A/N: Talk about down to the wire. I'm literally posting this from the airport. Bless Google and their free wi-fi! I do apologize for making you all wait so long after I promised to have this chapter out. I really, really tried, but it wasn't working and this chapter is too important for half-measures!
As always, a big THANK YOU to all you lovely people who reviewed! :)
Seventh Circle
Chapter 10
Three days pass.
Kirk's head is in his hands. Unshaven stubble pricks against his dirty palms. His vivid blue eyes, dulled by stress and fatigue, are closed. He does not need them to see the cell. The positions and conditions of his three surviving men are burned into his consciousness.
Chekov's slight form lies crumpled in same position it has been in since he fell ill. McCoy keeps his feverish body propped on its side to keep the blood still ebbing from his nose from running down his throat. Reddish patches seep through his uniform in places. The dark bruises slowly spreading through his chalk-white skin have begun to encroach upon his face.
Kirk felt his heart stop. Chekov was so pale, so still, so utterly lifeless that he had to be—oh god no, he couldn't—
McCoy's fingers tightened bracingly on the captain's shoulder. "No, Jim, he's alive. Barely."
The Russian has been comatose for almost a day now. A part of Kirk is relieved they no longer have to listen to his delirious ravings. Even Bones had nearly lost it when the kid started asking for his mother.
Kirk hates that guilty relief almost as much as he hates himself for dragging Chekov into this mess.
McCoy sprawls uselessly against the wall beside the dying navigator. Several days' stubble darkens his drawn, haggard face. He will not leave Chekov's side. There is nothing else he can do. What is left of his spirit flashes to the surface every time Kirk tries to convince him to rest. Bones turns the air blue with his explosive refusals, even though his head begins to nod with fatigue as soon as Kirk gives up and looks away.
Kirk listened numbly as the doctor explained that the kid's body was shutting down. He was hanging on, but not by much. They were running out of time.
And not just for Chekov. The incessant strain was clearly affecting McCoy. Bones' famously short temper was on a hair trigger. He no longer slept.
Spock kneels in the farthest corner from the other three men. His dark-haired head is bowed slightly in Vulcan meditation, revealing a swarm of green hypo marks on his neck. The Janusians seem to be concentrating their nefarious efforts on the first officer. They force him from the cell several times a day and return him hours later, silent and clearly shaken. Spock will not say what treatment he is subjected to during these sessions. He barely speaks at all. So far he has managed to cling to his composure through nearly constant meditation.
Kirk glanced to the empty spot normally occupied by Spock. To McCoy's unabashed relief, the Vulcan spent more time out of the cell than in it. There have been no other outbursts, but there have been a few close calls. Spock and Bones nearly came to blows one afternoon before Kirk could diffuse the situation.
But Kirk knows time is running short. He can see it in the increasingly exhausted set of Spock's shoulders; the dead look in his normally expressive eyes.
Kirk is desperate. He is out of ideas. They have tried every possible means of escape three times over. He would give anything to get them out. He would do anything for even the smallest chance to escape. He would run any risk to save them. But all he can do is watch; watch as Chekov's body slowly gives out, watch as Spock loses his mind and McCoy gradually crumples under the pressure.
"Jim," Bones' soft drawl, almost unrecognizable beneath the weary anxiety in his tone, intrudes on Kirk's thoughts. The captain forces himself to look up. It's the first thing McCoy's said in nearly half a day. "Jim…we have to get out of here."
Kirk's temper flares. What does Bones think they've been trying to do for the past five days? Of course they have to get out of this hellhole! He barely manages to bite back a scathing reply, trying to remember they are all under incredible pressure. "I know, Bones," he replies through gritted teeth. I'm trying, he adds silently.
"He's dying, Jim. Chekov's dying. If we don't get to a med facility soon he's not going to--" McCoy's voice abruptly cracks with passionate frustration. "We've gotta get out of here while I can still do something, damn it!"
Spock cuts in before Kirk can even begin to think of something to say. "Perhaps, Doctor, you would like to make a more constructive suggestion?" His near-monotone is caustic after the intense pathos of McCoy's voice. "Besides opening the lock we cannot force, reaching the window we cannot fit through, or overpowering our significantly stronger and more numerous captors?"
McCoy's hollow eyes flash. Kirk tenses. The situation is potentially explosive. Bones is spoiling for a fight and desperate for any form of emotional release. Spock is weary from severe strain and on edge because the Janusian guards are due to take him away at any moment.
"I'll think on it!" McCoy retorts venomously, making a deliberate dig at Spock's meditations.
Clearly stung, Spock ignores Kirk's warning glare and rises to his feet. "And, no doubt, you will continue to point out the obvious," he observes cuttingly.
McCoy swells with rage. "Listen, you point-eared sonofa—"
"Bones," Kirk interrupts. It is his friend's nickname but Kirk's command tone. "Cool it."
He keeps one eye on the doctor while he surveys the first officer. To his horror, he notices Spock's hands have begun to shake again. The Vulcan takes a menacing step towards McCoy. Kirk swears under his breath, wishing he could just knock their thick heads together and be done with it. He doesn't have the energy to waste on their bullshit. He springs to his feet and steps between the two.
"Spock! Knock it off, both of you," Kirk snaps, warily looking from Spock to McCoy. Spock looks downright dangerous and McCoy is too irate to be aware of his own peril. "That's an order."
After a tense pair of heartbeats, Spock recovers first. He blinks in confusion, glancing around as if he did not remember how he came to be standing in front of Kirk. The Vulcan looks flustered and slightly embarrassed as he retreats to his accustomed corner. McCoy glowers malevolently at his back. Kirk glares at him until he turns his attention back to Chekov. McCoy and Spock are not going to kill each other. The captain allows himself to slump with relief.
A dull throb, a physical manifestation of stress and dehydration, pounds behind Kirk's eyes as he resumes his seat. The captain doesn't know how much more he can take. He doesn't know how much more any of them can take. Spock and McCoy are already at each other's throats, rising tempers held in check only by their mutual respect for Jim. Kirk does not want to think about what could happen if one of them snaps.
God, he is so tired of it all. He sags back against the wall with a heavy sigh. They still have no explanation for their presence here, save Lilith's enigmatic hints and her interest in Kirk. Even that fixation seems to have waned. To his utter bewilderment, the Janusians have ignored him completely since his initial audience with her. Kirk cannot comprehend why his men are being tortured and he is not.
His dull blue gaze is drawn guiltily to Chekov and McCoy at the thought. Bones' eyes are closed. His forehead rests on the knuckles of one hand, which is in turn propped up on a knee drawn towards his chest. His other hand rests lightly on Chekov's body. The doctor is conscious of the too-shallow rise and fall of the boy's chest even as he surrenders to his own fatigue.
The watching is the worst, Kirk decides listlessly as he studies the pair. Listening as Chekov suffered through his initial injuries at Janusian hands had been awful. Helplessly watching as the horrible fever gripped Chekov's body hurt Kirk more than he could have ever thought possible. Now as the young navigator lay dying on the cell floor, Kirk would trade his commission for a hypospray to at least make him comfortable.
Kirk sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Watching Chekov suffer is bad enough for him, but it has to be killing McCoy.
Bones' stubbornness might make him frustrating to deal with at times, but it also makes him one of the best doctors in Starfleet. He refuses to give up on his patients. He fights for them until the bitter end. More often than not, he wins. Being forced to sit on his hands and watch Chekov succumb to some alien disease, losing the boy without even having the chance to fight has to be excruciating for McCoy…it is just like Giacomo again, only drawn out over several hellish days.
Kirk frowns. Just like Giacomo.
Just like Giacomo, who was mortally wounded and left to die.
Kirk's body stiffens as his worn out mind finally grasps the connection. Giacomo wasn't just left to die. He was sacrificed by their captors for the sadistic purpose of torturing McCoy. Bones knew Giacomo was intentionally killed; he suspected Chekov was intentionally infected—oh god.
The Janusians aren't just killing Chekov. They are using him to torment McCoy.
But why? Kirk finds the reason etched into Bones' haggard face.
What better way to get to the doctor?
Surround a highly skilled, empathic man trained to make decisions and save lives with impossible cases and an empty room. No, not impossible. Just hopeless. Not only is he forced to watch his patient (possibly a close friend) suffer and die, but with his medical training he is uniquely situated to appreciate the process. He knows what is happening to his patient's body and how it feels. He even knows how he could save his dying comrade if he had the right equipment. But all he can do is watch...
Kirk shudders. Another small piece of the puzzle falls into place as his eyes dart back to the navigator. They would choose Chekov. The Janusians had exhibited exactly the same reasoning when they first dragged the terrified Russian from the cell. Chekov's youth made him an excellent subject. It made his plight that much more emotionally difficult to witness.
Well, for everyone that experienced emotion. The captain's brow furrows. How does Spock factor into this appalling equation?
He looks over at the Vulcan, who has resumed his attempts at meditation. Spock has retreated so deep into the cell's farthest corner that he is wedged against the wall. Kirk frowns a little. It's like the Vulcan is intentionally avoiding his companions.
Memories instantly flash before his mind's eye. Spock stepping away from Kirk as his hands began to shake moments before he lost control. The terror in his dark brown eyes as he realized what could happen to his companions if he did.
The Vulcan isn't trying to avoid them. He is trying to protect them. Spock puts as much distance as he can between himself and his comrades because is afraid he will lose control and accidentally harm them.
The Janusians are stripping him of his logic. Without that strict logic, he loses the means to control his potentially violent emotions. All they need to do next is provoke those emotions and throw him back in his cell. The Vulcan is forced to attempt to control the most intense feelings he has ever experienced, while worrying about what will happen to his loyal comrades when his mind finally snaps under the strain. And snap it will, if the Janusians have their way.
Kirk's lip curls into a furious snarl. If Lilith has her way.
He can see it now. They aren't just being tortured. The systematic reasoning she uses to rip apart Spock's mind; the tailored brutality she calculates to hit McCoy at his weakest point intimates her goal is far greater.
She is trying to break them.
Kirk needs a moment to fully process the ominous realization. There is no doubt in his mind now as to the purpose of their treatment by the Janusians. But he still does not understand why. Why is Lilith trying so very hard to break Spock and McCoy?
By her own admission, Lilith wants him. What does she care for Kirk's men? How are they related to her interest in him? It makes no sense.
Kirk grits his teeth against his mounting frustration and dredges up the memories of his single conversation with Lilith. She is interested in Kirk. His men are somehow essential. They all have some sort of role to play. He can feel the tenuous connection between the facts hovering unseen before him, begging him to reach out and grasp it.
Nothing comes until he glances around at Spock, Chekov, and McCoy. His stomach twists violently; the pangs of guilt at their suffering are so intense they are nearly physical. It hurts to look at them.
It hurts more than he could ever have thought possible.
It hurts him more than he could ever have thought possible.
Icy water floods Kirk's veins. The nebulous suspicions that have swirled around in his head for days waiting for a catalyst suddenly coalesce into one horrific thought.
They are tearing each other apart.
Why is she hurting them and not him? The simple answer is that she is hurting him.
She is using his men to hurt him.
Logic (and your illogical emotional investment in the characters) dictates you review this chapter. Reviewers will be rewarded per usual...with chapter 11 previews. :-D