Nicholas: First time in this fandom and I'm scared...*shiver with sifty-eyes*...Anyway, this is basically a draft. Something that I wanted to get out there while I was still breathing. I'm still working out the kinks and writing up the rest of it, so don't be surprised if I quickly take this down or forget about it completely. I do that a lot...sorry T_T
Disclaimer: Gene Roddenberry was the genius. I can't lay claim to Star Trek. Nor can I Spock. I'm pretty sure Leonard Nimoy has Spock--somewhere in the vast, amazing confines of his mental processes.
Rating: M...believe me. If I finish this it WILL be M. Capture, torture, bondage, non-con slash, dub-con slash...I think you can count on most everything taboo at this point. I'll update the warnings later. Nothing much in this part besides mentions of torture.
"Captain?"
The vaguely humanoid-shaped blob lying on the other side of the room—or cell, rather—stirred. With a rustle of fabric, the man pushed himself up from the hard, stone floor and squinted into the darkness. "Mr. Spock, is that you?"
Pale skin stretched taught over Spock's familiar face and glowed slightly in the limited light. A soft shimmer clung at his black hair and curled around the points of his ears. "Yes, Captain," he said with that deep voice of his.
"What are you doing here, Spock? I was under the impression that I was alone here." Kirk's smile quickly faded with the idea that yet another of his crewman had fallen prey to whatever had gotten him.
"My intention was to come to your aid, Captain," the Vulcan explained, "I had extensive and detailed scans of the area in which you disappeared and I believed that perhaps I could locate you. It appears, unfortunately, that I was correct."
Sitting back, Kirk leaned his head against the wall and sighed. "What happened to Ensigns Lewis and Marquez?" he asked wearily.
"Currently, I am under the impression that they either contacted the ship and thus returned to safety there, or they were captured by the same beings that captured us." Spock moved, dragging his arm into his lap as if it were completely limp. As he stared at it, his hand twitched, fingers alive with a mind all their own."I now realize my error. I did not understand the risk, nor did I take the proper precaution of discerning these life forms to be hostile. It appears that by making my top priority your rescue, I had acted illogically. And no doubt have I jeopardized the lives of Lewis and Marquez and also lost temporary use of my arm."
"Yes, I felt a similar effect when they brought me here," the captain muttered. "It wears off quickly, don't worry."
Spock looked up with a curious expression. "I can assure you, Captain, that I would not continue to make further mistakes by allowing myself into the weakened, emotional state of anxiety."
"Of course, Mr. Spock, of course." With that, Jim said nothing else. He found himself with an almost irresistible curiosity about the man before him. In any other circumstance, he would have delighted in prodding at Spock's rare admittance of fallacy. Oh, how he wanted to do just that, but now wasn't the time.
A loud clang sounded through the echoing blackness around them. Captain Kirk jumped, his nerves were shredded from mere hours of this cat and mouse between himself and his captors, whoever they were. Had he had them, cat ears would have flipped upright on his head. "Spock?"
"Calm yourself, Jim," Spock assured him. His tone remained level and analytical—since it can't very well be calm. "You are emanating anxiety to a practically poisonous degree. Being in such close proximity with you in this slightly weakened state makes the sensation quite apparent and a bit nauseating."
Now the captain was a little more than just on edge. "Oh really?" he snapped bordering on vicious. "I must have been in this hole a day now. Of course I'm anxious, damn it. It's a human thing that keeps my race equal if not superior to you damn Vulcans in the sense of self-preservation."
Both of Spock's dark, slanted eyebrows bent slightly and furrowed together in confusion. On the rare occasions that Jim was uncontrollably irritated, he had never directed it on an entire race, and especially not on Spock. This was an alarming insight into the fragility of Human sanity in such a situation as this. Like always, Spock did not allow the remark to affect him on a personal level.
"Technically, you have been here for approximately 1.56 days on the planetary scale. If I have angered you, it was not my intention. I simply meant to inform you that your apprehension can in no way alleviate the unpleasantness of this situation.
The captain sighed again—a vastly exhausted sound—and ran a hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry," he muttered. It wasn't in his nature to act aggressively toward a friend and not immediately beg forgiveness. "The dark is getting to me, along with those noises. You know that I hold enormous respect for you, forgive me for snapping at you, you don't deserve it."
With a quick nod, Spock shrugged off the tiny annoyance he felt and would never admit to. "It's quite alright. Sometimes I forget how human you are, but I understand that you must be under and enormous amount of stress. Have you slept at all?"
"No."
Laying down on his side, Jim face the vague shape of his tall, gangly First Officer, cramped into the corner of the tiny, stone room. Even sitting it would be hard for the Vulcan to straighten his back, and unless he wanted to kick the captain in the side, stretching his legs out was a no go area. Whoever had built this place obviously didn't have comfort in mind.
"That clanking noise is a regular occurrence," Jim went on, "sometimes it is loud, sometimes it's quiet."
"Could be purposeful sleep deprivation," the other suggested thoughtfully. "That is a very old, very Human form of torture, however."
"Well, if it is, it's working."
A thoughtful, methodical hum arose from the pale, shadowed face by the bars. This situation was slowly rearing the reality of its ugly head. After worrying about Jim incessantly for an imperceptible number of hours—another thing that he'll never admit to—he'd finally found him. Unfortunately, he was now prisoner as well of these strange aliens, and what's worse: he knew very little about his captors or their capabilities. They had knocked him unconscious telepathically, if the numbness in his arms or the slowness in his nerves was any testimony. However, other than that, there creatures were a mystery.
First things first, he mused in his head. "Captain, you need sleep. I am perfectly aware that you remained active all through the night before we beamed down as well. Being that you are human, you need it more than myself. If you'd like, I can adjust your mind state to make it easier to rest."
"Put me in a trance, Mr. Spock?"
"Essentially…yes, Captain."
Hesitantly, Jim reached out along the floor into the darkness as far as he had to before he felt something other than hard, cold rock. His fingertips brushed fabric an pressed into the firm muscle of what had to be the Vulcan's thigh. "Thank you…I would very much appreciate it if you did that."
Nodding, Spock clenched his fist a few times to will the feeling and motor skills back a bit quicker. Once he could move it correctly, turning his wrists and stretching his fingers to test it out, he reached carefully along Jim's arm. His hand barely even touched the fabric of Kirk's shirt as he sought out the captain's face. "Simply try to relax," Spock told him softly, gently placing his fingertips on the side of the other's forehead. "Want it and I will help you."
