Tarsus IV – During the massacre.
"As a community—as a people, we need money to exchange goods—for food. Now money as a way of exchange may have been abolished years ago, but we will need it to survive. We must trade. And to do that, our traders want something in return for their money. And that would be…your insignificant bodily parts."
There were sounds of gasping and muttering throughout the crowd that had gathered to hear what Kodos had to say. Some muffled cries were heard in the distance.
"As for the children- we will not ask them to participate in such a…traumatic event. So, to ensure that they remain unscarred, I have developed a plan. The children who still have the teeth from their childhood will have them pulled. Upon entering adolescence, a new tooth will form. They will remain unscathed."
The mutters and cries grew louder as parents were desperate to protect their children.
Or for Jim Kirk, he was desperate to protect his kids.
"Don't worry, I won't let them hurt you," he whispered as the younger ones began to cling onto him in terror. How he was going to stop them was another plan, but false hope was better than no hope—for this situation at least.
3 days later.
Jim were planning with his kids a plan to escape. They were first planning to run to the forest at night, where security was lacking the most, and take as much food as they can with them.
Jim of course would give up all his food for them.
Their meeting abruptly came to an end when a soldier burst into their tent, practically ripping it at the seams and reaching for Jim.
All of his kids screamed and shuffled back, but he didn't cry out; he didn't want to scare them more than they already were.
He was the victim this time, and that was okay. His kids were safe. That was okay.
"Come on, little boy," the soldier hissed in his ear, hauling him over the shoulder.
Instinctively, he struggled, and when out of visual range of the tent, he kicked and thrashed around, being that his kids couldn't see him weak. "You know where we are going, don't you?" he had an accent that Jim couldn't quite put his finger on, probably having come from Earth. He certainly looked human.
"Yeah, I know where the fuck you're taking me," Jim spat, beginning to kick around again. More and more children were being taken and returned with tons of missing teeth; part of Kodos' exchange plan.
"It will be quick, do not worry. You are child, we give you slice of bread after completion."
Jim rolled his eyes, trying to twist his neck into the right position so he could bite into the soldier's arm or something. But he was covered head to toe in uniform.
He was taken into a damp room, one single light hanging from the ceiling. It looked almost like a ward, rows of cubicles fitted across the room, perhaps about six of them, except instead of beds there were what appeared to be dental chairs. But apparently, he would be given food for this. And that would mean more food to give to his kids. So, he went along with it.
For my kids, I'll do anything, he encouraged himself, I can feed them if I do this.
He was led towards a chair, and he tried and successfully managed to keep his anxiety at bay. As usual, towards the staff, he came off as an uncaring, rebellious, difficult son of a bitch that was hard to control. So, it surprised them when he quickly sat down, lay back and just told them to 'get on with it'.
Someone strolled in and sat down beside him, no greeting, not even looking him in the eye. The man quickly grabbed something from under the bed, and pulled it up and over his body, realising they were restraints.
it couldn't hurt that bad, could it…?
"OK, little man, you will remain very still, otherwise it will hurt much more." The 'doctor' informed him, grabbing something from the tray and bending over his mouth. "You open your mouth now, or I will make you open your mouth."
Jim shuddered in the chair; the only thing he could see above him was the ceiling and the hovering doctor. He felt so god damn vulnerable, lying on his back on a dental chair at the mercy of this supposed 'doctor' that was going to pull half his teeth out.
The doctor glared at him, but he once again remained silent and refused.
"Open your mouth right now, little man, or else!"
Jim shrugged, remaining his eye-locked on the ceiling.
His rebellious act of course was not well taken, as there was a disgruntled grunt and the clang of something being grabbed from the tray, before something was being stuffed into his mouth, forcing his jaw to open.
"There you go. Good boy. Now you will receive the food after all."
Jim tried to mouth curses and insults at the doctor but failed miserably through the gag.
All of a sudden, a loud cry from the cubicle next to him brought him out of his unruly state; everything hit him at once and he was terrified. Pretty much all of his teeth were about to be removed, without anaesthetic, and it was going to hurt.
"No, stop!" he tried to shout through the gag, as a tool descending towards him mouth. He struggled in the restraints, kicking, fighting, shouting, until a high-pitched whirring hit the air, followed by a sudden wave of pain as the metal hit his gumline.
Jim thrashed, screaming curses at the doctor, his vision blurring and distorting through the pain, his body threatening to lose consciousness.
"Stop! Stop! Stop! Please! Stop! Stop—I'll do any—Stop! Please! Pleeeease! Pleeeease! Pleeeease!" he begged, sobbing at the endless pain.
"Shut up, you pathetic child!" the man almost shouted over the noise of the drill, purposefully hitting his gum just to make it cry out again as 'punishment'.
Then the noise stopped, and the doctor reached over to the tray again, returning with a pair of tweezers. Jim gripped his little fingers around the chair, his nails digging into the rubber as he waited for the impending pain.
Sure enough, the tweezers clamped over his incisor and he screamed, thrashing and begging like a tortured animal, before the tooth was finally yanked out and dropped onto a tray.
"Good boy. Let's see…" the doctor peered over his mouth again, counting something with the instrument in his hand. "Seven more to go."
Jim tensed up in the seat, shaking his head frantically, "No. No—not again, please, it hurts, you don't understand! It hurts, I swear you don't have to give me any food just stop! You—you don't have to feed me again! P-please! Please—pl—agg!" his cries were halted when the drill was inserted into his mouth again.
White hot pain dug into his mouth like being stabbed with a million poisoned needles, like having your hand slashed with a knife, slowly, over and over.
Seconds later, he passed out.
…
Current time, on the Enterprise.
Jim protectively curled his fingers around his abdomen, gazing up at the reflection in the mirror.
What stared back at him was a pale man, an unshaven stubble forming, his hair looking like he hadn't washed it in weeks. He honestly looked like someone Starfleet grabbed a homeless guy from the streets and plonked him in a command chair.
It was hard to sleep, with the constant aching pain in his abdomen; dull, but it was there, and it was all he could think of whenever he shut his eyes.
Any normal person what have sought out medical help by now, but not Jim. He felt sick all the time—when was the last time he ate?
Doctor McCoy had managed to find and drag him aside, lecturing him on his terrible eating habits, and Jim had promised to eat more. But screw that, he'd throw up anything, even a grain of rice.
His next physical was today. He was absolutely dreading it. He'd put it off five times, rescheduling it, delaying and finding excuses, even lied about being in a conference with Starfleet before McCoy caught him laying on his bed with his PADD doing absolutely nothing. Now there was no excuse.
It felt like he was dragging his feet on the floor on the way to the bridge. The persistent aching in his chest wouldn't leave him alone, pulsing and begging to be noticed.
Jim angrily thumped his fist into his chest, wincing at the pain that flared up.
"Fuck off!" he hissed to himself, to the pain that could not hear him, "Just fuck off for five minutes!"
The pain didn't listen to him, all the way onto the bridge. He sat down on the chair, making eye contact with everyone to not cause any alarm, desperately holding both hands at his sides. How he was going to make it through today was a mystery.
"Good morning, Captain," Spock said—the only person that had actually greeted him. Perhaps everyone was suspicious; in fact, looking around at their faces, they all seemed concerned.
Why? It wasn't like he was holding his chest or giving away any obvious signs.
Regardless…
"Morning Spock," he croaked out, grimacing at how weak he sounded.
"Am I right in assuming that you have a scheduled physical today?"
Great, so he was suspicious.
"Uh, yeah, I guess."
"At what time?"
God, go away, go away, leave the fucking matter alone, Jim internally begged, leaning back on the chair and trying to straighten himself up to look more 'captain-y".
"At ten hundred hours," he muttered back to the pushy Vulcan. He knew what was coming next…
"Then, you will be late if you do not leave within the next eighty-seven seconds," Spock retorted in an almost bossy tone.
I know that. I know that. "Fine, Spock, uh… you take the bridge."
God, he really didn't want to go. But he didn't want to raise suspicions by refusing to go for the sixth time that month. Everyone was looking at him funny anyway.
"Of course. Good luck, Captain."
Jim had stop himself from spitting "I don't need luck," at the Vulcan in a vicious tone, but made it out into the turbolift successfully.
Upon turning around, everyone, everyone on the bridge was staring at him. He shuddered.
"Sickbay." He ordered the controls, unhearing of the confirming beep and the doors hissing shut.
As soon as he were on his own, he instinctively gripped his chest again.
God, it hurt, it hurt so fucking bad. It felt like there was something in his chest, waiting to explode. He wanted it to stop, but he didn't want a physical. He didn't want to go to sickbay. And he didn't want to be lectured by McCoy for letting it get this bad.
The doors hissed open, revealing the corridor to sickbay—only six doors down.
He still had time to run. His deck was a floor down, he could run back into the turbolift, retreat to his quarters and stay there for an hour, pretend he had the physical and come back to the bri—
"Captain!"
Jim didn't notice Chapel appear around the corner of the curved corridor.
"Uh, hey," he muttered, wondering if she heard him, slowly making his way to walk up to her. "Sorry, um, am I late?"
Stop sounding so insecure and pathetic, you're the Captain. Act like it.
"No, you're right on time, come on in," Chapel offered a welcoming smile, gesturing her hand inside the room, knowing Jim would probably run away if she went in first. "I'll just get McCoy for you—"
"No, wait!" Jim shouted suddenly, causing some alarmed heads inside sickbay to pop up. He didn't mean to do that…
Chapel gave him a questioning look.
"Sorry…sorry, I just—we've had a falling out, haha. I'd rather be seen by someone else, if that's okay?"
He trusted Bones. He really did. But he did not want him doing the physical on him right now.
The impending lectures and chastising for neglecting his health were too much to handle.
Not that he'd be telling anyone that.
"Oh, uh, sure, you're the Captain. As long as you actually have your physical, it's fine. You're not getting out of this one!" Chapel joked, leading him towards the nearest biobed and quickly drawing the curtains. "I am the only one on duty though, so it's either me or McCoy."
Jim nodded, "You'll do."
Chapel was better than McCoy at this point. He was almost frightened to be examined by McCoy. He had no idea why, it made no sense. Nothing had happened between them—hell, he'd lied about having an argument. But the thought of it made his nausea worse.
He felt his legs shaking, and he sat down on the biobed quickly.
"You feeling okay, Captain? You don't look so good," she said idly, pulling over a tray of equipment and setting the bio-monitors up. "Let me just get your allergy list up here…"
Jim shrugged, not wanting to admit how truly shit he felt.
"I'm good, just had some trouble sleeping, is all."
Chapel smiled, tapping away on the monitors, "Starfleet negotiations keeping you up?"
So, McCoy didn't tell her that Jim had lied about that. Well, at least he was able to keep some secrets.
"Something like that," Jim lied, gripping his shirt and yanking it off in one go. "Just hurry up so I can leave, I'm needed on the bridge."
Chapel rolled her eyes, reading off the charts that began displaying, and her smirk turned into a frown.
Jim knew he was dead right there and then.
She picked up a scanner, hovering it over Jim from head to toe, then moved back up to his abdomen and chest again, watching the monitor as it fed back the results.
Jim heard a quiet sigh, a sigh of stress, and then watched as she placed the scanner down. His anxiety was building by the second. He wanted to run. But he didn't know why. It's just a routine physical.
Chapel sat down, pulling up Jim's black undershirt, "I'm just gonna have a feel of your stomach," she murmured, looking mighty concerned.
I'm so screwed I'm so screwed I'm so screwed…
"Have you been feeling nauseous, fatigued, any pain or shortness of breath?"
Jim clenched his fingers tighter into a ball, "Um, yeah to everything except shortness of breath."
"Where abouts is the pain?"
Jim took his fist and hit it against his chest. "Fucking there. All the fucking time. It doesn't fucking stop!"
Chapel exhaled and reached over to get another scanner, "Why didn't you say anything?"
Jim slammed his head back on the bed in frustration. "I don't know!"
"Is this why you were avoiding all your physicals?"
"I wasn't avoiding all my physicals!"
"Uh-huh. Wait here, I need to get McCoy—"
"No, Christine, please!"
Chapel froze in front of the curtains and spun back around.
"Why not?"
Jim folded his arms together and let out a shaky breath.
"I just don't. I don't know why, I just… I don't, okay?"
Chapel sighed, aborting her previous plan to fetch the CMO and sat beside him.
"Jim, you need—"
"Yes, I know, don't say it." He interrupted her, not wanting to accept the facts. He'd left it for too long, and he knew what was going to happen next time he got a check-up, and he wasn't wrong.
"As McCoy is your surgeon, he needs to kn—"
"He doesn't need to fucking know!"
Chapel clamped her mouth shut, trying to think of her next words. She gazed at him for a while, then at her own hands, and sighed.
"Jim, I don't know why yet, but your right kidney is failing."
Jim squeezed his eyes shut. "I fucking knew it was something like that."
"You shouldn't even be up and walking around, let alone in command right now."
Jim shook his head. He didn't want to believe it. He tried to ignore it and run away—something in his gut was telling him, you're gonna need surgery, you're gonna need surgery, and he was right.
He hadn't had surgery since…since Tarsus. Regardless of his reckless behaviour, his tendency to leap before looking—he was swiftly able to avoid any surgical intervention to his injuries thanks to the advances of medical technology.
But not this time.
"I'm not having it." Jim stated firmly, set on the fact that no-one was going to change his mind.
"Jim, if you don't have this surgery, your prognosis is looking very very dim. You'll eventually die."
"That's Captain to you," he hissed, rolling onto his side to avoid looking at her, "And exactly, I will eventually die, like everyone else. It's fine."
There was a long tense pause, before he felt a hand on his shoulder a few seconds later.
"What's gotten into you? I thought Captain fearless wasn't afraid of anything?" Chapel joked, trying to lighten the mood.
Jim let out a shuddery sigh, shaking his head in disbelief.
"This is modern medicine. Can't you do something else?"
"Modern medicine lets us make you grow a new kidney. But we need to remove the misfunctioning one first. There was a time where you'd be on dialysis for the rest of your life. Let us help you." Chapel's voice was gentle and understanding, not rough and angry like McCoy was. If he was having this conversation with Bones right now, he probably would have sedated him right there and then and dragged him into the OR against his will.
"I'm not having any surgery. Ever." Jim protested. The thought of it was terrifying. The last time he had surgery, it was…it was terrifying. He didn't want that again. Not ever.
"I'm afraid you'll have no choice, Jim."
"Can't you do something else!?" he cried out, his voice breaking. Jim flushed red in embarrassment. Shit. Act like a Captain. Act like a Captain.
"You left it for too long…sir. If we caught it early, we could repair it using an organ regenerator. But you've avoided all your physicals because you didn't want us to find out, and now the damage is too severe."
Jim didn't reply. He was not having surgery and that was final.
"Jim, let me go get McCoy."
"No! Just—fuck off and leave me alone! I'm not letting any one of you touch me! Get out of here, that's an order!"
Chapel, having no choice but to obey the order, stood up instantly and yanked the curtains back roughly, obviously in anger. If it was the CMO in here, Jim could shout at and harass orders all he wanted, but McCoy's authority could override Jim's.
As soon as Chapel was out of sight, Jim jumped up from the bed and darted out the curtains, and out the door before anyone could even lay eyes upon him.
…..
Back on the bridge, having now convinced everyone that he was fine following having the physical, everyone seemed a little more relaxed.
"We should reach Aljez VI in about half an hour, Captain," Sulu reported from his station.
Jim nodded, his brain completely fogged up with anger, "Thanks helm."
Spock was giving him the look from across the room, and Jim was doing his best to avoid it.
So, he tried to distract him instead.
"Spock, you want to decide on the landing party for this away mission?"
A surprised raised eyebrow happened upon the Vulcan, "Captain, that duty is for you to decide. I cannot determine who—"
"C'mon, Spock!" Jim smiled widely at him, "Just this once, you can decide this time. I mean it has to be me, you and McCoy," he did his best to avoid stuttering at McCoy's name, "But you decide the final person."
Spock paused for a second, but relented. "Very well. I choose Ensign Regaz. Considering the mission is of the historic research nature, I believe the Ensign has an admirable track record of knowledge in the area, and would provide him a good opportunity for real experience."
Jim grinned; Spock was starting to pick up on the opportunities for everyone deal that Jim was going with, rather than the old best people only that most other ships went for.
"That's a good choice," he replied, but then frowned as his PADD beeped.
A new message?
He swiped it, and sure enough, a new message.
From McCoy.
His heart dropped. Shit. Chapel had ratted him out to Bones?
Reluctantly, he opened the message.
"11:34.
Sender: Chief Medical Officer Doctor McCoy.
Message: Christine told me everything, Jim. She hadn't even managed to complete your physical before you ordered her to leave and bolted out yourself. I'm pissed that you let it get to this point. Maybe now you'll start to listen to your doctor?
You're scheduled in for the surgery tomorrow at 1300 hours, under me. You can't order it off and you can't bloody condemn yourself to death and refuse it, because I have the authority to override your damn orders. You better show up, or I'll get Spock to throw you over his shoulder and march you down here himself. Quit being such a baby. It'll be over before you know it.
McCoy."
Jim shakily turned the PADD off, and placed it aside.
All of a sudden, the nausea swelling around in his gut had become ten times worse. A lot worse, in fact.
He glanced up to Spock, desperate to make eye-contact. He needed out, now. He was too busy looking into the scanner.
In a desperate attempt to get Spock to hear him, Jim made a very quiet moan at the back of his throat. Quiet in human standards anyway.
Spock glanced up, having been able to just about hear the noise, then turned to Jim. Upon realising the Captain's needy stare at him, he cocked his head to the side in question.
Jim just shook his head at him, hoping the motion and the fact that he was probably as pale as a sheet gave something away.
Almost instantly, Spock stood up out of his seat and approached Jim.
"The Captain and I have a matter to attend to. Mister Sulu, take the conn."
Surprisingly, nobody acted negatively in response to that. Either that or they were doing a very good job at hiding their worry.
"Aye sir," Sulu replied, Kirk and Spock taking off out to the turbolift in silence.
As soon as the doors closed, Spock looked Jim up and down. He was scarily pale, with a slight hitch in his breath, likely from trying to quell a panic attack. His eyes looked wild, terrified.
"What is the matter, Jim?"
Jim shook his head again, stepping backwards until his back was against the wall.
"What the hell's the matter with me?" he croaked, sliding down the wall until he was on the floor, hugging his knees up to his chest.
Spock hesitated for a moment, but approached him, kneeling beside him.
"Do you require Doctor McCoy?" he asked, knowing full well Jim was going to refuse.
"No—no way. No, I don't need him. I just—need to get a few minutes break you know? Why don't we have breaks on the bridge? Why do we have full 12-hour shifts?" Jim was on the verge of hyperventilating at this point.
"Is there something about the mission that upsets you?"
Jim sucked in a deep breath, and closed his eyes as he let out a shuddering exhale.
"No… no, Spock, sorry. I just… haven't been sleeping well, that's all," Jim excused himself, "My mind's a little foggy" he chuckled, shifting himself so he could stand up again.
But Spock wasn't convinced.
"Captain, you have been tired before and have not needed a break."
Jim clenched his fists together, ducking his head and trying to keep his breathing under control. His head was swimming, and white dots were clouding his vision.
"I'm gonna be sick."
…
A/N: Weird place to leave it, huh? Lol. I think this is gonna be either 2 or 3 chapters, not sure yet, but I need a break from writing Sectioned. If you can, please guide your cursor to the comments section or the fav/kudos button and acknowledge the reading that I have presented to you.