Red Means Dead

Sleeping With Demons

I don't know what wakes me in the night but when I open my eyes, I can make out his features and see that he is watching me sleep, a fact he doesn't try to hide knowing I am awake. He reaches out and brushes some of my unruly hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear before resting his hand on my side.

"Sorry if I woke you, darlin'," he murmurs. His voice is thick with sleep, his accent heavy.

I run my hand down his chest and almost drift off once more. When I open my eyes again, I have curled my fingers into the hem of his shirt and hold a handful of it. He smiles softly at me when I look up at him and I can't help but smile back. "I haven't been sleeping well," I offer as explanation. "And you're hot and smell good."

He chuckles softly and I think about what I said. "I don't even care," I voice, knowing he understands.

He squeezes my hip and then licks his lips as he studies my face. His eyes are half-lidded and murky in the night but there is a darkness there not caused by the low lights. He runs his fingers through my hair and then cups my neck, feeling my pulse point and subconsciously sighing. "You scared me."

"I'm sorry."

His hand travels down my side again and spans the space between my hip and ribs, tugging me closer. I suddenly realize my shirt has ridden up in the night to just under my chest and that his warm palm is searing a brand into my skin. My breathing gets all funny, a fact he notices and he grips my side a bit tighter.

We lay in silence for a while, listening to each other breathe, McCoy moving his hand every now and then to rub my arm or cup my neck. It lulls me into a trance, I think I had even drifted off again when he starts speaking.

"You know you have me, right? You're not alone. I will always be here for you."

"I know. I think that's why I came here tonight. I like how I'm able to exist, to be when I'm with you. You make me feel whole."

"Whole, hunh? Even when you're putting me in my place?"

"Sorry for that."

"Don't be," he says with a soft chuckle.

We grow quiet again, his hand going still and resting on my hip. The weight is warm and welcome. It makes me feel slightly more whole and content, something I haven't felt in a very long time.

I think he has drifted to sleep when he murmurs, "I've got some pretty bad demons nippin' at my heels and I don't let too many people get close but you," he pauses and combs his fingers through my hair again. "You make things all right. You keep the demons at bay."

Running my hand up his arm, I ask if he wants to talk about it and he nods but asks for a minute to collect his thoughts. When he finally begins, his voice is rough with emotion. "My father had one of the last known incurables." The way he said the last word, the venom that laced it, makes me want to shudder but I bite my lip and hold my breath until he continues. "He pleaded with me to make the pain stop but I refused and I had to watch him suffer, fight for breath, be a shell of the man he once was. I eventually gave in and took him from life support and watched as he faded away." McCoy exhales but there is a word, a disease, laced in his breath, one that I know I have heard before but not as he described it.

"But there's a cure for that."

"They discovered it a short time later. Because of my research. And in the quiet times at night, when I just want to sleep, I can still hear the last raspy breath he took on his own and find myself wondering, couldn't I have done more for him?"

"Oh, McCoy. Oh my gosh. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"It's not easy for me to turn my back on a human life. I remember every life and death decision I've ever had to make."

"How do you do it and not go insane?"

He slowly exhales, a tear trails across his nose to the tip and I can't help but brush it away before caressing his cheek. His eyes close momentarily before he whispers, "I don't think I've been doing it very well. I do know one thing for certain, though. We might have been able to do more on Eris IV, but if faced with the same decision and the possibility, even the smallest one, of something happening to you, I'd make the same decision.

"I don't want you carrying the guilt anymore, Peaches. I was the C.O., it was my decision. Be angry with me, not yourself. My shoulders are wide and my back strong."

Tears start spilling from my eyes, they won't be contained.

He tucks his arm under my head and pulls me close to him and lets me cry.