It is dark where they are kept, and at first he's not even aware that someone else is in the building with him. He only is alerted to it by the sound of someone crying, quietly, in the darkness in the cell next to his own.
There are lots of cells here, as if a lot of prisoners were supposed to be there. He thought he was the only one. It would seem, now, that he is not.
He can not walk. His right leg won't take any weight, and anyway, it hurts to stand up. But she's crying incessantly, and so after about a half an hour of it, he finds himself crawling to the other cell and gripping the bars gently.
In the gloom, he can just see her, and some of the humanity that started ebbing out of him weeks ago floods back in. She is young; so very young. She is wearing a tattered brown dress, and her hair might once have been red, when it was clean. Her skin might have been fair, and he can imagine she probably has freckles, with those green eyes of hers; a true, natural redhead, and at least humanoid, if not human. She looks human, but then, many races could pass perfectly for human. So he thinks humanoid, to be safe.
And no older then fourteen.
He wants to speak, to comfort her. To make her, at least, stop crying. He could never stand a woman, a girl, crying; it put his hackles on end and ate at him until he could sooth her somehow. He struggles, and it is painful, but at last he manages, in something little better then a croak;
"Hush now. Hush, we're okay."
He pays for it, dearly; the cough rips from him, chokes him, and for a long time he can't breathe. He thinks he might vomit again, or pass out (again.) But he does neither, and when he looks up, panting softly, those green eyes are on him and she's inches away.
"I thought I was alone." She whispers, and she's got a soft, French accent. Human, alright. Beautiful little voice for a beautiful girl. She'd be a stunning woman, some day.
"Me, too." He manages, and this time does not choke. She smiles at him, wiping away her tears.
"Who are you?" She asks, but he can't force words out again, no matter how hard he tries. Finally, he reaches forward, takes her hand through the bars and writes J-I-M carefully on the back of it with a finger. She shivers, as if it tickles, which it probably does.
"Jim? Hi, Jim, I'm Mika." She greets, and her voice would be a cheerful little chirp, under normal circumstances. "D'you really think we'll be okay?"
No. Not at all. But he nods, and points up, at the ceiling. She follows his finger, brow furrowed, and head tilted.
"Something up there?" She asks. "On the ceiling? No, not the ceiling, of course not. In the sky, then? You're from a ship, too?"
He nods. She's not stupid, anyway.
"My family's ship crashed here. It was just a personal little ship, my dad was a merchant."
Was. Dead. Tortured to death, probably, like she was meant to be. Like he was meant to be, too.
He does not tell her he is a captain; she figures it out on her own, his hand still gripping hers, as she sees the tattered remains of his shirt. The bars on his sleeve; alert her, and she yanks at him. He grunts with pain, and she whispers an apology in French.
"That's why you're so sure." She murmurs. "You're from the Federation! This means Captain, right?" She caresses the bars. He nods, giving her a little smile. She returns it.
"Papa taught me. Three bars is a captian, and two is first officer, right?"
Her father knew a great deal about Starfleet, he thinks, but she is charming, and a breath of fresh air in this horrible place, and thinks no more about it.
The dream fades, swirls, grows foggy and distant and he knows it's a dream, but he can't change it, can't stop it.
He is there again, and he hurts, he hurts so badly he can not move, can hardly think. He can hear them, can hear them hurting her worse then they hurt him, even, doing things to her that no woman let alone little girl should ever have done to them. Raping her, tearing her apart from the inside, and her screams echoing, echoing, and he can't even move.
They throw her back in the cell, and she lays limp and sobbing.
"Mr. Jim," She says after minutes, hours, who knows how long of it. "Mr. Jim, are you still alive?"
What a thing for a fourteen year old girl to ask. What a thing for her to even have to think.
He wants to cry for her. He wants to kill them, every last one of them, with his bare hands, wants to rip their feathers out by bloody handfuls and pour salt on the exposed wounds. Wants to hurt them, wants to kill them, is alive with a vicious bloodlust he's never known before.
He wonders if this is what Spock was thinking, during his Pon Farr, on Vulcan. He wonders if this is what he meant by 'My blood burns', because that is what Jim feels, now.
My eyes burn, my blood burns, I burn, Jim burns, he wants them dead, he wants revenge, he wants them to hurt like she is hurting, like he is hurting. He no longer feels human. He no longer feels anything but tired, and hungry for blood, and that terrifies him because he is not a cruel man, not a vicious man.
This is what Jim is, under everything that makes him Jim. Under everything that makes him human.
He raps on the floor to tell her he is still alive, if that is what you can call what he is.
"It hurts." She whimpers. "When are we leaving?"
Oh, Lord. Oh, Mika. Oh darling, if I only knew. I wish I could know. He drags himself up, drags himself to the bars, and reaches a hand through them. Hers lands in it, and it is slick with her own blood.
Mika. Hang on. They'll come. Before you die, before I go insane, they'll come.
They'll come. They'll come. They'll come. They'll come…….
Screaming. Screaming like never before as the dream changes again and no, no, he doesn't want to see this he doesn't want to remember this no please no. But he can't wake up, Spock, Bones, I want to wake up, wake up, Jim, it's a dream wake up, but the screaming drags him back down into the dream and he is in the cell again, on the cot again, and she is shrieking, brokenly, raggedly, and he is screaming, too. His throat is on fire and he can't breath, but he is roaring, with all the force in his body, with all the not inconsiderable command he possesses, roaringas they drag her away. Leave her alone, leave her alone, you monsters, demons, stop hurting her, stop killing her- take me, damn it, take me!
But they will not stop. They will not listen.
And when she is thrown back into the cell, bleeding and broken, broken in so many places, like a doll thrown carelessly to the floor, porcaline doll shattered in the dark, and he rasps her name desperately, Mika, please, answer me, Mika. Darlin', come on, please, Mika, don't do this, babe, little sweetheart, petite, Mika.
Just a little girl. Just a baby.
Her green eyes, welling with what he thinks is tears but is blood, and he vomits, and vomits, and can't stop. Blood from her eyes, her nose and ears and mouth and between her legs. So much blood between her legs. Her stare does not see him.
Mika, please, they'll come. Hang on. They'll come and take you from here.
Hang on.
But she is gone, with a few final, laboured breaths, no longer desiring life, too broken, too hurt.
He lays on the floor, and feels something crack and die with her.
He hopes they do not come.
_________________________
I wake with the cry caught in my chest, couldn't give it voice even without my injury. Mika. I am confused, disoriented, because someone is holding me down and breathing my name, over and over, in my ear, and someone's hands are on my face.
It takes me a moment to wake up enough to know what happened, and my stomach bottoms out.
He wouldn't. They wouldn't.
But it is undeniable, with Spock pulling away and Bones slowly letting go of me, his eyes averted. Refusing to look at me.
"I'm sorry, Jim." He says quietly, busying himself with his machines, and his voice sounds like it comes from a thousand miles away. "The dream started, and we had to- you wouldn't tell us what happened, who 'Mika' is-Spock didn't want to. Don't take this out on him. I pulled rank, told him it was medical-"
I don't hear it. My blood is rushing in my ears, my pulse is racing, and that same burning rage, that bloodlust, soars up from the dream into reality. I grit my teeth until my jaw creaks.
"Get……out."
They both stop in surprise. The burn in my throat is minor, nothing compared to the rage I am fighting with all my might. Violated. Forced into remembering. Pushed past where I wanted to be. Betrayed, wounded-damn them, damn them both for even daring to look when I said no, how dare you, how dare you-
"Get out!" I lurch against the straps, yank at them; I want to attack, want it so badly it hurts.
"Jim!" McCoy jumps back in surprise; beside me, Spock reaches forward, places his hand on my shoulder.
"Captain, Jim, you misunderstand what occurred-"
I don't care. I don't care. I don't even hear him.
Jim, please, listen-
"Out of my head!" The straps threaten to give, and I fight them harder. "Get away! Both of you get the hell out!"
"He's completely irrational-"
"Hypo him."
"Spock-"
"Hypo him, he is going to injure all of us."
I hear the words only distantly, hear them under a roaring veil of red rage. I don't understand them. I don't even want to.
I just want to hurt someone.
There is a pinch at my neck, and I snarl, lashing out but I can't, the straps catch me, and I buck, twisting hard. Somewhere, a hand lands on my head.
"Oh, Jim." Someone says, very softly, and for one second the rage lifts, for one moment I am coherent-
-but I can't be, because Bones would never cry in front of Spock.
Blackness.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
"…..Doctor."
"That wasn't Jim. Damn it, Spock, that wasn't Jim."
"I'm afraid it very much was. Twisted, perverted, hurting so deeply that even I may not reach the place he is in, but it is Jim."
"I can't…..shit." Forehead to forehead with the sleeping Captain. "That was just the surface of it, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"Damn them to hell for this." Fist impacting with a smooth surface. Muffled sob. Awkard shuffle back, a long fingered hand reaching for a bowed back, then pulling away. Reaching again, to land gently on the curve of shoulders.
"Doctor?"
"My name is Leonard, Spock, damn it, can't you just for once-"
"I assure you, I am troubled by Jim's behavior. But it will fade with time. He is still recovering, and that does mean mentally, as well. He reacted irrationally due to the emotion of the dream- when he wakes, we will explain, and he will listen, more calmly, and understand what occurred. You know that as well as I do-"
"I'm not worried about that, Spock, he's-hell. You don't even understand, do you? For us humans, it's hard to watch someone we love hurt like this!"
"…….as you are so fond of reminding me, doctor. I am half-human."
"…..oh, damn it, Spock. I didn't-"
"I am aware. Perhaps you should try to rest. I will watch him."
Broken laugh. "Like I can sleep after seeing that. Knowing there's more."
"Staying awake will not help."
"Our day starts in two hours, anyway, Spock, I'll stay up, too."
"As you wish."
"Heh. If that were true, none of this would be happening."