Shot in the Dark: Chapter Ten
This time Jim was scared.
Scared of the drug. Scared of Ka'al.
Scared of the machine.
He didn't fight, as he knew it would be pointless and would more than likely prolong his suffering. He just prayed Tarsus wouldn't torment him again. As Tazan fitted the band around his forehead, he could feel his body begin to shake. He didn't have any control, and he was afraid that Ka'al would notice.
I don't want to do this anymore.
Why did we come back?
I don't want…
…Tarsus.
"Your neck, Captain."
Jim snapped himself out of his thoughts at the sound of Ka'al's voice. The warmonger stood towering over him, tapping his claws on his crossed forearms. Tazan stood next to him, meek and visibly anxious. His hands trembled, the syringe bouncing slightly with the movement.
No more.
Kirk stared at Tazan's hand, watching the blue liquid slosh around in the canister of the syringe as his hands shook. The older man's eyes pleaded with him to comply willingly. He didn't need to say anything—and would have been killed had he even tried. He raised the hypodermic close to Jim's neck and moved to inject the serum.
Jim unconsciously pulled back from the needle.
Ka'al smirked wickedly and in one swift movement had grabbed both Kirk's head and the syringe. He wrenched Jim's head to the side, exposing the bruised flesh of his neck. Without hesitation, he shoved the needle into the Captain's jugular and pushed the plunger.
It felt like acid going into Jim's body.
"I'm amazed you still wish to fight me, James. Especially after the last time." Ka'al tossed the used needle aside. "How soon you forget how painful it was."
I didn't forget.
I can never forget.
Jim managed a wry smile as he responded, the drug acting more quickly this time. "Didn't…even…hurt…" There it was, the Kirk defense mechanism again. Even though inside, he was more afraid than he had been since childhood, the overpowering urge to fight back, to never show his weaknesses, took over.
"We shall see about that." Ka'al motioned to Tazan to begin the current. "Higher setting this time, if you please."
"Y-yes, Master." Tazan briefly looked in Jim's direction, his skin glowing a pale blue. Ka'al just stood there silently. Waiting.
Kirk closed his eyes and waited for the click of the button. Seconds after he heard it, he felt as if his mind was being pulled away from his body and the light once again raced towards him.
Jim could see McCoy's brow sweating.
He was lying down—no, being held down. Spock's strong hands pressed into his flesh, pinning him to the bed.
[please not this]
He could feel sharp claws in his hair, raking through in an attempt to calm him. His shoulder and thigh throbbed, a there was a deep and gnawing pain in his abdomen. The room was stifling, and yet he felt cold. He could smell the stench of his own blood on the sheets underneath him, the wetness sticking to his back.
He watched as McCoy licked dry lips, his hand trembling as he reached for his laser scalpel.
"I'll make this as quick as I can Jim."
Kirk closed his eyes and nodded with his waning strength. Something was being placed in his mouth, flexible and bitter tasting. The texture was rough against his tongue.
He was just about to call out to Bones, to beg him to stop before he even started—but it was too late. The worst pain he had ever felt in his life erupted from his belly and he head himself scream. It reverberated through his ears, coursing through his entire body.
He felt himself buck off of the bed, trying desperately to get away from the searing burn washing over his entire torso. Hot tears flowed from his eyes as the strip of leather that had been between his teeth fell aside. His right hand curled into the sheets of the bed so tightly, his fingernails punctured holes in the fabric.
"Spock, hold him tighter!" Jim cracked his eyes open for just a moment. McCoy's face was panicked as he frantically barked orders. "And put that towel over his mouth! The soldiers will hear him for sure!"
[bones stop!]
The agony radiated as McCoy drew the scalpel across his abdomen. He could feel warm blood begin to pour out of his body. Just when Jim thought the anguish couldn't get any worse, he felt McCoy's fingers dig into the new wound and pull.
New pain shot through him as the pressure of the internal bleeding was released. Even though his belly no longer felt bloated, the white-hot sensation of Bones' fingers yanking his skin open was almost too much for him to bear.
He sobbed into the soft cloth over his mouth, hearing his own muffled cries echoing off the walls of the room. Jim felt a strange coolness on his forehead as Mak'ai rested her face on his skin. He could hear a soft hissing in his left ear trying to soothe him.
It didn't help.
Jim tried to kick his legs, only to find they were still being held tightly by the strong strap. His fingers curled and uncurled as waves of pain flowed over him. He wanted to scream at Bones to stop, but he knew it wouldn't make a difference. He wasn't going to rest until the bullets were out.
Spock's hands held him tightly, and Kirk tried feverishly to wriggle away from him. But no amount of straining was going to break the Vulcan's mighty grip.
The feeling of invasion came again as McCoy dug into the gaping wound. Kirk could feel his fingertips moving tissue and muscle out of the way as he delved deeper. The feeling of the Doctor's fingers grasping—something—and tugging at it sent a new flash of torment through Jim and he screamed again.
But his strength was leaving him.
His eyes opened for a split second to see Bones stick his penlight in his mouth with bloody hands and direct the beam onto his stomach. The light was garbling his speech.
"I see you, you little bastard."
Jim felt something sharp jab into his gut, nausea overtaking him along with a cascade of new anguish. Spock's hands tightened around his biceps and held him to the bed, pressing him into the mattress. No matter how hard he tried to get away, his First Officer wasn't relenting.
[no more!]
Kirk could feel McCoy's tweezers latch onto something inside him and pull. He arched his back and pushed up against Spock's might with a terrible scream as he felt himself float away…
[…]
[..]
.
Jim's entire body slumped in the chair, his head hanging limply in-between his shoulders. A thin stream of saliva dribbled from his open mouth. His eyes were cracked open slightly, but were unseeing and still.
He was unconscious.
"What happened?" Ka'al grabbed Jim by the chin and yanked his head back. Jim's blind eyes stared out into the room. "Why is he still?"
"I believe he has passed out, Master." Tazan cowered next to the machine, checking Kirk's cardiac readout.
"Wake him up! We're not done yet!" Ka'al released Jim's face, letting the young Captain's head fall back into its original position. He shook Kirk by the shoulders before slapping him across the cheek. He leaned in and screamed directly into his ear. "You're weak! Prove to me that you're the man Starfleet makes you out to be!"
Tazan scowled at the lines bouncing on the screen of the device. "Master, his heart is showing signs of distress." He moved closer and observed Jim's breathing pattern. "And he's breathing erratically. We could damage his brain if we're not careful."
Ka'al grabbed Tazan by the collar and lifted him into the air. "You will wake him up right now!" He dropped the old man onto the floor, Tazan crumbling into a heap at the warrior's feet.
"But, Master…"
Ka'al kicked him in the abdomen, sending a spray of bright orange blood from Tazan's lips. "This is your last chance, old man. Either you rouse him, or I kill you."
Tazan silently pushed himself up and reached for a ready-filled syringe. He injected it into Jim's neck and within seconds, Kirk's eyes shot open and immediately rolled back into his head, a raspy gasp billowing from his lips. The Captain began to tremble as the drug made its way through his system.
"Shame on you, James. Trying to leave before we've had all our fun."
Jim tried to focus on Ka'al, but found it incredibly hard to get his eyes to center on the tyrant's face. His lips moved slowly, as if he were trying to say something, but no sound escaped him.
Stop.
Please.
No more…
"What's that, Captain? You'll need to speak up."
Jim swallowed hard. He wanted to be anywhere but that room. He screwed his eyes shut, hoping that he would wake up back on the Enterprise, safe in McCoy's arms. But the feeling of Ka'al's hot, stinking breath on his cheek brought him back to reality.
"I'm not ready to let you falter just yet, Captain Kirk. I'm enjoying this way too much." He flicked his tongue out, lightly ghosting across Jim's forehead. "I still haven't gotten any secrets out of you!"
Ka'al motioned to the older man. "More power! I want him to beg me for mercy!"
Please don't…
I'll…
I'll talk…
"Master, you are putting him in great danger. This high of a setting with undoubtedly do damage to his neural functions. It may even kill him."
Ka'al grabbed Tazan by the arm and forced him to the machine. "Do it now, or I'll slit your throat."
The elderly doctor turned a small dial with a feeble hand, the indicator showing red where it once was black. He looked back at Jim briefly before flipping the switch.
[help me]
Jim saw him too late.
Frank lunged at him, the wind knocked out of his body as the baseball bat slammed into his ribs. He fell to the floor, gasping for air.
"You little bastard!"
Jim held his hands up in submission, only to have them kicked away. He had only seconds to dodge the bat again. He skittered away across the dusty wooden floor of the house in Riverside, scrambling through an open door and into the kitchen.
"What makes you think you can just take without asking?" The man stumbled in his drunken stupor for a moment, crashing into the door jamb. "My car is at the bottom of the quarry because of you!"
Frank came up right behind him, the bat making contact with the small of his back as he tried to get away. Searing pain tore up his spine. He heard the bat hit the floor with a loud clatter and seconds later felt the drunk man's hands on his shoulders. Jim was tossed like a rag doll against the wall, the pictures hanging there jostling from the force of the blow.
"You think your mama can save you?" The drunkard grabbed him by the shoulders and squeezed.
Kirk looked frantically for an escape route. The door leading to the back porch was too far away and more than likely locked. Frank blocked the exit into the dining room. The only other passage was the basement door, which was cracked slightly open. Once down there, Jim knew he could get out via the cellar trap door, but his stepfather would be hot on his heels the entire time—if he could even get away from him.
Jim licked his lower lip, tasting blood from the split in the soft flesh. If he went limp, he thought, he might be able to wriggle away from him. A well placed kick to the groin would almost surely sideline the lumbering hulk long enough for him to make his way to the basement and pull the door closed behind him. He knew it didn't have a lock, but if Frank was nursing a throbbing scrotum, it would buy him some time.
"You look just like your goddamn father!" Frank closed the gap between them and spit in his face.
Jim closed his eyes for a brief moment in meditation before letting his entire body go flaccid. Frank, confused, actually let go for a split second as the young man crumpled to the floor. Just as Jim was about to raise his heel and make contact with Frank's groin, the older man figured out what was going on. He grabbed Kirk by the head, yanking him upwards with such force that Jim thought his spine might actually release from the base of his skull.
"You can't get away from me, you miserable little thief!" Frank smashed his knuckles into Jim's nose, breaking it instantly. Blood poured from his nostrils, a sharp pain shooting through his eyes. He could see the intense fury burning in his stepfather's expression as he cocked his arm for another blow.
"Stay here and fight me like a man!"
Jim braced himself for another strike, which came seconds later with brutal force. Frank's fist slammed into his stomach, immediately forcing a mix of blood and bile from Jim's lips. He cried out in pain.
[make it stop]
Frank laughed as he pinned Jim against the wall. He grabbed for a bottle of scotch on the hutch next to him, draining the last of the contents in a single swig. After finishing it, he broke the bottle over the countertop and held the jagged edge to Kirk's throat.
"I could kill you right now. You're nothing but another goddamn mouth to feed around here!" He pressed the razor sharp glass to Kirk's skin. "Sam's not here, your bitch of a mother's not here…it's just you and me."
Jim winced as the glass began to pierce his throat.
"What, you don't even have anything to say for yourself?"
[stay quiet]
He heard his own voice, weak and shaking. "F-fuck…you…Frank…"
The older man sneered and pushed the broken bottle piece harder into Jim's neck, blood beginning to dribble down into his shirt collar. His breath stunk like cheap booze and cigarettes.
"You're worthless! No one would miss you if I slit your throat right now." He drew the shard across Jim's neck, etching a shallow line in the skin. "No one loves you, kid. No one ever will."
Frank dropped the piece of glass and slammed his forehead into Jim's own, sending him reeling. A moment later he was thrown across the room, colliding with the stove with incredible force. Kirk fell to his knees, trying draw air into his aching lungs. He couldn't lift his head more than a few inches off the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Frank's dirty work boots coming closer. The man stopped directly in front of him. His voice echoed off the walls, which were covered in chipping pale blue paint.
"You're going to die right here, you little son of a bitch. No one messes with me."
Jim screwed his eyes tightly shut and waited. Frank's boot connected with his chest and his world went black.
[…]
[..]
.
Jim's body convulsed as white froth sputtered from his lips. Blood began to trickle from his nostrils and into his open mouth, tinging the foam red.
Tazan quickly turned the machine off, then looked to Ka'al with terror in his eyes for what he had done.
Ka'al narrowed his eyes. "I didn't give you permission to turn it off!"
The older man recoiled back as Ka'al moved towards him. Tazan immediately ran to Kirk's side and took his head in his hands. He tried to look into his eyes, but was met with white, as they had rolled back into their sockets.
"Master, we are killing him!" He looked back over his shoulder in a panic, pleading for not only the life of the Starfleet man, but his own as well. "His brain is being overloaded and he's seizing!"
Ka'al grabbed him by the arm and pulled so hard he dislocated the shoulder joint. Tazan fell to his knees, cradling his injured arm. "You dare defy me?"
Tazan held his hand up in surrender. "M-master, please! If you kill him, you gain nothing!"
"So then I will kill you for being insubordinate." He kicked the toe of his boot into the elderly man's chest. Ka'al reached into his coat and drew a long, curved blade. He bent down and placed the sharp edge against Tazan's throat.
Jim continued to shake in the chair next to them, his breaths coming in short and uneven gasps. He choked on the substance collecting in his mouth. His fingers were outstretched and stiff, legs kicking out in all directions without any control from his brain. The seizure was violent and un-ending.
"Please, Sir! You can't kill me!"
"And why not? You have shown your lack of loyalty time and time again, old man." Ka'al pressed the blade harder.
"Because," Tazan threatened, finding bravado where there had previously been none." "If you kill me, you will have rid yourself of the only person who knows how to use the device. You murdered all my students from the Science Guild. The secret of the machine belongs to me and me alone."
Ka'al hesitated for a moment before removing the blade. He puffed hot air from his nostrils in Tazan's face before jamming the knife into his eye. The older man screamed in agony. Ka'al twisted and removed the blade, the eyeball popping out with it. Orange blood streamed from the now empty socket. Ka'al stood, tossing the sullied knife aside.
"Throw him back in his cell." Ka'al looked to Kirk, who had begun to calm in his chair. His eyes fluttered open inconsistently as his body's nervous system began to reboot. "And cauterize your wound so you don't bleed to death. You're going to have another victim very soon."
XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX
This time, Jim was mumbling incoherently when the guards shoved him into his cell.
McCoy watched silently as the two men manhandled the young Captain, one of them giving him a kick in the small of the back as he exited. He waited until they had locked the door before he scrambled over to the bars separating them.
"Jim?" McCoy reached out, just barely able to touch the fabric of Kirk's shirt, tugging loosely. "Roll over, darlin'. Tell me what hurts."
The younger man just rambled, his words slurring together. "…stop…Frank…won't tell…'terprise…"
"Jim, listen to me. Wherever you think you are—whatever you believe is happening…it isn't. I'm here and you're safe."
Safe.
What a load of bullshit.
"…can't…bat…hurts, Bones…feel it…" A few tears slipped down Jim's cheek. "…why're you…Spock…don't let 'm…die…"
"Calm down, Jim." McCoy shifted his position in order to try and get closer to Kirk. The Captain made this somewhat easier by choosing that moment to roll onto his back. As the Doctor reached through the bars to tangle his fingers in Jim's hair, he noticed the telltale signs that Jim had been the victim of a seizure.
Froth on his lips.
Unfocused eyes.
Confused rambling.
Not again…
He watched as Jim writhed on the floor, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. His body continued to go rigid every few moments, signaling that the seizure was anything but over. Even though it wasn't as severe as the first one he had gone through in Mak'ai's home, the convulsions were still worrisome. Whatever that machine was doing to him was going to fry his brain if they kept using it.
McCoy kissed his fingertips and gently touched them to Jim's cheek. "I'll be right back."
He crossed the cell and began banging on his door. The guard hissed a threat in his native language that McCoy paid no attention to. "Hey! He's having seizures in there! You need to let me treat him, or Ka'al's not gonna be able to play with him anymore! His brain'll be mush!"
I'm not kidding.
He's really in bad shape.
"Shut your mouth, human!" The soldier jumped up and barreled down the hall, kicking the door with his massive boot as he arrived.
McCoy steeled his expression. "You really want a Starfleet Officer's death on your hands? Ka'al will blame you, y'know."
The guard thought for a moment before huffing and turning around to walk away. He sat back on his chair and turned his head away from the Doctor. Frustrated, Leonard quickly made his way back to Jim's side—or as close as he could come—and tried to soothe him as best he could.
"Darlin', just try and relax. I know the tremors are probably pretty painful and scary." Jim moaned softly as another quake rocked him. McCoy could only watch helplessly. "Don't tense, okay? Let it wash over you and they'll get better little by little. I promise."
I hope.
"…'ones?" Kirk's voice was weak and he kept his eyes closed tightly.
"Right here, Jim. You're going to be alright." He reached through the bars and grasped Jim's pinky finger—it was the only part of the young man he could reach. Jim curled the digit around McCoy's own.
They sat quietly for a long moment, Leonard watching as the tremors began to subside, Jim becoming more coherent with each passing minute. He was finally going to let himself breathe a sigh of relief when he heard footsteps in the hallway.
You can't take him again.
You'll kill him…
It was apparent that Jim also heard the noise, because he tried to sit up. McCoy pushed him down as best he could. "Lay down, dammit. If you look hurt they might not take you this time." He whispered in a low tone.
McCoy's heart sunk when his own cell door opened.
He barely had time to let go of Kirk's hand before he was being yanked into a standing position. The soldiers grabbed him—each by an arm—and pulled him out of the cell.
Jim cried out for them to take him instead.
XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX
The guards had just finished cuffing him to the chair when he heard the commotion out in the hall. It sounded like another prisoner was making trouble. At least he could tell from the voice that it wasn't Jim, as it was hissing in Xentian.
A frail man stood in the corner of the room, watching as the two soldiers scrambled out to see what the fuss was about. McCoy noticed right away that the man was missing an eye. And it looked fresh, as bright orange blood seeped through a hastily applied bandage wrapped around his head. His right arm hung at an awkward angle, and the doctor suspected it had been dislocated and jammed back in recently.
Leonard didn't know what it was about the man—whether it was his age or the way he looked at the guards with fear in his eyes—but he knew that this guy wasn't one of Ka'al's willing goons. He decided to take a chance.
What's the worst that could happen?
Right…they could kill me.
"Looks like that hurts somethin' fierce." McCoy awkwardly gestured to the older man's eye with his cuffed hand.
The man's eyes bulged when the Doctor spoke. His own voice was hushed. "Please don't speak! You would be wise to comply with whatever happens." He looked to the door before continuing. "Your friend didn't listen and…"
"Doesn't surprise me that Jim would put up a fight." McCoy scanned his eyes upwards as the man fit a band around his head. "Name's McCoy. Doctor Leonard McCoy."
"Please be silent! The guards will be back at any moment." He tightened the strap, wincing as he needed to use both his injured and uninjured arm to do so.
"You got a name?" McCoy hated the way the strap felt on his scalp. It dug in at a weird angle.
"M-my name is Tazan. The machine…is my creation."
Leonard's eyes trained on the device resting on the cart beside him. He studied the leads and wires coming out of it, as well as the various screens and dials. All the lettering was in Xentian.
"You mind telling me just what your machine does? I think you owe me that much before you torture me with it."
Tazan furrowed his brow as he attached two cardiac monitors to McCoy's chest. He looked to the door again, obviously fearful that they would be interrupted at any moment. He hesitated as he busied himself with the devices, not willing to make eye contact with the captive.
"Come on, I'm a doctor, not a mind reader! Tell me before it's too late. It might be the only way I can save Kirk." He licked his dry lips. "He's on his way to losing it, dammit! I might not be able to help him if you don't give me a little somethin' to go on!"
Tazan plugged the ends of the cardio monitors into the device before running quickly to the door, standing on his tip-toes to peer out of the small window. He scurried back and leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper.
"It digs into the cerebral cortex and retrieves memories. It was never intended for use like this. I created it to help traumatic brain injury patients have some semblance of a normal life. The object was to use their own pleasant memories to heal their brains." He looked back to the door. "Ka'al made me recalibrate it. To…torture." He hung his head.
"How high is the power setting? Human brains are pretty skittish. One wrong move and you can wipe it clean."
This is gonna suck.
"We started low, but Ka'al—he…"
McCoy knew what he was going to say. That he had ordered the settings be raised for Jim.
No wonder he seized.
"Look, Captain Kirk needs medical attention that I can't give him in this shithole. You need to convince Ka'al that he's killing him. Because if you don't, that's exactly what's going to happen."
Tazan shook his head silently as he wrung his hands together.
"Dammit, listen to me! He's gonna…"
The door swung open and Ka'al burst through the door. He approached and came to a stop inches from McCoy.
"It's your turn, Doctor. I want you to experience what your lover went through." He motioned for Tazan to inject him with the drug. He didn't have any warning as he felt a sharp prick in his jugular, then a hot rush in his veins as the medication began to move.
"Forgive me if I forgo the chit-chat, but Captain Kirk stripped me of what little patience I had left." Ka'al stood, his long claws clicking against the chain mail surrounding his chest.
Before McCoy could respond, he heard a switch being thrown and was instantly pulled from his body with a painful surge.
[what the hell?]
The room was dim; the many monitors bedside had long since been turned off. Dusk was falling, bathing the area in a pale purple light. Thunder rumbled somewhere off in the distance, a hot Georgia breeze blowing in through an open window.
McCoy stood silently in the corner, watching.
The figure in the bed stirred slightly, a soft moan escaping from dry lips. A frail hand reached out into the growing darkness.
"Son. Leonard…please…"
He looked down at his own hands, his eyes settling on the syringe curled in his trembling fingers. He knew what the old man wanted.
Peace.
But Leonard was being selfish. He didn't want his father to go. Even if it meant keeping him in agony, so the family could have a few more weeks with him.
Pyrrhoneuritis was a terrible disease, painful and debilitating. McCoy had exhausted all his options as far as pain management. His father was a physician; he knew he had a death sentence. He knew son was doing everything he could to keep him comfortable.
But he wouldn't do the one thing he wanted most of all.
"Son, don't make me beg. We both know it's time."
[I can't do this again.]
His hand clenched around the needle. Leonard ran his thumb over the smooth surface of the barrel. He envisioned the bright red liquid going into his father's veins, ending his misery. He would go peacefully, slipping off into nothingness as he drifted to an endless sleep. No pain.
But he also imagined his mother. She would be alone in the huge family home. No one to protect her. He had no siblings, and the closest cousins were several hours away. Not that his father had been able to help much with anything in the last six months, but the thought of her being all alone—every day and every night—weighed heavily upon him.
"I…don't know if I can."
His father beckoned to him with a bony finger. McCoy obeyed and moved closer to the bed. He fell to his knees at the man's side, resting his head on the mattress.
"You're a McCoy, son," his father reminded, his fingers brushing lightly through the hair on his head. "We're a strong bunch, but we also know when time's run out."
Leonard's voice was muffled by the blanket. "If I could only find something—anything—that could help you."
"You've tried valiantly, Len. But it's time to let go." His father's hand slipped away and a cough rattled his body. "I'm so tired. Please son, send me on my way."
[stop! Don't do it!]
Leonard took a deep breath and leaned upwards again to look at his father. Tears were collecting in the older man's eyes. He stood and looked at his hand, the syringe waiting to be used. His father looked at it too; both hope and fear in his expression.
"Son…"
Without words, Leonard uncapped the needle and injected the solution into the IV port in his father's hand. He watched the liquid empty out of the canister, disappearing into thin, frail veins. The old man sighed deeply and closed his eyes. He was waiting.
McCoy knew it would take only minutes for it to be over. The used syringe dropped from his hand and clattered to the floor, rolling under the bed. He hung his head, in reverence and regret.
"I'm sorry I couldn't save you."
His father's response was weak. Len knew the drug was already shutting his body down. In a moment, he would slip away into unconsciousness, to be followed quickly by a silent and painless cardiac arrest. "I'm proud…of you…Leonard."
He wanted to tell his father he loved him. To let him know what a wonderful role model he had been and how much he would be missed. But he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Instead, he just watched as his father's breathing became more and more shallow.
McCoy tried to tell himself he had done the right thing, that he had granted his father's dying wish—and that's what a son was supposed to do. The older man's chest stopped moving seconds later, and Leonard knew it was over.
[the cure…]
[five weeks from now…]
[…]
[..]
.
Leonard could feel himself being pulled back into the room, instantly feeling the restraints cutting into his wrists. He bucked backwards in the chair as he entered his body once more. A gasp sprung from his lips, followed by a dry, raspy cough. He felt as if he was unable to catch his breath, and that a Ceti Eel was boring into his skull.
The pain was unbelievable.
He screwed his eyes shut as wave after wave of searing-hot anguish tore through his head. Vomit parked itself right at the base of his esophagus, taunting him with every lurch of his stomach. He could feel it rise and fall again with every breath he took. Swallowing hard, he dared to crack open one eye. He immediately regretted his decision, as the light from the room blinded him momentarily.
And all the while, he knew that Jim had more than likely gone through something a hundred times worse than what he was feeling.
"Well, well, Doctor McCoy." Ka'al's voice boomed through his head. "How did you like your time with Tazan's device? Feel like talking yet?"
Leonard's thoughts were beginning to become fuzzy as he fought to stay conscious. He groaned pitifully as he let his head droop. Ka'al grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and yanked his head back. He tried to focus on the warmonger's features, but his brain wouldn't cooperate. The room started to spin and McCoy was barely aware that he was being unstrapped and dragged from the room.
XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX
"Bones..."
Leonard didn't want to open his eyes.
"Please…talk to me."
He recognized the voice, even though it was weak and stressed. As he cracked his eyes open, the fuzzy image of Kirk came into view. They were both on their sides, facing each other through the bars. Even in his weakened state, McCoy could tell that Jim was still in bad shape. He didn't seem to have moved even an inch since he had been taken away.
McCoy tried to raise his body off of the ground, only to find that his nerve endings felt like they were on fire. Every muscle fiber in his body screamed at him as he moved. He grunted as his arms and legs protested to the sudden effort.
Jim stayed on his side, obviously too weak to move. He just looked at McCoy with worry in his eyes.
"Bones, you…okay?"
Every movement became easier and Leonard thanked God that they seemed to have used a lower setting on him. Where he was able to move, Jim was still sidelined. Even more than an hour after the fact. He sat up too quickly, causing his head to swim. For just a moment, he felt as if he was about to vomit, but the sensation soon passed. Taking a deep cleansing breath, he scooted the rest of the way to the bars. He reached through and grabbed Kirk's outstretched hand.
"That was horrid, kid. I'm so sorry they used it on you more than once."
Kirk smiled weakly. " 'M just glad…they didn't use the…" Jim sighed and closed his eyes mid-sentence. "…high setting." He curled his fingers loosely around McCoy's.
McCoy leaned heavily against the bars. "You're somethin' else, you know that? I mean, I saw that the old guy had it on 'low' and it still hurt like a son of a bitch. I don't know how you managed to hang on."
"You."
"Come again?" McCoy leaned down closer to the floor so he could hear Jim's quickly quieting voice better.
"I kept…thinking of you. I just wanted…to see you…again."
McCoy couldn't have been more in love with Kirk in that moment. Everything that they had been through, all the torture, blood, gunfights—cardiac arrests—it all seemed to fade away. For a quick moment, nothing else mattered except him and Jim. It didn't matter where they were or if they were going to survive or not. They were together—right now—and Jim loved him.
"I love you, Jim." He reached through the bars and guided Kirk closer to himself. Jim craned his neck awkwardly in order to allow his dry lips to connect with Leonard's for an instant. Then, the younger man let his head fall back to the ground with a feeble moan.
"My head hurts, Bones. I'm…so tired." He exhaled deeply, his fingers slipping from McCoy's hand. "I feel like I…need to fall asleep for a while. But…I was waiting. T'make sure…you were…okay."
"Go, darlin'. I promise I'll be here when you wake up."
Jesus, I hope I'm telling the truth.
Where the hell is Spock?
"Love you…Bon…"
Jim fell unconscious before he could finish his sentence. McCoy lay down as close to the bars as he could get himself and reached through, carding his long fingers through Kirk's short hair. As bad as he wanted to stay awake—to keep them safe—he couldn't fight the exhaustion that threatened him.
His eyes closed, and he didn't care that the floor was freezing cold.
XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX XxX
The resistance command center was a far cry from what the Starfleet officers had expected.
Located in the basement of a condemned factory, it was a perfect hideaway. No one dared go near the faltering structure, the walls close to caving in and the roof leaking and sagging at every corner. Even though the building above them was close to collapse in some areas, the cellar area was reinforced with steel beams, a remnant of the days when heavy machinery covered the floor above. With only two ways in or out, it was easily guarded and defended.
A perfect place to plan for Xentia's future.
The headquarters was bustling, soldiers in various states of training, high-ranking members fluttering about counting their weapons stashes, organizing rations and planning for the onslaught that was—hopefully—only days from happening.
Unfortunately, the planning for the rescue of their Captain and Doctor was not going as well as they had originally hoped. The reinforcements around the citadel were heavy, and the prospect of getting in without significant bloodshed was getting smaller by the moment.
Mak'ai was beginning to have growing concerns about the goings on—or lack thereof—in the stronghold, not to mention the faltering rescue mission.
"Mister Spock, if I may have a word?"
The Vulcan looked up from his PADD. "Of course, Mak'ai."
"I'm very concerned. Ka'al hasn't paraded Captain Kirk or the Doctor around publically since their capture. And we haven't heard any more from him about ransom." She sat down across the table from him, making direct and purposeful eye contact. "He loves to make examples of victims, and the fact that there hasn't been a single sighting of them is worrisome. I think we should make our move on the citadel."
"Do you have new information? What are you basing your insistence on?"
"Well…no, but…"
"It would be illogical to move on the palace on just a hunch."
Mak'ai stood her ground. "Hear me out. A few days ago I felt that Ka'al wouldn't kill them. Now, that we haven't seen even a glimpse or heard anything about them, I'm changing my view. I think they're in great danger." She clasped her hands together on the tabletop and looked at him with pleading eyes. "Please, we need to get them out of there."
Spock tapped a few commands into his PADD. "The signal from the Captain's transponder is still functioning. I have been monitoring him, and he is moving within the fortress. Whether it is on his own power or with assistance from others is unknown."
"But there's no way to tell if he's alive?"
"Negative. The transmitter does not transmit vital signs, only location." Spock stiffened in his seat. He knew Mak'ai made a valid point, but also knew that if they moved without being fully prepared, everyone—including the Captain and Doctor—could be lost.
Mak'ai scowled. "Then we need to go."
"Our plan of attack is more than a day away from being ready to be executed. If we rush ourselves, we run the risk of endangering not only the Captain and Doctor, but the entire team as well."
"I understand that, but you need to listen to me. We need to get into those tunnels tonight and break them out. I don't know how much longer they have."
Spock set his tablet down on the table. "Making a move on the stronghold without being properly prepared is highly illogical. It would be very unwise to risk the safety of the Captain and Doctor, as well as that of the extraction team. We are making strides with our plan of attack, but are not ready to implement it at this time."
She does not understand.
We cannot risk the lives of countless innocents.
Nyota would be very useful right now.
"I don't believe this! I'm familiar with Ka'al and his tactics, you aren't! What's illogical is you, Mister Spock!" Her voice was raised, and every head in the vicinity turned at the ruckus. "We're waiting around while he's torturing them! Every minute that we waste sitting here planning is time they don't have!"
Unfazed by Mak'ai's temper, Spock replied calmly. "I understand that you are concerned for their well-being. However, if we make a move before our mission parameters are fine-tuned, the entire operation could be in jeopardy. Logic dictates that we ensure beforehand that we are prepared in all arenas before beginning."
"We don't have time! Why can't you see that?" Mak'ai stood abruptly, knocking her chair backwards. "Don't you care about either of them?"
Of course I do.
But I must not become emotionally distracted by the situation.
If I falter, lives could be at stake.
And I do not want to carry that burden.
Spock squared his shoulders. "It is my duty to look at all options before making a decision. A hasty choice would only prove to make the mission that much more difficult. And to answer your question, yes, I do care about the welfare of both our officers. They are both close confidants and I consider them my friends." He paused for a moment.
Friends.
"But we must also remember that Captain Kirk made the decision to surrender on his own. He knew the risks." Spock stood, matching her. "And, as acting commander in the Captain's absence, it is also my responsibility to make the sagest assessment of the situation and act accordingly. That said, I feel it is premature to attempt a rescue, even if it makes me seem like I do not care about them. I assure you that is most certainly not the case. Your warriors are not completely trained on our weapons or tactics, we have not finished the stun modifications to your existing guns and our plan of attack is still far from perfected."
Mak'ai stomped her foot. "This is ludicrous! I know Captain Kirk made his choice, but it doesn't mean we have to stand idly by and wait for him to be executed. You are making a mistake, Mister Spock. And I hope that Doctor McCoy and the Captain don't pay for it with their lives."
She stormed away, leaving Spock in her heated wake. He watched her silently for a moment before she disappeared into a side room, slamming the door shut behind her. All the heads that had turned at the commotion went back to their original tasks, and he sat once again, trying to immerse himself in his work. Her words had stung, as she meant them to do. Spock understood that she was angry and frustrated—as were the rest of the team. He had always felt uncomfortable around humans and other species when they reacted in such emotional ways, and had been working with Uhura to react better. He was aware that he often had an off-putting response to emotional outbursts, usually one that seemed uncaring or uninterested. At least with Kirk, the young Captain usually made some sort of remark to diffuse an uncomfortable situation. But with Jim incarcerated and most likely in danger, there was no one to step in and assist.
Spock knew that Mak'ai was unfamiliar with Vulcans and their logic-rather-than-emotion way of thinking. Taking that into consideration, he had tried his best to have a productive conversation with her, even in her seemingly emotionally irrational state. In a way, she reminded him of Kirk. He had believed he had handled the situation as best he could with her reactions taken into consideration.
That being said, he also believed that she did have a valid point. He knew he was risking the lives of his friends with each passing moment, but the mission would have a much higher success rate if they were adequately prepared.
Which, at the present time, they were not.
He hoped he was making the right decision.
Vulcans do not doubt themselves.
Your human side is showing.
Mother…
…would be proud.
I am…
…nervous.
He picked up his PADD once again and continued with his work.