Janice Rand
Some days, I just feel like crying. I would lie on my bed for hours, just staring out the window; waiting for the sun to come up, if there were a sun on the rise. But out here in the cold region of space, there's nothing but darkness and the screams of my silent voice that I have for company. Some days are worse than others, some days I don't remember at all. There are so many holes in my memories, it's like my brain is constantly twisting and grinding against itself that my mouth just wants to scream and let it be free.
But most days, freedom is irrelevant; freedom doesn't exist, especially for a drunk like me, stuck out in the middle of no where. In both my mind and body, I was undoubtedly, unbelievably lost, and there was nothing, no one, that could help me, to give me a map or even a few bread crumbs, nothing, to help me get out of the void I'd been living in for so long.
I'd thought about death so many times, but the more I contemplated it, the more I couldn't stand to even think about it. There was no escape, I was stuck, in both life and death, there was no way out.
My lungs were frozen, my nose blocked, my eyes shut away from the world. I didn't want to be here, anywhere. But at the ships doctors concerns, I had to be.
"Don't fight me Janice" He kept repeating "Stop pretending" He forced his hands around my body; gripping tightly the back of my neck as he forced his orifice upon me. "Captain!" I screamed, but no one could hear me past the hard metal walls I was trapped in. These were my quarters; my personal space, where I created art works and slept the days work off. They were supposed to be a sanctuary, but today had changed that; forcing my eyes to look upon it in a different light. "Don't fight me Janice!" My eyes were beginning to fade away, the quarters no longer existing.
"How much longer must I remain here Doctor?" I croaked as I tried to sit up; my body protesting in its physical bruising and pain.
"Not long" Leonard McCoy finished writing up his report – the report that was probably going to be the strangest thing he'd ever have to hand over to the Captain. I could tell by the look on his face and in the way he spoke; that he knew it wasn't Jim's doing, at least not the whole of Jim. But still, something about the whole ordeal just disturbed him for some reason, and he couldn't make out why, nor could I.
"Stop fighting!" He kneed the back of my legs; forcing my weak body to the ground.
"Captain, no!" I tried to push him away; my hands reaching up in a futile attempt to do so. I dug my long nails deep into his skin; painting his face with three bloody scratches, but they seemed to have little effect on him.
He winced for a moment as the new stinging sensation kicked in. I managed to scramble away, just. My eyes dripping full of hurtful tears, my makeup smudged by his lips. I liked the Captain, even flirted with him a little on occasion, but this was a side I'd never been witness to before, and hoped I never would – hoped it didn't exist within him. I tried to convince myself it wasn't that this was an impostor, but the more I watched him, the more sure I was that this was the Captain, my Captain; James Tiberius Kirk. Slowly I found myself curling up; my arms around my legs and squashing my nose and mouth between my knees; eager to cut off the rest of the oxygen so that my aching heart might stop beating, for even just a second's escape from the pain. "Janice…" He kept calling my name as he chased me around the room. The monster in his eyes gleaming with gluttony; and I was the meal. He caught me in his firm grip once more. I hoped I could make it to the door at least, but even that was too far out of reach. He forced the short dress I was wearing up, licking his way down my abdomen with his filthy tongue.
"Janice" McCoys eyes were staring at me; hoping to find some kind of sanity amongst my damp skin. I stared back, though my eyes were looking at him, I could not see him; there was no sanity here; only the left over pickings of the insane.
"I can heal the physical bruising now if you want me to" He picked up his instruments nevertheless. "Is it all right if I start with your arms?"
I gave a small nod if you could count it as that. It was more like a tiny shift of my eyes that some how told him he had the consent to touch me. He held his hand out cautiously, waiting for me to place my arm in his grasp. Eventually, I did; he curled his fingers around my wrist and began to heal the bruising from our Captains' brutal grip.
I could tell by the contemplative and worried look on his face that he was remembering how I was when they first found me, how I was rolled up in a ball in the corner of my quarters, all battered and bruised like some one had just taken all their anger out on me, as if my soul were a punching bag. With my eyes fixed on the door in determination, with one given heave of my stomach, despite the rip of pain that sprinted up my back side and electrocuted my temples, I was finally able to break free from his grip, if only for a second. He gasped for a moment before capturing me again, but I'd managed to roll over to the door, despite his rough presence. "Call !" I yelled out a desperate call for help. A passing by Ensign froze to the scene before him; his breathe hitching as Kirks eyes flickered up to him. "Call !" I pleaded with the Ensign who still stood as frozen as Rura Penthe. "Shut up!" Kirk brought his fist down to the right side of my jaw as his eyes released my body for the first time in hours. They set themselves upon the Ensign that had instantly become my hero; as he drove Kirk away and down the corridor. I was left alone; frantically pulling my uniform down, trying to cover all the scrapes and patches of black skin. A sledge hammer had whacked me over, forced the spirit within me to jump, as I crawled into the corners of myself.
My body was bare; exposed to the small world that had become nothing but a blur. There was no hope for me now; as the Captain moved freely above me; what was I meant to do? Fighting back was futile, negotiation was irrelevant, and escape had been stripped from me.
So all I could do was wait; wait for him to be finished with me, wait for the pain to subside and my body to numb up, wait for help to come and give me the key to escape from this madness, if it was even on its way.
My eyes had turned black; my vision lost long ago, and not just from the red uniform that was covering my face. It was scrunched up around my neck, choking me, to death perhaps, if I was lucky. He pulled the fabric away from my face, his nails digging into my already bruised jaw as he seized my lips with his own.
I wanted to tell him to get out and leave me alone, but my attempts to mumble pleas for escape would not slide off my bitten and bloody tongue. I tried to crawl away, but he held my form so well. In a position that the most movement I could muster was but a small roll to the side.
When the ships first officer finally did make it to my room; I wasn't there. The shell of my body might have been present, but my conscience had been taken away by the violence that ran out the door.
"How does it feel?" The Doctor asked, even though I knew he didn't expect to get a reply.
"Alright" I mumbled; the physical pain was nothing. I'd broken bones before, pulled muscles till they ripped, even fallen out of a tree and banged my head once when I was a child, but none of that, or all of that put together, could even begin to compute. And the Doctor knew that.
James T. Kirk
"Fuck!" I wrenched at my own hair as I ripped through my designated quarters. I never liked using those 'colorful metaphors' as Spock so blatantly put it, but right now just seemed like the time couldn't be more appropriate. There was never enough love to go around in the world – but I'd gone too far and lusted after Janice like she was some sort of Argelian Dancer open for business.
"Fuck!" I strangled at myself again for the 17th time since Bones had given me his report on the situation.
I hadn't done anything wrong, but at the same time I'd committed one of the most hateful crimes; trying to possess and milk power from the body of an innocent women. It wasn't just simply reading about another report, I remembered, lived in it. How justifying it felt to smother the life out of Janice Rand. How it felt to lick the sweat from her skin as she cried for help; the supremacy that drained from her weak muscles as she scrambled against my torso.
The angry dog in my tight chest wanted, no, needed, to escape. I didn't even hear the beeping of the door that signaled a visitor, nor did I hear the wall slide open and the sounds my First Officer's feet pattering across the floor to me.
"Jim, are you alright?" He laid a hand on his friends shoulder, flickering up the switch that set me off.
My skin was crawling under itself "Yes!" My fist went flying into Spocks face, successfully breaking his nose and forcing a pool of green blood from the corner of his lips.
He stumbled back in surprise, mumbling that perhaps it would be best if he returned later, before proceeding to leave; leaving me alone to my own thoughts, and allowing the realization of what I'd just done, to sink into the depths of my brain.
Janice Rand
"My dear," Bones placed his hand by my side, but making sure they weren't touching my skin. "How am I supposed to heal you if you won't let me touch you?"
My voice remained silent; he'd healed the bruised wrists, the nearly broken jaw, the out of place knees, the dislocated shoulder. But I would not let him go that far.
"I understand" He put his instruments down "Maybe, in time, it'll heal itself" I could tell by the tone in his voice he was not referring to the physical wounds of my body as he left me to my thoughts.
My eye's shifted to the door as the ships first officer walked through it.
"What in blazers happened to you?" Bones was quick at Spocks side, instantly inspecting his bloody face.
I inhaled deeply; watching the two officers interact, but barely giving them my attention. Despite the green flow of blood that was seeping from the broken organ that deserved much attentiveness, my eyes kept wandering to the shadow of the brandy that lay in the cupboard next to where they were standing.
"The Captain has a very strong fist" The Vulcan took up residence on one of the bio beds, very near my own.
"Your nose is broken" McCoy analyzed the out of place bone tissue.
"Really doctor?" Spock said sarcastically; of course he knew that, he'd heard the bone crunch as Jim turned and gave it to him without a single thought as to what he was doing.
He didn't say anything more; he didn't have anything else to say. They both knew what Kirks counterpart had committed. Without him, Jim would fall apart, Jim was falling apart, and as much as he hated to admit it, it was apart of him. No matter how lustful, how greedy and selfish that side was, it was still part of the Captain. And they needed that part in order for the ship to function properly.
For now, that part was locked away, and James had confined himself to his quarters. Spock hoped he could help in some way, but no, the Captain had to help himself.
If Jim was capable of breaking a Vulcan's nose in a single punch, God help any one else that wandered in there uninvited.
I steadily made my way back to my so called 'sanctuary', not paying much attention to the surroundings as step by step I came closer to my quarters. Except, they weren't mine anymore; they looked the same as before, apart from a few misplaced items from the struggle. They didn't feel like home any more – they held a sour essence that couldn't be flushed out nor covered up by something sweeter. They held an uncomfortable aura that I just couldn't get out of my thoughts.
He'd called me beautiful, he'd called me too much of a woman to be able to ignore, but his words just made my stomach lurch. I charged over to my bed, in fear that I might actually throw up. I could feel a familiar sting prickling my eyes out of frustration. They threatened to drop, but I wouldn't let them. Releasing a deep breathe from the pit of my stomach, I stood and paced around the room; taking note of the Saurian Brandy that still sat innocently on the shelf that Kirk had placed it on. Just like the bottle in sickbay.
Was that the reason for his actions? No, I'd seen the Captain when he was drunk before, I'd seen him when he'd lost his mind completely, and he still held enough sanity to control himself.
'What the hell' I thought as I swept it up and gulped the remnants of the alcohol.
As the familiar numbing of my teeth sank in, and the flush of heat that embraced my cheeks and face, an uncontrollable need for more and more invaded my defeated body, until finally after two hours I was completely passed out on my bed. Only then was the room finally the quite sanctuary I'd desired for so long, if only for one drunken night.
Leonard McCoy
I sat quietly at my desk; I must have dosed off at some point because the ships chronometers told me I had been lost in thought for 32 minutes. Even though it was morning, and I'd just made it to sickbay, I already felt exhausted; tired of this mess. I wish it would just leave the ship so it could go back to being everyone's happy place.
"Bones" Looking up from my post, I watched as the Captain stumbled into my office.
"Jim" I was immediately at my feet and helping him onto a bio bed. 'So, he's finally emerged from that death shell' I pondered as I looked over the Captains readings.
"How is… Spock?" He murmured, his eyes facing down.
"Still a little sore I'd say" I grabbed a medical tricorder and scanned his hands "But other than that, he's fine"
"I'm, glad I didn't seriously injure him" His eyes finally rose to meet that of his doctors.
Obviously he was feeling depressed, guilty; the growing bags under his eyes didn't belong there, the deep look in his pupils told a tale of exhaustion, and was something no pill or hypo would cure.
"Jim, you need rest" I explained, knowing he needed a lot more than a good nights sleep.
"I don't know what to do Bones" He rubbed his eyelids in frustration "What do I do?" He looked up at me; his friend, hoping to find answers I knew I didn't have.
There were no rules or codes that I knew of in Starfleet regulations for him to follow. Normally, a crime such as this wouldn't go unpunished. Both the victim and tormentor would be sent to some form of rehabilitation. But in his case, he hadn't committed it, yet he could remember it. "
What do I do?" He covered his face once more and kept repeating that same sentence.
Gradually he faded out of consciousness as a hypo spray of sedatives was delivered into his arm "Sleep, to start off with" I left him to rest.