"This is acting Captain Spock, we have received intel that Captain Kirk has escaped confinement and is extremely violent. Locate and restrain Captain Kirk, stun him if necessary." The intercom beeped again.
Jim rammed his hands over his ears, every single noise—every footstep radiating deafeningly into his skull.
He wanted it to end.
He just wanted it to end.
McCoy sat in his office with a shot of brandy, his off-hours creating a multitude of boredom—no, a multiuniverse of boredom.
He did however have a ton of paperwork sitting on his desk that was equally as lonely and unproductive as the doctor, but he chose to ignore it. He should probably try to get some sleep. He thought that the brandy would help him with it, but apparently not.
All of a sudden, the ship-wide channel alarm sounded twice, and McCoy put down his glass.
God, what now.
He sat down literally 5 minutes ago.
"This is Acting Captain Spock, we have received intel that Captain Kirk has escaped confinement and is extremely violent. Locate and restrain Captain Kirk, or stun him if necessary."
The room fell silent again.
Bones threw his head onto the desk and hissed,
Shit.
Looks like he was about to embark in a less than exciting adventure to hunt down his Captain. Or his patient. Probably his patient the way things were going.
He marched out of his office and headed straight for Nurse Chapel. If there was any competent officer that he could rely on to accompany him in hide and seek with a patient, it was her.
"Chris," he called while walking over, Chapel turning around, "You heard the comm, right?"
She nodded, continuing to grab a medkit, "Yep, I have Boyce holding the fort, I was gonna help find him. I don't know what would happen if another unsuspecting crew member found him while he's in the state of mind he's been in lately."
That was true. Jim was acting like an oblivious child walking into a stranger's car.
Quite literally.
"I'm coming with you, I know how to deal with him."
Both of them grabbed their own medkits and stormed out the doors, almost knocking into someone who tried to enter.
Chapel turned to McCoy, "Where would a child hide if they were scared?"
He thought for a second, considering what Joanna would do. Jim's mental age was probably even younger than hers at this point.
"Somewhere isolated."
…
Jim bolted through another corridor—where was he? Why wasn't there any signs? He swore there were signs, just like where he lived back in… Iowa… with Frank…
Frank had betrayed him, pinned him to a chair and let the other doctor, who he claimed to be his friend, take away his enamel, and it really hurt.
He felt a tickle on his chin, and he stopped running for a second to wipe his mouth—someone had just turned a corner—they looked at him—they found him!
"Captain! Captain Kirk, come here at once!"
He inhaled harshly and darted around another corner, having no idea where he was going.
Looking at his hands, he saw blood. He wondered if he had cut himself again. Frank whipped him really bad in every single appointment, but he said it was to make him the perfect pet.
Jim was admittedly quite excited for this, he wanted a pet so bad. Frank was making a pet for him by smacking him really hard, but that was okay, because Jim really wanted a pet.
Suddenly—Jim cried out in distress and fell onto his knees, cradling his head in his hands and squeezing his skull as hard as he could, as if it would make the pain disappear. Agony ripped through his head, sending him writhing and screaming like a kid having a tantrum on the floor.
He needed it to end. He wanted it to end so badly. He wanted to make the pain go away forever.
Struggling to catch his breath from hyperventilating, Jim, shaking like a leaf, pressed his hands against the wall and stood up, his vision blurry and distorted.
He walked down the first corridor he saw, feeling nothing but pain, so much that the only thing Jim could do was let out weak moans as he stumbled along the floor, his arms cuddling his head as he tried to find a way out.
Every second that passed felt like another pin being lodged into his skull. He moaned out loud again as another wave of agony over took him, almost stumbling over from the momentary weakness before clamouring the wall, keeping himself upright.
Up ahead, he saw a closed door to a room, which was probably one of the only rooms on the ship that wasn't outfitted with a million glass windows.
Such invasion of privacy… such… anxiety…
He fell into the door, whimpering as it asked for voice authorisation.
"K-kirk," he stuttered out, his body feeling so weak he was sure he was about to collapse.
The door opened in time, and Jim faltered inside the second that the acceptance beep sounded, instantly falling onto a sofa.
He curled up into a ball, clasping his head in his hands, his entire body trembling and vibrating against the sobs that wracked him. He didn't feel like he could calm down. The pain was constant, and it was getting worse.
I want to die I want to die I want to die…
Please please please I want to die how do I die please I can't take this anymore please please…
I'm so confused I'm so fucking confused where am I… why did Frank hurt me so much I don't understand… it hurts…. It hurts… it's still hurting… so fucking bad, it hurts…hurts…hurts…
Jim heard the authorisation acceptance beep again, and he cried out in anguish as the door hissed open, curling in on himself even tighter, hiding his face, suddenly aware of the blood he could feel trickling out of his lips. Had Frank punched him really hard on the nose again?
"Hey, sweetheart," he heard a woman's voice coo at him sweetly, footsteps approaching the coach.
Please go away please go away please go away.
He couldn't find the real words; all he could do was sob.
And sob.
And sob.
And sob.
And with every sob, his mouth twitched, and with every twitch, another stroke of agony ripped his body to pieces.
"What's going on, Jim?" he felt the sofa dip, the sound of someone shuffling closer.
A hand on his back. He flinched. There was silence. Clearly the woman was offended.
But the hand returned, although gentler. He tried his hardest not to react.
The fingers started rubbing circles into his back, and faintly under his own crying he could hear someone quietly shushing him, trying to get him to calm down.
He wanted to calm down, he really did, but he couldn't take it. It hurt so much. He wanted to stab himself in the mouth, rip out every fucking piece of flesh of bone in his body and make it stop.
"Can you sit up for me sweetheart?"
Jim snivelled and shook his head. He didn't want to move from his position of being curled into a ball.
Then, another wave of agony. He suddenly tensed up and shook violently, screaming into his curled arm at the piercing pain in the base of his skull until it dulled down again.
"Come on sweetie, sit up for me."
Jim's lips trembled as he tried to form the right word.
"N-n-n-n-no…. nnn-o…"
The hand disappeared from his back, and for some reason he felt the hole in his stomach expand. But it reappeared on his head, fingers gently brushing through his hair.
"Staying all curled up in the ball is gonna make your back hurt! Come sit up for me, you can lean on me instead."
Weeping, Jim decided he didn't want to make the pain worse than it already is. A back ache would just top it all off.
So, slowly, he tried to order his muscles to move, but he just let out a strained grunt, falling into a half-ball and started to cry again.
He was useless.
"Oh, sweetheart…" he heard, feeling a pair of hands wrap around his torso, "Okay on three, ready?"
Jim sucked in a breath, "U-u-uh h-h-huh"
"One… two…. Thhhree!"
The woman hauled Jim upright, another yell of distress escaping his lips. Without even looking to see who it was, he turned and slammed his head repeatedly against the woman's shoulder, trying to get the pain to go away.
"Woah—hey, hey, okay Jim, no—stop, Jim," his attempts to die by shoulder were halted as he was suddenly pushed away at arms-length, the hands gripping on either side of his shoulders tightly.
When she didn't say anything else, Jim glanced up through his shuddering breaths to see who it was. It was of course Christine Chapel.
Then before his brain could process anything else, a pulse of agony shot through his scalp, and he tried to curl in on himself, his mouth gaping as he tried to scream but no sound came out.
"What's the matter sweetheart? Did someone hurt you?"
When the pain dulled down a bit, he glanced up again to face her and nodded.
He felt another tickle running down his chin, but before he could touch it, Chapel was wiping it away for him.
"Where're all this coming from?" she asked, wiping the rest of his mouth from the blood stains all over it.
Through sheer determination, Jim took a deep shaky breathing and attempted to speak,
"A m-a-ah-ahn h-h-hu-hurt m-m-m-me,"
Chapel pulled him closer, until his head was resting on her shoulder, "A man hurt you, sweetie?"
She felt him nod against her shoulder. She rubbed circles into his back, trying to calm the blonde down from his constant state of shaking and crying. He seemed to be in pain but didn't know where.
"You're bleeding quite a bit, did he hit you?"
Jim nodded again, "Uh-huh,"
"And you ran away from him? Where were you?"
Jim snivelled. He didn't want to remember where he was or what they were doing.
Recent memories surfaced of being strapped to the chair with his mouth forced open while they spent three whole hours causing him constant excruciating pain, ignoring his crying and talking amongst themselves… his shaking went up a notch, and he felt Chapel's arm grip him tighter.
Frank was always nice to him. He only wanted to make him happy. Frank would give him rewards as long as he would make him happy first. He trusted Frank when he said that his enamel would be taken away, and he never mentioned that it would hurt.
"Fr-fra-frank lied to m-me" Jim wept, squeezing his eyes shut as another wave of pain coursed through his head.
"Frank? He was here?"
"Uh-h-hu-huh."
Christine knew that Jim had been hallucinating Frank for the past couple of months, so she didn't know what to say apart from go along with it. It would be difficult to pin down the person who did this if all he saw was Frank every time someone was hurting him.
"Okay," she muttered, moving Jim back a bit so that he was facing her, "Should we go and see Doctor McCoy?"
Jim let out a breath and pondered this for a bit. Frank told him that McCoy hated him and was always angry because of him. Yet Frank had lied to him and hurt him a lot, so he didn't know what to think of McCoy.
"D-does he wa-wa-want to see m-me?"
"Of course he does sweetheart, he's been worried sick about you!"
Jim sniffed and stared towards the ground. He remembered the alarm going off in the corridor as he was escaping from the office, alerting everyone on the ship that he had escaped and needed to be found and restrained. But why wasn't Christine restraining him?
Would McCoy restrain him?
"What will he d-d-do t-t-t-t-" he inhaled sharply, "Wha-what will h-h—"
"What will he do to you?" Chapel interrupted, knowing what he was trying to say.
Jim glanced up to her again.
"He'll just want to have a chat with you, I want to have a chat with him, too."
Jim nodded, then screwed his eyes shut again, tears pricking at his eyes, "My h-h-head h-u-hurts!"
"I know, that's why we're going to see him so he can fix your head."
Jim wrapped his arms around himself protectively, but nodded.
"Come on, let's go see if we can find him," she coaxed, gently gripping his wrists and standing up from the sofa. Jim followed suit, standing up after her and immediately grabbing her hand like a scared child.
She didn't try to pull him away, knowing that at this point in time, Jim was very likely to have the mentality of a child, though not entirely sure the reason for the behaviour.
…
McCoy darted back into sickbay like a man on a mission. Lieutenant Sanscrat reported seeing Kirk in the corridor before running off in the other direction and losing him, he and Chapel had been searching for him for an hour and yet came up with nothing.
There's some a ship-wide search taking place where every section of the ship was looking for him, and that had never happened before. Every single crew member had gone out of their way to search the decks, the recreational areas and even their own quarters for this man, when usually a 'ship-wide search' meant 'tell us if you spot him while on the job'.
Sighing, he flopped down on his office chair and buried his head in his hands. Duty started in two hours and he hadn't had a single wink of sleep. The brandy from earlier was staring at him, willing him, enticing him to pick it up and get drunk. But he couldn't walk around smelling if alcohol when he was on the job.
Suddenly, his PADD pinged four bleeps to alert him of a new message. Taking less than a second to pick up the device, he opened the message.
It was from Christine.
I've got him.
He's with me now but he's in a bad way.
Bleeding from someplace, I think it's from the mouth, said he was hit by Frank.
Coming to your office so please be there.
Like I said, he's terrified and shaking, try to be gentle with him because he has the mentality of a five-year-old.
Something is very wrong.
-Christine Chapel.
McCoy shoved the PADD away and pursed his lips.
Shit. In a bad way? What the hell had happened to him?
The door comm notified him of a presence requesting entry, he immediately accepted it.
In came Jim Kirk, bleeding from the mouth, shaking like a damn leaf and being practically dragged in the room by a very stressed looking Nurse Chapel.
He got up from his chair and cautiously circled his way towards him, as if trying not to frighten an animal.
"Hey kid," he greeted gently, noting the kid retreating backwards towards the door, "You wanna take a seat over there?" he gestured towards the sofa, much like the office Chapel had.
Jim glanced up to Chapel, subtly seeking permission to sit down. She nodded and guided him towards the sofa, delicately sitting him down and holding a hand up to McCoy to wait until he got comfortable. She kneeled on the floor in front of him, placing a hand on his knee to try and get him to feel as in control as possible.
My god. He's bleeding badly, Chris, I need to get to him.
Chapel waited until Jim's eyes stopped frantically darting around the room.
"You want to tell the Doctor about the pain you're feeling?"
Jim's hand reached down to the hand on his leg, squeezing it hard as if trying to get reassurance.
Slowly, McCoy made his way over to Jim, kneeling next to Chapel so that both doctors were kneeling in front of Jim while he sat on the sofa.
"He's been bleeding from his mouth for a while," Chapel whispered to McCoy, who nodded and glanced over to the medkit that was a few inches away.
"Jim, I'm gonna reach over here and get the medkit, alright?" he explained softly, trying not to spook the kid. Thankfully he received a nod in reply—hesitant, but it was there.
He leaned over and grabbed the kit, placing next to him and cracking it open.
Jim's shaking turned up a notch when he realised more people who considered themselves as doctors were going to have their hands on him.
McCoy brought something out the box, and instantly Jim froze, his breath hitching as his mind flashed back to the trauma he experienced just hours ago.
He lay paralysed to the chair while a doctor leaned over him, shoving the handpiece yet again into his mouth, the high-pitched squeal sending him panting in panic before the pain overwhelmed his system. The overhead light hurting his eyes, making his vulnerability clear as the spotlight was on his mouth. The drill dug into his molar, feeling the vibration against his gum as he heard the sound of tooth breaking off and being sucked away. He wanted to move, to escape, but his body had been drugged by a relaxant that left him paralysed and vulnerable. After the drill dug deeper into the tooth, he let out a horrifying cry that would have been heard down all the corridors.
"Jim? Jim! Hey!"
He gasped and flailed in the seat, both doctors reaching out and trying to settle him.
"It's alright, Jim, it's alright," McCoy ushered, remaining amazingly patient with the man, "You zoned out on us there."
Jim blinked slowly, noticing the instrument in McCoy's hand and started gasping and curling in on himself again.
"Don-don't hu-hurt me ag-ag-again p-p-p-pl-please, I-I-I sw-swear I w-w-will b-be g-g-g-good…"
McCoy frowned, feeling immense hatred, for whoever had traumatised him like this.
"We're not going to hurt you, sweetie," Chapel gently reassured him, "We just want to help you feel better."
McCoy put down the scanner, managing to get some kind of results from the distance he was at.
"Chris, I need to look at his mouth." McCoy whispered harshly. There were signs of nerve damage and several areas of bleeding from deep inside the gums.
Chapel sighed, offering a smile to Jim, trying to think of a way he could get Jim to comply to this.
"The medication we put him on?"
"Out of the question right now."
She nodded, then tried another tactic.
"Jim, your mouth is hurting a lot, right?"
A quick nod.
"You want the pain to go away?"
Another nod.
"Can you let doctor McCoy here take a look at it so he knows how to make it stop?"
Jim's gaze fell to McCoy. Something in this doctor's eyes was so much more sincere that the doctor friend that Frank had.
"Bones?" he just about managed to squeak out. Bones' lips formed into a gentle smile.
"Yeah, kid?"
"Can you be really really really careful not to make it hurt worse?"
McCoy stopped himself from sighing in relief, nodding and taking a pair of latex gloves from the medkit, "If you can handle it long enough I can ease the pain a little bit."
There's no easy way to completely dull the agony the kid is in right now, but as long as he gets some relief…
Jim grabbed Chapel's hand again, who of course didn't mind offering him any comfort he could get, and slouched back on the sofa.
McCoy pulled himself up and sat beside Jim, whipping the gloves on and waiting for the kid's slight panicking to die down.
"After this we can go get you some food, if you'd like?" Chapel offered, trying to distract Jim from what was likely to be a very difficult exam.
Jim's eyes slightly brightened at that, liking the sound of food right now. He hadn't eaten for a whole day.
"Chris, hand me the tongue decompressor," he said calmly, trying not to startle Jim.
"You fancy having a hamburger?" Chapel asked him, passing the tongue decompressor to McCoy.
Jim nodded hastily; McCoy pretty much never let him eat such food, but his smile let him know he would let him get away with it.
"We can go grab anything you want, Jim, right after this," McCoy counselled, poking the decompressor light-heartedly on Jim's lip, "Open up for me, kiddo."
At that, just as he expected, Jim froze up on the spot and started whining again. He gently wrapped an arm around Jim's back, trying to get him to calm down, holding the tool in the other.
"I know, I know, but we're not them, we just want to help," he murmured, referring to the doctors that hurt him.
Jim snivelled, glancing down at the innocent, non-invasive piece of plastic in McCoy's hand and very timidly opened up.
"There you go," Chapel encouraged, squeezing his hand for comfort as McCoy stuck the decompressor in his mouth.
McCoy tried his best not to frown, but after a couple of seconds, what he saw all but horrified him. Every single one of his teeth had been filled, there was tiny uneven pieces of enamel littered around his mouth, and almost his entire top set of teeth was stained red. His gums were swollen and inflamed—perhaps an infection?
"Jim," McCoy asked gently, "How many fillings have you had in your life?"
Jim lifted one finger.
Shit. Some bastard has filled every single one of them and destroyed all of the enamel.
"Okay," he smiled encouragingly, "Hand me the third vial from the right and give me the hypospray," he ordered to Chris, taking the decompressor out of his mouth and dropping it into a sanitizing bag.
Jim closed his mouth immediately, becoming disheartened when he realised McCoy still wanted him to open it again.
"Just another second Jim, this is an anti-inflammatory with a strong pain reliever."
Jim surprisingly didn't put up a fight at the offer of some pain relief and did what he said.
He flinched at the sting settling into his cheek, before the pain around the root of his teeth started to fade out.
"That better?" McCoy asked, noticing the kid relaxing a little now.
Jim mumbled a quiet "Mhm" before letting go of Chapel's hand.
She stood up, glancing down at his still slightly shaky form before turning to McCoy,
"Do you have a pillow in here?"
"Uh, I'm presuming you mean a pillow that I don't use for my bed, if that's the case then there's one shoved under the sofa."
Chapel nodded bending down and tugging it out from under the sofa, "Why's the pillow under the sofa for?" she chuckled, throwing it on the edge of the furniture and plumping it a little.
"In case someone comes in here and thinks I'm sleeping on the job or something."
Chapel rolled her eyes, when do they ever actually get a break from the job in the first place?
"You can lie down if you want Jim, I'll go get you some blankets and you can have a little nap."
Jim nodded eagerly at this, dropping himself onto the pillow and stretching his legs out a bit.
Chapel returned with the blankets, throwing it over him.
Jim heaved the blankets over himself so tightly that he looked like a burrito.
Smiling, Chapel turned to McCoy, who was absent-mindedly gazing concerned at him.
"What the hell are we gonna do, Chris?" he mumbled quietly so that Jim couldn't hear him, "That damage needs to be fixed or the pain is never going to stop. In fact, the infection will probably get worse."
Chapel shook her head, watching Jim look comfortable for the first time in ages, "Honestly? I don't know. We have to get the medication back in him soon too, before he spirals out of control again," she explained, "But for now, let's just let him sleep. We can deal with everything else tomorrow."
Bones nodded his agreement, his eyes following Chapel as she went for the door.
"Night," she called back, before the doors hissed open and shut.
McCoy sighed, quietly placing the medkit on the side-table next to the sofa, just in case Jim needed it.
He probably wouldn't, but who could blame him for being over-protective?
…
3 hours later.
It was pitch blank inside the office, and Jim was pretty sure McCoy had finally managed to fall asleep as the bedroom door had stopped opening every five minutes.
Only problem was, he couldn't sleep. The events of today played back in his head, over and over again, along with other unwelcome thoughts such as am I ever going to get my captaincy back?
He knew that the crew, especially McCoy and Spock, were in talks with Starfleet about what had happened and were scheduled to arrive there in a few days.
"Jim?"
Kirk jumped, slamming a hand instinctively on the arm rest—not like that would do anything against Frank.
But of course, it wasn't Frank.
"Hey, why the hell you still awake? It's two in the morning."
Jim shrugged, "I was gonna ask you the same question, Bones."
He couldn't see anything from the darkness, but he heard footsteps, and then felt Bones kneel down in front of the sofa, placing a hand on his knee. Luckily, he didn't flinch away.
"Having trouble sleeping, huh?" he asks, reaching for something on the table behind him—ah yes, a med-kit, how could he even consider that it was something else?
"Don't use that as an excuse to hypo me" Jim mumbled, tucking his arms under his chest. He'd only just managed to calm himself down to a point where he could think clearly. He wasn't sure if it was the crying that had helped clear his mind or if it was the lack of medication.
"Uh-huh, well I'm not having you looking like this when we arrive at the starbase, they'll think I'm neglecting you" Bones retorted, instantly jabbing a hypo into Jim's neck before he could relax.
"Bones!" Jim yelled, "I'm feeling better! You've probably just made it worse!"
The doctor scoffed, "Pfft, it's only a sedative, but at least you ain't shaking like a leaf anymore," then he paused, "Come to think of it, you're acting much more lucid now. Huh."
Jim watched amused as McCoy attempted to solve the calculations in his head which would crack the Jim Kirk is suddenly acting like an adult equation before the sedatives started working his way into his body.
Not this time.
"Hmm… M'gnna fight th' sed'tive…" Jim slurred, willing his drooping eyes to stay open.
McCoy patted him on the back.
"'Course you are. I'll see ya in the morning, kid."
"…Nnnope...staying awake…see…not sleepy…at all…"
"Damn it, close your damn eyes!"
"Nahhh…not sleepy…I can stay here alllll daaaay…"
"And here I thought you were gettin' lucid again."
"…Hmm…told you that sed'tive was bad idea, B'nes…"
"Like hell it was. Now close your eyes before I stab you with another one!"
It only took that sentence for Jim to shut up and never utter another word for the rest of the night. Perhaps it was a good idea to get some sleep after all.
Besides, didn't he have an appointment with Schaidon tomorrow?
A/N: So that's the cute lil friendship comfort fic and less of the actual hurting. For now. Muahaha. :)
Next Chapter: The pieces begin to fall together about Frank, so he makes a quick leap decision to make sure that Jim is his and his alone, forever.