A/N: Um... Hi. *awkward giggle* NewspaperTaxis here and I'm painfully aware that it's been more than a year since this fic was last updated. It *is* being continued and as we are alternating chapters, depending on RL (and NT being completely suckered into another fandom and not coming back *coughs*), it might be a while but it WILL BE COMPLETED. Hopefully, the next chapters won't be as long in the coming. The promised Kirk!Whumpage begins in this chapter and it will pick up, we promise. Criticisms and critiques are welcomed, but as always, no flames. Those are just mean. I don't flame you, you don't flame me, savvy? Also, to cover our tracks from Chapter 1 - and this applies to all chapters - we do not own. I don't even own the DVD. So, enjoy! ~NT
Author: NewspaperTaxis
Chapter 4: Trial Before The High Council
Kirk groaned softly, cradling his head in his hands, elbows on knees. Shit. This is bad, he thought, the soft cushions of the overstuffed, green-and-pink paisley couch offering no comfort, a wadded pile of damp paper towels besides him. His pants were stretched tight and wet and icy across his lap, dick still prickling slightly, but without the intense burning heat of before. How did things go to shit so quickly and so spectacularly?
xxxxxxx
Even though he knew the moment Kevin was vaporized that diplomacy was officially over before it even began, it didn't stop him from trying. "Uhura, translate for me, please," Kirk whispered out of the corner of his mouth. Taking a steadying, cleansing breath, he pressed on in a strong, clear voice. "I am Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise… We have—"
"Tell him to shut up. We know," the leader interrupted Uhura's steady translation. "You Federation types are all the same. You barge in and muddle with business that was never yours to begin with." The words were spoken maliciously, scornfully.
Uhura relayed the message in English back to Kirk, keeping pace with a steady, mumbling whisper. Then turning back to the alien, she asked in their guttural tongue, "What would you have us do? Leave? No one would ever need know we were here. He has the power to seal the records." She wasn't too sure about the legal implications of the latter but she figured that Kirk would probably find a way around it if he put his mind to it—if he hadn't already. Hell, he'd found a way around the Kobyashi Maru for cryin' out loud.
"Records can be hacked." The blunt rejection was startling. Then the alien switched abruptly to English, "You have seen us commit a crime according to your Federation codes. However, seeing as how we are not a part of your precious Federation, those rules do not apply. Rather, the Federation has no jurisdiction here. It never has and never will as long as we can help it. And since you have come to our peaceful world without invitation..."
"Peaceful?" Kirk burst out, having taken advantage of her pause.
"Yes, peaceful." She glared at him, hate simmering in the nearly-black depths of her eyes. "We do not leave our planet to go exploring or to invade others. We do not start wars willingly." Unlike you was left unsaid.
Uhura reached out and squeezed Kirk's forearm, trying to ground him, to remind him that this wasn't the time to be brash, that this wasn't an Academy Simulation. He looked at her and gave her a tight smile. He could see the fear she would never dare put voice to lurking in her brown eyes. He felt rather than saw her push back her shoulders, straightening up even more if that was possible.
"What?" he managed to whisper, sensing her increased apprehension.
"The High Council. It's their Grand Jury. We're on trial," she whispered, staring in awe at the tall figures filing in and filling all the seats of the chamber.
"Shit."
Uhura swallowed. And doesn't that just about sums it all up. "Don't do anything stupid and follow my lead."
Kirk looked up at the dark eyes glowering down on them and nodded his agreement.
Uhura faced the alien and falls into the rapid-fire cadence of their language. Kirk tried to listen, focusing to keep up, but eventually he allows his mind to wander. He cannot understand anything that's being said, he can only trust in his Communications Officer.
Gradually, he became aware of a burning pressure deep inside him, radiating from his back to his groin. Soon, the indistinct throbbing sharpened even further, consuming his every thought.
"You are a Son of Adam, are you not?" the alien said suddenly in impeccable English, interrupting his thoughts. Although her words were heavily accented, Kirk found that he could understand her perfectly if he concentrated. Thing was, he having a harder and harder time concentrating.
"Wh—" Kirk stammered, trying to hunch slightly, to seek relief, but his back had tightened to the point where any movement was nearly impossible, the slightest pull making his breath hitch. "Ye-yes. I'm human, if that's what you mean. And I'm of the male gender."
He leaned forward ever so slightly, the effort nearly taking his breath away, palms pressing flat against the podium, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth, trying to control the pain in his back. It had sharpened, and was now swelling and unswelling, almost like a heartbeat, but he could ignore it, stuff it into the recesses of his consciousness. It wasn't any worse than what he had endured before. Hell, he'd been more battered after the Nero Incident and was able to push himself for three more days afterwards. So the pain wasn't the problem. The problem was the brimming pressure he felt in his bladder.
He really, really needed to pee. God, did he need to relieve himself.
He took a slow, deep breath, trying to stave off the urgency. Exhaling, he focused on some indiscernible point on the opposite side of the room. The heaviness in his groin dropped lower, increased. Controlled-breathing was not helping.
A small, soft hand touched his forearm. "Captain?" Uhura frowned worriedly at him, "Are you all right? You're awfully pale." Her voice was a bare whisper, the words spoken out of the corner of her mouth.
He attempted to give her a reassuring smile, but it turned into a grimace as he bit back a groan. "I'm fine," he managed, hand going absently to his pelvis. The heat and fullness was becoming much more intense, acute. The added weight of his palm against his abdominal walls made him almost lose the little control he still possessed over his bladder. Yeah, not gonna try that one again, he thought as he jerked back his hand.
The world tilted and he blinked sweat from his eyes, blushing as he realized that Uhura was flush against him, supporting him, and that he was doubled up, despite the spasming muscles in his lower back, his hands cupping his nether regions.
"Fine, my ass," he heard Uhura mutter into his ear.
Suddenly he felt a wave of overwhelming relief that she was with him. Nowhere near as temperamental as Bones, Uhura could keep her cool in a crisis and multitask—as she was no doubt doing now, Kirk thought with a jolt as he registered his xenolinguist speaking rapidly in the clipped alien language—but neither was she so logical to the point of almost appearing to be unfeeling. And right now she was studying him with a mixture of concern and anxiousness. Didn't hurt she had mile-long legs and an ass he'd love to curve his hands around. Shame she's already taken by the green-blooded hobgoblin, Kirk thought absently, gasping as a molten wave sloshed within him.
"Kirk?" Uhura gaped at him in alarm as he let out a low, drawn-out, grunting moan that came from somewhere deep inside his throat. The only other time she'd ever heard such a guttural sound was when she, at fourteen, assisted her oldest sister during a difficult, agonizing birth coupled with a labor that had lasted twenty-eight hours by the time all was said and done.
"Gotta go," Kirk gritted out as he felt himself break out into a fresh sweat, his entire frame trembling, his fingers digging into his Lieutenant's arm as his legs folded beneath him. He didn't think he could take the pain anymore, the extreme swings in body temperature. The fiery pangs in his bowels, his groin, his genitals were building up to unbearable crescendos, making tears leak out of the corners of his eyes. He was out of time. He was going to relieve himself right now, right here.
Suddenly, he couldn't hold it anymore and, without warning, urine gushed out of him as though a dam had broken somewhere deep inside him. The violence of the release was unexpected; a long, endless sluicing of liquid poured from him, the intensity forcing him onto all fours, all the while burning and stinging, bringing the vague, unlocalized cramping to a sharp point of pain right at the tip of his... He whimpered when the scalding didn't taper immediately. It just… came. And it didn't stop coming. Then, instantaneously, it stopped, as though someone had turned off a tap.
Panting harshly, sweating profusely, he pushed himself upright, sitting back on his heels, half curled-over his abdomen, arms wrapped around his gut, taking advantage of the respite. His shirts stuck to his shoulders, as he wiped his face with the cuff of his gold sleeve. His groin still pulsated slightly, feeling as though his bladder had been filled beyond capacity with boiling water and then emptied, leaving his urethra stretched, blistered. He was weak and shaky, shivering slightly, kneeling in a puddle of his own micturition, his pants soaked and ruined, but at the same time, he felt purged, relieved. Lighter, somehow. The hot, agonizing pain now completely gone, leaving behind only a blunted, aching memory.
He glanced up and saw the entire High Council staring down, cold and impassively, at him, not looking away, regarding him with contempt. He bowed his head, his face flushing scarlet with shame and humiliation.
Uhura silently reached down and took his dripping, soiled hands into her own, pulling him up. Gratefully, Kirk noticed that she didn't grimace and there was no sign of disgust or revulsion in her face and the gesture nearly undoes him. His knees buckled slightly, but he locked up his legs before she could catch him. He heard her breath hitch slightly as he moved.
Glancing down, he saw that the entire front of his pants were dark, wet streaks running down the inside of his legs, disappearing into his boots, and that he was standing in a small rust-colored pool of his own urine. Oh, he thought apathetically. Oh. Piss is not supposed to look like that, is it? But he was too drained by the ordeal to much care.
He could hear Uhura talking rapidly in the alien language, no doubt trying to explain away his breach of conduct, but his head felt muzzy, as though it was stuffed with cotton.
Then there was a loud bang as one of the High Council members brought down his fist and they were both seized and forcibly dragged from the chamber.
"We're being taken to a holding chamber," Uhura hissed as she stumbled alongside him. "To await our fate."
xxxxxxx
Uhura shifted slightly besides him on the overstuffed sofa, bringing Kirk back to reality. The couch was another thing that didn't make any sense, but he was too tired and sick to pursue any serious train of thought about their surroundings. His back pulsated with pain and his hunched over position really wasn't helping, but it did feel better than it had when he had stood for the solid hour being interrogated, on trial, really. His pants had long since turned cold and clammy, chafing the inside of his upper thighs, his member throbbed indistinctly with a vague warmth he couldn't pinpoint.
Lost in thought, he noticed for the first time he still had Kevin's blood spattered on his boots. His lumbar region was starting to edge past the realm of sore to hurt again, the muscles locking up, and the base of his skull was clamoring for attention.
Being belted was not on his to-do list. Concussion, probably. Just fantastic. Planetside for less than eight hours and I already have a concussion. Bones' going to love that. If the last few missions were any indication, Bones was going to laugh at his expense and then chew him out before giving him the hypospray that clears it up in about five minutes. Right now, he was willing to put up with all that — especially the hypospray — if Bones would just make the aches and pains go away.
"What're the stakes this time around?" He whispered to Uhura. He couldn't stand the silence any longer, waiting for the verdict, waiting for the axe to fall. He needed a distraction, any distraction, from his body and from the turn of events that had taken place since their arrival.
"What?"
"The stakes for the betting pool. There's one for how long I can be Planetside before I manage to get myself injured in some shape or form..." Kirk looked up and smirked at Uhura's shock. "Don't think I don't know everything that goes on my ship. What was your bet and who's winning?"
Uhura licked her lips and clasped her hands in her lap, her back ramrod straight, a small smile on her face betraying nothing.
Great, Kirk thought, unable to read her expression. She's spending way too much time with Spock, Next thing, she's going to be communicating sarcasm with the left-eyebrow…
"Are you sure you want to know?" The words were quiet, demure. She raised her right eyebrow and grinned.
Damn.
"We got nothing better to do, so shoot," he said. "I mean, we're only waiting to find out if we live or die."
Again she smiled, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "As your lieutenant and the only female officer on your bridge crew, it would not be favorable for me to take part in such actions. However, I will disclose information if you give me your word that there will be no repercussions." Uhura watched the frustration flicker over Kirk's face. She knew he will never hold it against her. Hell, he was probably the one who'd started it… but she was suffocating in the tension and knew it must be a thousand times worse for her Captain.
"I give my word. Now spit it out. And that's an order," Kirk snapped, a teasing tone still evident in his voice as he rose abruptly to his feet and began to pace the length of the room. "I'm fine," he rebutted before the question could be asked.
Uhura didn't miss the way he pressed both palms against the small of his back, just above his hips, his gait bowlegged. Her brow furrowed in concern as she watched him dig the heels of his hands into the muscles. She swallowed back the worry that ate away inside her, the scene from the Interrogation Chamber replaying in her mind like a corrupt audio file. The sight of Kirk jackknifing forward, hands gripping his stomach and lower regions and desperately trying to regain control before releasing the contents of his bladder while groaning like an elephant giving birth was permanently seared on the inside of her eyelids. She longed to ask him Are you okay? for the umpteenth time but he'd answered it roughly ten times in the past hour with a dismissive I'm fine. It was a fluke. Nothing to worry about. But still, if she was honest with herself, the ordeal had scared the living daylights out of her and had done nothing for their case...
"I'm listening… just need to move around for a bit," Kirk said, interrupting her train of thought, his voice slightly hoarse. Then, quieter, supplicating, "Please."
Uhura nodded, understanding that he needed her to do this, to play along, to help him cope with his shame and the events that had tailspinned so far out of their control. "My personal bet was within the first two hours," she smirked at him even though it felt pasted to her face. "I seem to have underestimated you. I wasn't really paying attention to the time, but I'd guess it was about three or four hours in. Which means Dr. McCoy won for the fourth time in a row..."
Crap. No wonder Bones was so smug all those times I'd gone to Medbay after an away mission. "Who won before McCoy's winning streak?"
Uhura paused for a moment, counting on her fingers. "We only started this pool about six months ago, and McCoy'd won over half of them so far. There's talk of disqualifying him since he's the ship's CMO, knows you too well, and has a conflict of interest. He only lost twice, actually, and both times Chekov won. Ironically, both times were when you got hurt about five minutes before being beamed back..."
"So to stop Bones from winning, I have to stop getting hurt exactly three hours in? That's doable."
"No…" Uhura grinned wickedly at him, unable to resist. "We don't pick exact hours… we pick range of hours, which means you'd have to avoid getting hurt between the third and sixth hours to stop Dr. McCoy… but don't forget that we have all the hours covered… so unless you can avoid getting hurt entirely, someone's always going to win..."
She suddenly sat back against the couch, all trace of humor and banter gone. "Someone's coming," she whispered, composing herself once again.
Kirk straightened, pushing his shoulders back at attention, as the tumblers in the lock clicked and the door opened, revealing one of the tall, lavender-colored aliens. Her blue-green hair rippled down almost to her knees, and Kirk see that she was virtually naked despite her hair covering all her vital areas modestly.
The alien turned to Uhura, her wide, dark eyes flickering to Kirk. Uhura stood, crossing the room to Kirk as the alien took another step towards them, placing herself between her Captain and danger.
"I do not know your language well enough," the words that spilled from her mouth were oddly polite, almost kind. "You will have to translate."
Uhura reeled mentally. Something was wrong. Something was so, so very wrong. "Y-yes. I understand."
"The Jury has decided. You will be detained until further notice. You have been found guilty of all charges, including armed invasion and unprovoked assault on one of our Elders."
Uhura watched Kirk trudge slightly wide-legged to the door, the fact that he had been in incredible pain still physically evident despite his reassuring words. You were nowhere near fine and you know it, she thought as she quickly closed the gap between them, moving abreast to him, her stride much looser and easier. She couldn't shake the sense of apprehension that had settled in her belly since Kevin was vaporized that the situation was far worse than they realized and all sense of diplomacy was simply a farce. They were completely and utterly royally screwed.
Glancing over at her Captain, her anxiety deepened. She knew that he would never readily tell her if he was physically ill or injured — the fact he had pushed himself to the point of passing out cold on the bridge following the Nero Incident was testimony to that. All she could do was what she'd promised Spock before beaming down here—that she'd keep two eyes on Kirk and get their asses out of there as soon as possible she added mentally as two aliens flanked her, grabbing her upper arms and force-marched her out of the reception hall, Kirk stumbling and staggering, knees buckling, as another pair of natives grabbed him and hauled him after her almost faster than his legs could handle.