabs on him. They had to have kept tabs on him, down through the years, but the one thing he never expected is this.

"Captain Kirk, Commander Spock," Nogura says, "we appreciate your haste. Doctor McCoy—" Again, Bones nearly flinches. "Doctor Grimm. You are being promoted, effective immediately, to the rank of colonel in the UFP Marines."

Stupidly, the first thing Bones thinks to say is, "I'm enlisted."

Nogura frowns at him and Pike's lips twitch, but it's General Aiko Madine who answers. "You have the necessary schooling, Colonel, and nobody can question your experience."

"With all respect, General," Bones says, and mirrors Spock's stance, "my service was to an organization that dissolved generations ago. I'm a doctor now."

"With all due respect, Colonel," she shoots back, "your allegiance is to an organization that still exists, if in a slightly altered form. You were never formally discharged, Grimm, and the Federation has been lenient in letting you do as you would for the past hundred years."

"Bullshit," Bones snarls.

The general leans forward, her glassy blue eyes aimed like lasers at his head. "Let me explain the situation, Doctor. Olduvai has been sealed since 2046. All information about the nature of the Olduvai incident is confidential to anyone but those with the Fleet's very highest security clearance. Somehow, the Klingons have discovered that information. Do you know what a Klingon injected with C24 could do?"

"I know," Bones says, "a hell of a lot better than you."

"Then you can appreciate the severity of the situation," Madine concludes. "You will be taking a team of UFP Marines to the Olduvai facility, along with Commander Spock; she is qualified to perform any necessary forensic examinations."

"I'm just as qualified—"

"And in the event one of you should become impaired, the other will be able to carry on. In addition, Colonel Grimm, your primary focus will be recon and security."

"Stop calling me that," Bones says, and then, "Christ, you think something's still alive up there?"

"We have good reason to believe so," Nogura says.

"The Enterprise will be stationed in orbit above Mars. If you or Captain Kirk give the order, Olduvai will be eliminated," Madine adds. "That is to be your last resort only."

"Jesus Christ," Bones swears again, because not only do they honest-to-God believe something's still alive up there—they haven't learned a single goddamn thing.

"Okay," Jim says, "what the hell is going on here?"


They hustle him away before he can explain, before he can do more than lock gazes with Spock as Madine steers him to a side door. He strips off his science tunic as he goes—the last thing he wants to do is meet a squad of marines he'll be commanding dressed in a Fleet uniform—and when Madine leads him down a hallway and into a brightly-lit conference room, his men are waiting.

He greets them in order of rank, does his best to impress upon his memory names and faces. There's Steve Rogers, the squad leader, and Tony Stark, his tech specialist; Peter Parker the whiz-kid and a sniper by the name of Kate Bishop, easily a decade younger than anyone but Peter; there's a rangy loner called LeBeau, and a massive tank of a man called Nathan with a white shock of hair, and a crack-up ex-mercenary that everyone but Nathan refers to as Deadpool.

"Colonel Leonard McCoy," he introduces himself, interrupting Madine in the process. She glowers at him, but he dares her, just dares her, to give these people the name of John Grimm. She hasn't told them anything; Bones will tell them everything, except that. He spends the next four hours going over mission objectives and Olduvai maps. Madine slides out at the beginning of hour two, but not before she calls him into the hall for a brief word.

"Look, McCoy," she says, with ill-grace. "I know this wasn't what you wanted—"

"No," he says. "And I won't be killing anyone, let me make that clear now. I serve an oath higher than those I swore to the Marine Corps two centuries ago."

Her mouth twists curiously. "I understand," she says. "Nor will you hesitate to do your duty. I've read about you, you know," she adds. "Everything we have on record. You were, by all accounts, the best we ever had, before you disappeared from the military. Command believes you are still the best we have."

He studies her with a flat, level gaze, takes in the streaks of gray in her red hair and the determined jut of her jaw and the calculating flicker that lurks in her eyes. "I'm not your savior," he says.

She meets his stare. "I don't expect you to be. You may not like me, Colonel, and I may be, shall we say, somewhat disappointed with your actuality—but for the time being, you do have to work with me."

He says nothing. After a moment she smirks and turns away.

She reminds him of Jocelyn, that one, and it isn't a good thing.


Spock is waiting for him in his office when he gets back to the ship. "Commander," he says, and pulls on his tunic.

"Doctor. You prevaricated to me. You are not a descendant of John Grimm, but rather Grimm himself."

"I...implied," Bones says weakly, but Spock narrows her eyes and he crumples. "Dammit, Spock, what do you want me to say?" He pushes past her and settles behind his desk.

"I do not 'want' you to say anything," Spock says. "I merely desire confirmation that you are, indeed, John Grimm. Command refused to reveal further information."

"Yeah, I'm him," he says. Spock twitches at his grammar.

"And you were injected with C24."


"The dossier from Starfleet notes that C24 is a physiological and neurological enhancer; I can only extrapolate that it not only speeds the healing process but also slows or arrests aging."

"Right again," Bones says.

Spock sits herself in front of him. "Doctor," she says, and he knows by that tone that she's winding him up for something. "I believe that it is hypocritical of you to confront me for my non-human characteristics."

The tension drains from his body. "Well, at least I don't look like a space elf," he retorts, just as his door slides open again. It's Jim, of course.

"Bones," he says. "I can call you that, right? I don't have to call you John? 'Cause, no offense or anything, it might get a little freaky to have a John and a Jim."

"You can call me Leonard," Bones says, for the thousandth time.

Jim grins. "Great! Bones it is. So when we get down to Olduvai—"

"When I get down to Olduvai," Bones corrects.

Jim tries to look confused and fails miserably; the shit-eating smile gives him away every time. "What d'you mean, Bones? I'm going with you."

"I thought you might say that," Bones says, and sighs at the inevitability.


And in the end, he goes home to the red planet. Olduvai the catacombs, Olduvai the tomb, Olduvai where he played with his sister in the crimson-tinged light of day; the air is musty and stale, the blood splatters on the walls as familiar to him as the back of his hand.

And in the end, he goes home.


Something is waiting.
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