Title: The Mohorovicic Incident

Author: Milliecake

Fandom: Star Trek (2009)

Category: Adventure/Drama/Hurt/Comfort

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Mild swearing, violence

Disclaimer: Do not own, just a fan creation

Summary: The time line has changed and Jim Kirk has had to fight for his captaincy. When an early away mission goes wrong and the life of the youngest crew member hangs in the balance, he must fight once again for the Enterprise…this time to keep her.

Author's Notes: Hardest part of this is the proof reading, can't believe I end up with so many transposed words and spelling errors :(

OoOoO

"Bones!"

Grabbing fistfuls of Chekov's parka to stop the Ensign slumping to the floor, Kirk had never felt more helpless, not even when the kid was dangling hundreds of meters above a sea of lava.

Kirk wasn't a doctor, he barely knew basic field aid beyond rough patch jobs, usually what had been slapped onto him by a bitching McCoy during their Academy days…he'd never really grown out of the whole bar brawler thing even after he'd enlisted. He didn't particularly like the sight of blood unless he knew it was his own caused by his own stupidity or someone else's caused by their own. He definitely did not like the sight of it when he knew it belonged to one of his crew, spilled in the line of duty.

McCoy had snapped into action even before Kirk's shout, slinging the rifle over his shoulder as his doctor's mask slid firmly into place. He didn't think twice before slapping his own hand over Chekov's, pressing hard enough to wring a pained "Ai!" from the young Ensign.

"We need to stop the bleeding," he said, unnecessarily, rummaging through his pockets for something he could use, coming up empty handed. "I need my medkit."

"We don't have it," Kirk shot back, frustrated. He didn't like being powerless, useless, especially not when the one injured had just stupidly, bravely, saved his Captain's life.

"Then find me one dammit." McCoy snapped in return, the brusque tone almost covering up the urgency and worry Kirk could see in his eyes. He pulled Chekov's coat back, revealing the blood that was slowly spilling out over both his and the kid's fingers. To Kirk, it looked pretty bad and by McCoy's grimace could guess that was the official medical assessment too.

Chekov was by complexion pale, but now was white from either pain or shock or blood loss or all of that, biting his lip to stifle any cries as McCoy tried to look at the wound. Kirk resisted the urge to shake him. What had the kid been thinking to play hero like that? Didn't he know it was Kirk's job to protect his crew, that Kirk was the one who took the hits to keep them all safe?

A low, threatening rumble reminded him of their dire situation and he glanced at the Bridge doors. It wasn't just Chekov's life that hung upon his next actions, though it was Chekov's sacrifice that had bought him the chance to take those very same actions. Without waiting for McCoy's assent, he slung the Ensign's right arm over his shoulders, taking the kid's weight even as Chekov gasped in pain at the jolting movement.

"Wait Jim you can't move…"

"No time," he cut off his CMO, shortly. "Help me with him."

Inside, the Bridge was silent, empty and dark. The view screen was filled with a myriad of numbers and equations...geology, seismology, scientific readings…

Kirk spied a counter, topped with scanning equipment and rock samples. He carefully released Chekov, letting McCoy take the kid's weight, then swept it all onto the floor without hesitation or care. Together they managed to get the Ensign onto it, McCoy pushing the kid flat, careful but firm. Peeling Chekov's fingers from the wound, he shoved the yellow uniform upwards, taking a look, before pressing back down, ignoring the kid's arching moan of agony as he glanced soberly at Kirk.

"Doesn't look like it went all the way through," he informed the Captain, quietly. "Without a scanner I won't know if it hit any vital organs but from the angle I'm guessing no."

The young Ensign's eyes were scrunched closed, the fingers of his unbloodied hand fisted in his parka.

Kirk dragged his eyes away, feeling an unfamiliar sense of failure, and hurried across the Bridge, yanking open a panel, relieved that at least one thing on the ship adhered to standard regulations.

"Bones!" He pitched the medkit across the room and McCoy caught it eagerly with his free hand. It wasn't a Starfleet standard kit, but it had the basics. As far as that could go treating a stab wound.

Leaving McCoy to do what he did best, Kirk turned his attention to the Bridge to do what he did best...saving their asses. He leaned over the helm chair, reading the figures on display. Temperature, core heat, pressure, everything building below the ship. Didn't need genius level to understand they had to get out and fast. His eyes flicked to a seemingly random, red-encased number on the console before him.

With chill realisation, he recognised the countdown, the computer's own calculations when the ice would crack and the rupture would blast straight up from the core. This close to the surface, the shields would last all of microseconds before the ship was destroyed.

They had minutes left. Mere minutes. It was going to be close.

Leaping into the chair, he began tapping furiously into the panel, running through the necessary start up procedures, feeling sweat begin to prickle across his forehead.

"What's wrong?" he heard McCoy demand, the doctor latching onto his near-feverish actions.

Kirk didn't answer right away, stabbing the controls, gaze flickering over the readings as the hum of the thrusters came online and began powering up, the fuel injection reacting with a frustrating sluggishness. The hiss of a hypo distracted him for a moment.

He half glanced back, unable to spare even a second for eye contact. "How's he doing Bones?"

"The pressure pad has stopped the bleeding and I've just given him something to kill the pain," came the almost grudging reply. "Most of it anyway. He's out of it."

Kirk let out a breath. Bones pretended to be all kinds of gruff but Kirk knew he was as concerned as hell about Chekov. Alien diseases were one thing, an invading army that McCoy would skilfully wield all the tools of his profession against with every ounce of determination he possessed. Treating phaser burns, or bumps and bruises were another that rarely went beyond tissue damage. But a knife wound...

"Jim, he needs the Enterprise's medical bay."

The last was spoken with frank honesty.

"Working on it," Kirk responded, shortly. A bleeping to his right at navigation forced him to lean to see the warning. "Sons of bitches…" he muttered, incensed though he shouldn't have expected anything else.

"What is it?" Then more impatiently, "Look Jim, I'm tied up back here."

Kirk straightened, blazing fury. Another ship, a shuttle by the looks of it, had been docked alongside the Mohorovicic, sheltered and hidden under the outer shields. It had fired up its own thrusters.

The mercenaries.

No wonder they hadn't been worried about the rupture, they had their own transport off the moon. And they were going to leave the science vessel and all her crew to burn on the surface. Anyone who came to investigate would presume it was an accident, the evidence vaporised, eighteen people incinerated out of existence as their ship was engulfed in the eruption.

Stabbing at the console with more force than necessary, Kirk felt a grim satisfaction as he shut down the outer shields, watched the shuttle suddenly veer and lose altitude as the full force of the gravity well caught and overwhelmed them. It would take one hell of a pilot, someone like Hikaru Sulu, to compensate against that and it was clear there was no one onboard with anything near that kind of skill.

"Dammit Jim will you...!"

Another blinking at the console and Kirk glanced down, then was unable to stop a real grin stretching across his battered, bloodied face. Turning off the outer shields had turned off something else as well, a jamming signal running through the shield frequencies.

"Bones," he said, lightly. "I think you're gonna want to hear this."

"I'm all ears," came the dry reply.

OoOoO

"We have incoming."

"Shields are dropping, Commander."

Spock gripped the arms of the chair with Vulcan strength and rode out the impact waves. The enemy ship had chosen to follow them deeper into the gravity well as Lieutenant Sulu had surmised. Upon re-engagement, it had dropped all pretence of capturing the Enterprise undamaged. Whether its intention had changed to all out destruction or merely sought to overcome with little concern for the condition she would be taken in, remained yet to be seen.

"Free weapons fire," he ordered calmly.

The Enterprise shuddered, but was faring better than the initial encounter. And if the terms of engagement had been re-balanced, it was now slightly in the Enterprise's favour.

Unhindered by inferior sensor information, short range telemetry now returning data on the enemy ship, the Enterprise had proven to wield the superior fire power. The enemy had in turn presented itself as a target, allowing phaser and photon torpedoes to gain a lock this time around.

Yet it was quickly and apparently becoming a race to maintain shield integrity. Should an eruption from the moon's core occur, both ships would be caught in a state of vulnerability. Mr Scott was...most vocal about steering away from any potential rupture on the surface, though sensors were failing to ascertain any instabilities due to the gravitational distortions.

"Commander, the other ship is withdrawing," Lieutenant Sulu announced, not unexpectedly.

The Enterprise's last phaser volley had scored a precise hit, the weapons crews performing admirably against the target.

But Spock flicked his gaze to his own sensor readings, assessing the retreat as temporary manoeuvre, possibly designed to lure the Enterprise back into their original positioning where they would once again be at the disadvantage of the gravity well.

"Hold position, do not pursue," he instructed. The enemy would return once they had shored up their shields. The Enterprise, if she wished to remain at a tactical advantage, must do the same.

At Uhura's sudden gasp of surprise, Spock turned, raising an eyebrow. Though fully human, she was rarely excitable, maintaining her station with a professional calm that Spock appreciated both with his Vulcan heritage and as her Commander. However improbable considering their precarious situation, she was smiling, suggesting a change in situation Spock had yet to be informed of.

"Lieutenant?" he queried.

"It's the Captain, Commander," she said. With those few words, Spock sensed the Bridge crew's attention had shifted away from their stations. Yet, he did not rebuke them.

The communication was too severely distorted to be displayed on screen, but the Captain's voice was unmistakable through the static.

"Enterprise, this is the Mohorovicic..."

And Spock had to pause before he could formulate a reply as several whoops and claps rang through the Bridge at the confirmation their Captain was alive.

"Captain," he greeted, noting the surge he felt as satisfaction that Kirk was functioning and apparently in control of the science vessel. "It is good to hear from you. Lieutenant Uhura has been unable to establish contact with neither the Mohorovicic nor your away team for the last hour."

"Yeah, we ran into a little trouble, nothing we couldn't handle."

And a noise that sounded suspiciously like Doctor McCoy snorting in the background.

"Look Spock, we've got a rupture building directly below the ship."

Spock frowned slightly "I would offer you assistance, but we are currently engaged in battle with an unidentified enemy vessel. To send a shuttle now..."

"Would be a waste of time," Kirk interrupted. "Time we don't have, this thing is about to go up at any moment. Spock, that ship...their plan is to take the Enterprise."

"I am aware of that fact."

"Good. Don't let them..." Kirk's voice became fainter. "Bones will you quit it...I'm getting to that." The Captain's voice came back, stronger again as he addressed Spock. "We've got injured here. I'm gonna fly us out the gravity well so when you've finished playing with that other ship, beam us out and have medical bay on standby."

"Acknowledged." To Spock it sounded like neither the Captain nor Doctor McCoy had sustained life-threatening injuries. Probability put it at either Ensign Chekov or one of the crew of the Mohorovicic. It would be unfortunate should it prove to be the former as the Ensign was an exemplary crew member despite his young human age, with a keen mind if at times excitable.

"And Spock? My ship had better be in one piece when I get back up there."

"I will do my best to assure that outcome," he responded, dryly, feeling the strange, almost impish urge to rise up to the verbal challenges Kirk constantly presented him with.

The crew's joy and relief at knowing the Captain was still alive was short lived however.

"Commander Spock," Lieutenant Sulu called in warning, and focus swiftly returned to the Bridge, much to Spock's satisfaction. "The enemy ship has come about."

Confirming Spock's theory that the enemy would re-engage once their shields had been restored. And the parameters suggested that the battle would be long and drawn out, both ships well matched, with neither having the distinct advantage to secure an outright victory as yet. Should Mr Scott restore their warp capabilities before the battle was over, the Enterprise could no longer simply leave the system. To do so would leave the science vessel, and its new Captain, vulnerable. Starfleet regulations were very clear on retreating from a field of battle should that leave a civilian ship open to attack.

Yet much could happen in a long engagement. Reinforcements could arrive unexpectedly for either side, a shield weakness could be exposed, a weapon could score what was referred to as a lucky hit. A rupture could be forming yet they had no way of predicting either where or when.

Spock frowned. No, that was inaccurate. The Captain had in fact given them such information, the science vessel sensors, close to the surface, receiving precise data that they, far above, could not ascertain.

Spock leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers. He had a thought, something that was perhaps neither logical nor even sound, yet despite those drawbacks could potentially shorten the length of the battle significantly. If it could be timed down to the exact moment.

He could almost see the disapproving features of those elders who had stood above him many years previously, denouncing his human heritage as ill-favoured. Sometimes, in the company of Captain Kirk and Dr McCoy and the other human crew members, he found himself retreating into pure logic as a defence against their misguided attempts to draw out his human side. Now perhaps he was beginning to understand that not every human thought or action was disadvantageous, and that on this occasion to throw aside that potential in order to adhere to a Vulcan mindset was in itself...illogical.

That perhaps on occasion, as demonstrated by Captain Kirk and his reckless disregard of rules, a more dangerous course of action could yield greater results.

"Mr Sulu," he began, acutely aware he was no doubt about to alarm not just the helmsman but the entire Bridge crew. "Are you familiar with the concept of brinkmanship? I believe on Earth it is referred to simply as...'chicken'?"

END OF CHAPTER SIX