The Rainsford Method

By Alone Dreaming

Rating: PG-13 or T for violence, blood and language

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek. If I did, this would not be posted under fan fiction.

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Language, References to an over-read short story

Author's Note: Just a piece of silliness that came out over the course of about an hour or so before I watched Little Miss Sunshine with my mother. I would say it was inspired by watching Jaws with my little cousins and it was though it has absolutely nothing to do with the movie at all. I had every intention of posting a much longer piece involving McCoy and Kirk but it's not quite done yet. So, here is my last piece before I officially wander off into the realm of no internet at my Aunt's beautiful cabin in the Smoky Mountains. I assure you I am going to keep writing. I just won't post for a while. As always, enjoy despite the grammar/lack of knowledge.

He thinks that being a ninja would be particularly useful right now but doesn't dare voice that to the Vulcan next to him lest he get some sort of logical, factual response. Besides, he's not had quite enough alcohol-- or blood loss since the alcohol-- to say completely goofy things yet and the adrenaline coursing through his veins is actually letting him keep a level head instead of forcing him into the realm of ridiculous scenarios. Or, rather, his mind into the realm of ridiculous statements; right now, he and Spock are stuck in one of the most ridiculous scenarios he's been in for a long time. Ridiculous might be a bad word for it-- he feels that it might be better to call it improbable, stupid, proof that humans, as a species, should probably all kill themselves after age seven. Ridiculous fits more because he's laughing at how they get stuck in these sort of situations, internally, because if he laughs out loud right now, he'll give away their position.

Spock tightens his hand around Kirk's arm, drawing him back into the real world, and raises an eyebrow at him. Kirk returns the eyebrow raise though his is nowhere near as accomplished as Spock's is. Spock can raise an eyebrow better than anyone else Kirk knows, combining grace and question in one swift movement. Someday, Kirk thinks he may ask Spock to teach him this ability so that he too can silently condescend on everyone around him. Right now would not be a good time for this as the person stalking them is only twenty feet from their position up the tree and preparing to strike. Spock motions up and they climb silently up the purplish squishy branches and soft, feathery leaves. Or Spock is silent; Kirk thinks he's rather loud.

They stop when they can climb no further and Spock once again latches onto Kirk's arm to steady him. Kirk gives him an indignant look but does not shrug off the hold. Better to be safe than sorry and right now, he's losing some blood. Combined with the fact that they are at least thirty feet in the air, he supposes it's better to let Spock treat him like a child. He can just barely see the person stalking them moving through the bushes, his hounds baying and tripping over themselves as they wander the trees. They'll stumble onto his blood anytime now and know that he and Spock came through. But, on the hopeful side, they may follow the false trail Spock set down instead of discovering the hiding place in the tree. That's what Kirk's hoping for as the hunter grows ever closer.

The lead dog, the one that Kirk had been playing ball with not so long ago, lets out a yelp and the who pack runs from their vantage point. Taken the bait, I see, Kirk thinks, leaning forward. Spock pulls him back into balance on the branch, clearly afraid that he's passing out or something. Kirk doesn't let himself get offended by this. It is a likely scenario even though he's fine at the moment. Really, he is fine. Besides, frustration at anyone but the hunter below them who is watching the dogs leave but not following would be a waste of precious energy. The hunter turns to the base of the tree that they're in and stoops down, examining something on the ground.

"I know you've laid a false trail with the blood," she shouts as she stands again. "Seeing as it's red, I am going to assume that Captain Kirk hit one of my traps. Too bad, I was hoping this hunt would last longer, but no matter. If you would like to keep trying to win this engagement, Gentlemen, you are free to try. I'll be retiring soon for the evening, once I round up the dogs. Be assured that, until you give in, Captain Kirk, your crew remains safe! Until tomorrow, adieu!"

And she leaves, humming a tune under her breath. Kirk watches her go, still silent. He knows that they will not descend for at least another hour, until the sounds of the hounds are long gone and there are no echoing footsteps following. Next to him, Spock shifts on the branch so he's straddling it, his hand still clenched on Kirk's arm. With his other hand, he reaches out to investigate the poorly wrapped gash decorating Kirk's upper hip and lower side. Kirk endures it, mostly because he can do little else. After all, it's his own fault that he got hurt. They both knew there was a trap; he got cocky and fell in. He's lucky that he didn't get completely impaled on the sharpened sticks on the bottom.

"Well, that's one bitch that's read The Most Dangerous Game one too many times," he mutters and then lets out a pained grunt as Spock applies pressure to the injury.

"Silence would be prudent right now," Spock says in return. So, he shuts up because not listening to Spock in the first place got them into this situation.

The Enterprise ran into troubles when the warp drives stopped working. Scotty was a genius but not a genius who could make things work without parts. While they were out of the reach of Starfleet-- Uhura had been having difficulties sending messages for the better part of three hours before the warp drives gave-- they'd been near an uninhabitable planet surrounded by privately owned moons. These moons, vacationed on by the obscenely rich families throughout the galaxies, were mostly vacant as it was out of season but one of them had responded to their distress signal and offered to allow them access to a communication device.

The trouble didn't start until they were actually on the planet and the woman who invited them down, young, hot and the type of person Kirk usually hunted in clubs, proved to be a complete psycho. She fed them, told them stories and then informed Kirk that the price of her hospitality was his entire crew. When Kirk laughed, she did not and he realized that she was serious. This had led to a bit of falling out which further led to their imprisonment and a bargain being drawn.

Again, he should have listened to Spock. It was Spock who had first said something was off about one Jenny Clermont and that Kirk should be careful in his dealings with her. But he'd been driven by testosterone and only seen a really nice ass and a pair of perfect breasts. He'd failed to noticed the stuffed sentient being museum she kept just south of the library. Spock's persistence on the subject of trust merely irritated him and eventually, he'd ignored his first mate all together. It wasn't until they were both lying hogtied in a bedroom, bargaining with the psycho bitch, that he grudgingly said he'd been a fool.

And now, he sits in an alien tree, trying not to shout as Spock causes him a great deal of pain. Spock has every right. He was an idiot-- still is.

"Why don't I listen to you more often?" he asks Spock between clenched teeth.

Spock is busily attending to him and does not answer immediately. "Captain, you handled the situation to the best of your ability. My opinion, as I look back, seemed irrational and driven without evidence. Combined with your obvious attraction to Ms. Clermont, I see our current situation as a culmination of unfortunate events. Had I spoken to myself as I did, I cannot say for certain that I would've chosen differently than you did."

"Still should've listened to you," he pants and then bites his lip.

"I agree," Spock says. Kirk knows he's not being an ass, just being a Vulcan, but it still rubs him the wrong way. "I am concerned about your injury, Captain."

Kirk doesn't answer because he's trying not to curse loudly. They are whispering, but God knows if he opens his mouth he's going to scream obscenities. He tentatively looks at Spock and sees blood welling between his fingers. Well, that sucks. He had thought they'd gotten it mostly under control but clearly, he was wrong. He tastes salty metal in his mouth and manages to remove his teeth from his lip before he bites all the way through it. Warmth trickles down his chin, but he's more focused on his grinding teeth.

"Not…much…we…can…do," he manages to say some minutes later. "The bitch has Bones and until we beat her, we'll have to make the best of it." The second sentences comes out in a jumble but Spock seems to understand. His response, anyway, makes sense in context.

"How do you suggest we win this battle?" he asks. Kirk sways on the branch and he raises a red stained hand to balance him. "Captain?"

"Do what Rainsford did," Kirk replies and when Spock gives him the confused eyebrow raise, he continues, "jump off a cliff."

Spock does not say anything. Instead, he maneuvers Kirk so that the man is resting against the tree trunk. The rubbery base feels strange against Kirk's back but it's support he desperately needs. His head's spinning from the combination of whiskey-- which he has in a flask he'd pilfered from Bones only twelve hours ago though it feels like years-- blood loss and rushing hormones. Sweat drips into his eyes, obscuring his vision briefly and he drags a hand across his face to relieve this problem. Spock is back to pressing against the injury which is hellish and shaking, Kirk pulls out the flash and downs another sip of the whiskey. It fortifies him a bit but also makes him feel slightly unstable.

"I would suggest not consuming anymore alcohol," Spock says. Kirk flicks him off and pockets the flask again. "And, as for your plan, I do not know who Rainsford is but jumping off a cliff does not seem to be either the most logical or the safest course of action."

"Rainsford is a character from The Most Dangerous Game," Kirk mumbles between slightly numb lips. The alcohol is taking away the worst of the pain but he admits it's muddling him. Maybe Spock is right. "He's getting hunted by this crazy Russian guy and in the end, he jumps off a cliff and the Russian guy thinks he's died. So, the Russian guy goes back to bed and Rainsford scales the wall of his house and fights him to the death in his own bedroom. Rainsford wins in the end. I think we should follow his example."

Spock blinks. "So, you are suggesting that we trick Ms. Clermont into thinking we've passed away in order to lower her defenses and force her to concede defeat in some manner?"

"In so many words, yes," Kirk says. "Got any ideas?"

There's rustling below them which shuts them both up immediately. Jenny Clermont reappears with her hounds, her machete in hand. The dogs are simpering, begging, but she's not paying attention to them. She walks below their tree, smiles up at it and then continues through the foliage out of sight. The dogs follow after her, two of them getting into a brief snip underneath a nearby bush. One of their thick, ropey collars gets left behind as they prance off behind their mistress.

Just like the Russian guy, Kirk thinks, wishing he could remember the story better. The Russian guy had underestimated Rainsford and Jenny is underestimating he and Spock. Yes, she has the weapons and all they have are their bare hands and the clothes on their backs but they also have something to fight for. Unlike Rainsford, they are fighting not only for their lives but the parts they need for their ship and the rest of the crew. If they do not succeed in this task, he does not want to think about what will happen to those still aboard the Enterprise or those waiting back at the house. It's a frightening prospect, one that will end badly for everyone. And Kirk refuses to let it happen. Jenny's good at what she does-- he has seen this first hand and knows that she's played this game many times before-- but she also only fights to defend her honor. People overestimate how much they'll fight in order to defend their honor.

At least the game is as simple as Rainsford's game was; they either make it back to the house before Jenny does one of these days or they die at her hand. The plan does not involve her dying, he noticed when they were told the rules, but she says they are free to try. He'd really rather not but if it gets down to it, he'll take her out. Yes, she's beautiful and witty and downright sexy in the way she holds a weapon; but if it's between his life and her life, he's choosing to live

"I am wondering," Spock says, startling him out of reverie. "How poorly are you feeling, Captain?"

He's dizzy, tired and pissed but he doesn't feel like dying and he tells Spock as such.

"I should think not," his first mate replies. "But, perhaps, it would be better to show her extreme weakness instead of death. She is overconfident, driven by pride. If we make her think she will get her kill, we will be able to take her down."

"Are you saying we'll use me as bait, Mr. Spock?" he asks.

"Indeed though it will obviously have to be more sophisticated than that," Spock tells him. "I suggest we find a place to go to ground. I doubt we will find any rest in this tree."

They don't plan much that night as Kirk falls asleep as soon as they find a small alcove to nestle into. Spock manages to stop the bleeding using the rope collar left behind by the dogs but Kirk's worn out from everything previous. It doesn't really matter. Spock does not sleep so he sits and watches and undoubtedly plans. When Kirk awakens to the throbbing pain in his side and the feeling of being overwhelmingly warm, Spock is sitting cross-legged and has worked out what they will do. The sun has not risen yet on the place but that is good. It gives them time to set up their strategy, which Kirk isn't precisely sure he likes, and put things in motion. It goes a bit slower than they expect considering Kirk's state which seems to have declined more than he would've expected overnight. He's dealing with a mild hangover and a very stiff and throbbing injury. Neither of those things are letting him be patient.

But, when dawn approaches and Spock disappears into the trees, the plan is ready. Kirk sprawls out, admiring the branches and the green sunrise. He wants some of the whiskey still swirling about in the flask but doesn't dare drink it. Right now, he's liable to pass out again with the least bit of encouragement and knows that alcohol will not help things. It may help with the pain, which has only worsened as he's exerted himself, but it won't help with his coherence. He needs to be sharp to make sure something doesn't go wrong with this already risky plan.

In the distance, the hounds are howling and he lets himself slouch down onto the ground. His head hits his chest, his eyes close and he prays to whatever gods might be watching over the universe that he doesn't actually fall asleep. He knows that Jenny won't take too much time but he's getting woozier by the second and figures it's best to be on the safe side. He and Spock interact far too often with Murphy's law to assume that everything will go perfectly. Personally, throwing himself off a cliff sounds like a safer idea at the moment.

The first dog reaches him, but doesn't attack. It trots up and stands close. He can feel its hot breath against his arm but is careful not to move. These dogs are friendly, he's seen it himself, but they are also hunters. Not to mention, he doesn't want to break character with the hunter herself so close to him. Jenny Clermont has hunted many a person; he'll have to be tricky to get her and being tricky includes fooling her dogs. Another dog comes and then another until finally he's surrounded by the pack. Then, he hears boots on the soft grass of the forest and knows that Jenny is close, maybe within viewing distance. A moment later, he feels the cold steel of the machete under his chin, and, despite his wariness, allows for his neck to flop against it.

"My, my, my," she drawls. "And here I thought you would be a challenging hunt, Captain. I read up on you last night. You've gotten out of some very hairy situations in the past. I would've thought this would be simple for you."

He allows himself a small groan and a bit of a twitch as a reply.

"I also thought your Vulcan friend would not leave you here. After all, the deal says that you both have to make it back to the manor alive in order to win. Beyond the deal though, I got the impression he actually cared about you. But it looks like I was wrong."

He lets his eyes flutter and has them open just a crack. Between his lashes he sees her standing just in front of him, dressed in camouflage that matches their surroundings flawlessly, a pair of handsome sunglasses decorating her face. Her long, thick hair's tied back and her makeup is limited to a bit of lip gloss. Damn hot bitch, he thinks, even as he loathes her. Too bad. Too bad. He pretends to not understand what's going on and lets out another groan. She buys it which says to him that he looks pretty bad. Jenny knows the death throes of prey; he heard all about it over their dinner together before she proposed the game.

"With me, Jimmy-lad?" she asks, forcing his head up with her blade.

He lets his voice slur, skip, grate. "Unfortunately."

She smiles. "You know what's going on?"

"Yeah, 'm winning," he mumbles.

"I think you got that wrong, buddy. I'd hate to say it, but I think I've won. Again. Predictably."

"Really?" he lets himself sound disoriented.

She seems a bit disappointed by this. The blade leaves his throat, hovering by the injury on his side instead. He sees her pretty face crunch into a frown. "Yes, really. Do you even know what's going on?"

"Playing hide'n seek. Mom said gotta be back for dinner, though," he swallows, "S'time for dinner?"

There's a moment of silence followed by. "Well, this is more disappointing than I expected," Jenny says. "I'd've liked you to be coherent when I shot your friend out of the tree and killed you both but I guess, I'll just have to deal with what I have."

There's a loud bang, like the sound of metal against metal, and the sound of something falling out of the tree above him. His heart goes into his throat and he finds himself breaking character despite his best attempts to remain still. His head jerks with the sound and his eyes open wide, just in time to see Spock tumble from the tree. His second in command hits the ground hard and does not get up. He takes in a little gasping breath of concern, knowing that a fall like that would hurt anyone, even a Vulcan. In Jenny's hand is an old fashion gun, burly and uncivilized, but clearly effective. He thinks he can see green blood oozing out of Spock.

"Get your attention?" she asks, eyes filled with satisfaction.

He blinks owlishly, hoping he's not given too much away. "You shoot a bird or something?"

"A big, hovering Vulcan who thought he could outsmart me," Jenny replies. "But, soon, you won't have to worry about it."

"Did," Kirk says to her.

"I'm sorry?"

"Did outsmart you," Kirk corrects. "Spock's pretty bright."

And Spock springs up, catching Jenny in the chin with his head and knocking the gun and sword from her hands. She's stunned but manages to get back to her feet, the dogs milling about her. One starts to go towards Kirk's throat but he dives onto the dropped pistol. Bringing it up, he shoots the dog, wincing as it falls to the ground whining. The other dogs back off as their leader lies there, not used to this sort of violence being enacted upon them. They can hunt and they can corner but Kirk doubts they've ever had a weapon fired at them. He sags back down, feeling strangely spent for having done so little, and watches as Jenny matches Spock blow for blow. It's a beautiful fight, he thinks, as he watches the two of them dance. Jenny's well-trained and Spock is well, Spock.

And because of that, Jenny is soon unconscious due to the Vulcan Nerve Pinch and Spock is still standing. He's scratched up, bruised, but Kirk cannot see a bullet wound. There's a distinctive limp as he walks away from the young woman on the ground and grabs the machete where she left it. The dogs cower at his feet, simpering, licking at his boots. Kirk gives him a once over as he gets closer just in case he's missed something but still, he can find no bullet holes.

"I thought she actually got you," he says as Spock helps him to his feet. He sways a little, feeling woozy. The world blackens momentarily and he sinks downward again only to have an arm wrap around him. His vision clears, though it remains grey at the edges and he grimaces at the pain he's feeling.

"I intended on conveying such," the Vulcan replies, making sure Jim is steady on his feet before pulling away. His brows knit as Jim shakily pulls a sip from the flask. "It appears as though our Rainsford method was successful because of it."

Kirk nods. "Yeah, I'd say this was some mighty fine work, Commander." He takes a graceless walk over to Jenny who's out cold. "What'll we do with her?"

Spock joins him and they both look down at her. "My first instinct would be to give her the treatment she intended on giving us," Spock says, as one of the dogs creeps over to her and kisses her on the face. "But further thought makes it appear an unduly harsh punishment."

"She hurt me, Spock," Kirk whines, pointing to the bloodied bandages wrapped around his side. They aren't even bandages, really, but ripped up pieces of tarp that had covered the pit he'd fallen into. "Look. See."

Spock gives him the eyebrow again. "I am well-aware of the physical harm she's given you and attempted to give me. But her lack of mental stability makes her unable to be held accountable for her actions."

Kirk glares at Spock but decides he's right. Clearly, years of almost total isolation have gotten to Jenny Clermont's brain and one too many reads of old Earth literature. He cannot hold this against her when he really gets down to it. Anyone with even a hint of sanity wouldn't actually charge lives for a simple call to Starfleet. Jenny's just been bored to the point of craziness; he knows he's been on the verge of doing stupid shit (and, well, has done stupid shit) when he hasn't had enough to keep himself occupied.

"Yeah, I guess," he says allowed. And then, "And she's kinda hot."

"Her attractive features do not influence my decision," Spock informs him. He squats down and swings her up onto his shoulder.

"Sure they don't. Come on, say it, she's hot and that's why you don't want to kill her."

"Captain, I--"

He's in a ridiculous situation, he decides, as they bicker all the way back to the mansion and release those who they brought with them from the various bedrooms. Even as he's forced to sit down by an irate McCoy, he decides that all of this is very unusual, even for them. But, he's learned as a Starfleet Captain that unusual is just a part of the game, that laughably stupid and dangerous situations are always a breath away. He just wishes that they'd happen to them a little less often.