I am sorry that I have been gone so long, but I promise this is a good one.

Mr. Spock could not now, nor would he ever, recall a time in his life when he had been so utterly frightened. Even when his mother was falling off that cliff, he didn't feel the same amount of blinding terror he felt when ever he looked down at the deteriorating captain.

As for the Captain's well being... he was fading fast. Whatever those Corinthian bastards had forced into his veins was not doing him any favors. James Kirk was dying, and painfully at that.

His brow was gleaming with sweat and his eyebrows were constantly pinched in pain. His breathing was a quick rasping sound inside his chest that sounded like it was doing more hurt than good. His hands trembled and he had actually began to spasm uncontrollably at one point.

Doctor McCoy had made it perfectly clear that if they didn't get the Captain on board the Enterprise soon, he would die.

Spock would never allow that to happen, but as he sat here, his forehead pressed to his lover's, he began to wonder if he was even capable of helping him. His T'hy'la was dying, wasting away right in front of him, and all he could do was whisper soothing words that seemed to stop helping hours ago. Jim could no longer hear his words, and soon, Jim would never wake up again.

The Vulcan knew that if his T'hy'la died, than so would he. Cold fear and pain coursed through him. He knew that without his T'hy'la he would be nothing but an empty shell, bereft of its core, of its inner being, of its soul.

With blinding realization he pressed his lips to his lover's hot cheek. James T. Kirk was not just his lover, but his soul. His entire being existed with Jim and wouldn't exist without him. There is no Spock without Jim.

There just isn't.

That is humbling and terrifying to the Vulcan that claims to feel so little. He feels the wetness gather at his eyes and travel down, falling unbidden onto his lover's fevered face. He sobs, wetly and doesn't care that the Doctor is now looking at him with a totally shocked expression. He simply does not care. All that he cares about, lies dying before him.

Suddenly there was a deafening explosion towards the center of the camp, the ground shook violently. Spock's head shot up and he gazed around him. He met the confused eyes of the Doctor and frowned.

"What the hell is that," Bones wondered outloud. He watched with some amusement as the inexperienced Corins ran around blindly in a disorganized fashion. Suddenly the Doctor felt a hand on his shoulder come from behind. He jumped and spun the best he could with his hand still tied. Bones had never been happier to see the colors red and yellow in his life.

Ensign Colloroy took out his small pocket knife while Chekov stood watch to make sure none of the Corins noticed. He had almost gotten around to cutting the dying Captain free when there was a shout in a foreign language. The four turned to see several of the Corins bounding towards them at an alarming speed.

Quickly, Spock gathered his lover in his arms and ran after Chekov as he sprinted back around the rock and into the surrounding woods. He glanced behind him and was relieved to see that the Doctor was running with him, closely followed by the Ensign, who would turn every so often to shoot at their pursuers.

Being as careful as he could while carrying his love, he dodged the trees and shrubs that seemed determined to slow them down. Pieces of bark and dirt were blown into the air when the bullets struck them. Running was extremely difficult, especially with the fatigue and lack of nourishment.

Chekov pulled out his communicator and flipped it open, "Thiz iz Ensign Chekov, with the captives beam us up," he cried urgently into it, but he was only met with static. He slammed it closed with a Russian curse and surveyed his surroundings. "Head ower to ze riwer," he yelled back to the others.

The crew followed the young Ensign as he jumped into the river. There were several loud splashes and Chekov could see nothing in the murky gray water. He held his breath as well as he could. Chekov heard the loud exclamations of their pursuers. They remained for a moment, then they began shouting at each other as they moved past.

Chekov emerged from the water with a gasp followed by Spock, Colloroy and the Captain, who coughed violently. Chekov glanced around and gasped, "Doctor? Doctor McCoy?!" He spun in the waist deep water and froze when he saw that some of the water was turning a dull rusty color in one area. Chekov called to Colloroy and they both dove into the water, their hands searching frantically.

Finally, after what seemed like hours Chekov's hand closed around fabric and he hoisted the wet and bleeding Doctor. Colloroy grabbed his other arm and together, the dragged him onto the shore.

Spock was beside the Doctor in a moment, he placed a gentle hand on Bones, "He's not breathing," his voice and faced seemed calm but his eyes betrayed his inner worry.

Chekov spat out another Russian curse and knelt by the Doctor. Chekov placed both hands over McCoy's chest and pressed down hard with practiced rhythm. When he counted the correct number he tilted the Doctor's head back and pinched his nose, he breathe in deeply and forced the air into McCoy's lungs.

"Chekov, he's hit, in the side," Colloroy said and he quickly pressed his hands over the bloody wound. Chekov made no response and continued with his mission to revive the good Doctor.

Colloroy watched him work with pity. He didn't know the Doctor personally and couldn't really call him friend. What he did now was that, Leonard McCoy was a good man, and a great Doctor. He also knew that Chekov and McCoy were close friends, and he could understand that the young ensign wouldn't give up so easily.

He was about to stop him when McCoy sputtered and coughed. Chekov gave a cry of triumph and turned the poor water logged Doctor on his side so he was able to cough up the water more easily.

"Damn," was the first word he spat when he could finally speak again. "What the hell happened?"

"Ve had to get away from ze Corins, so ve jumped into ze riwer," The young Russian explained excitedly.

"That's nice," McCoy mumbled. He lay his head back and was feeling decidedly tired, even as Chekov continued to prattle on about what had happened. His eyes were closing when all of his medical training suddenly returned to him. "Kid, am I loosing blood," he said almost weakly.

The Russian cursed, "Da, you vere hit by vone of their veapons," the beeping sound of his communicator signaling him. He dug it out and flicked it open, "This is Ensign Chekov," he said quickly.

"Oi, where the bloody hell are ya," Came Scotty's heavy Scottish brogue. He sound just as exhausted as Chekov felt.

McCoy's eyes opened to slits at the sound of his lover's voice. Spock had appeared next to Chekov and stole the comm.

"Mr. Scott," he said as calmly as he could, though the tension was obvious in his voice. "Lock on to the coordinates of this communicator immediately. The Captain and Chief medical officer are both gravely injured and need immediate medical attention."

"Leo!? What's happened? What's wrong?!" Scotty demanded sounding scared.

"Mr. Scott," The Vulcan's voice was frightening now, "Beam us up now!"

Blue grey forms were materializing in the horizon, coming towards them fast. By the time the Corin rebels reached them they were already disappearing in a swirl of lights and color.

I think the the next one or chapter after that will be the last. I hope you are still with me until them.