Chapter 8: Realign
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Seconds stretched into hours as Bones and Spock loaded Jim onto the shuttle. Quickly, the two men lowered their captain to the floor, and Bones immediately got to work performing CPR. It may have been an outdated technique, but with the contraption in Jim's chest glowing coldly into Bones' face, he couldn't take a chance with a defibrillator.
As he watched, he noticed the glow flickering, dulling and brightening like a bulb about to burst.
"Spock, what's happening?" Bone called, dangerously close to a sob.
"I do not know," replied Spock, brows furrowed deeply.
"Chekhov! Chekhov, come here!" yelled Bones, and in moments the young man was by his side.
"What's going on here? Why is that damn thing glowing?"
Chekhov was speechless for a moment. Then, quietly, he asked, "Doctor, is that a warp core in the captain's chest?"
Bones pursed his lips tightly and focused for a moment on the repetitive motions of his compressions. Jim's face had grown paler, and Bones reached down to deliver the rescue breaths. When he came back up to continue compressions, he looked Scott in the eyes.
"Yes. I don't know. We think so, but we're not sure why."
Chekhov continued to stare at the core.
"Hey! Snap out of it, kid! I need you to open it up. Something's wrong, and Jim's heart isn't beating. Please," begged Bones, and the desperate tone to his voice caused Chekhov to tear his eyes away, "please, help him."
With a curt nod and steady hands, Chekhov pulled a tool from his belt and began to work on removing the core from Jim's chest. Bones slid his hands lower in order to give him more room to work.
Too much time had passed since Bones had last felt his friend's heartbeat, and panic was setting in. He quelled his breakdown by focusing on keeping his breaths and compressions in perfect rhythm, but his focus was broken each time he felt Jim's ribs move under his hands. He knew his objective was to do no harm, and yet here he was, further injuring a man on the brink of death.
He was losing Jim, and he knew it. Losing him all over again.
"I got it!" shouted Chekhov. He dropped his tool and carefully slid the core from its base. There was a small hiss and a click, and Chekhov passed the small core reverently to Bones.
"Do you have tweezers in your bag, Doctor?" Chekhov asked, and Bones looked pointedly at Spock, who was already halfway to the bag that had been discarded on one of the shuttle seats. He quickly searched it and came up with a pair of long silver tweezers.
Spock passed the tweezers to Chekhov, who held his hand up without tearing his eyes from the metal hole in his captain's chest. He got to work, muttering in a litany of Russian, careful not to hit the sides of the base with the tweezers.
"These wires are off center. If I can just…" he mumbled, squinting.
"Got it. Doctor, place the core back into the base. Carefully. Don't touch the sides."
The shuttle was silent as Bones maneuvered the core back into Jim's chest. Moments like these made him grateful for his steady hands, even under duress.
The core fell into place, but there was no bright blue light. It stayed dark.
"Chekhov?" Bones asked fearfully.
"I don't…" Chekhov whispered, reaching to touch the core, unsure why it seemed to have failed. Suddenly he gasped, and with a flick of his wrist, turned the core until it clicked.
The response was immediate.
A strong hum accompanied the device as it radiated light.
Jim's eyes tore open, and he heaved in a loud gasping breath.
"Jim!" came five voices, and in a flurry of motion, the bridge crew rushed to be closer to their captain.
"Jim. Hey, Jim. Can you hear me? Are you with us?" questioned Bones, his hands finding themselves running through Jim's hair, gripping his uninjured shoulder.
Wild eyes darted around the shuttle, unseeing.
A word slipped out of Jim's mouth, something that sounded like "Olin?"
Bones' brow furrowed in concern. "Jim, it's us. It's me. We got you, you're safe."
Finally, Kirk's eyes settled, met his.
"Bones?"
"Yeah, kid. It's me."
Jim looked around, seeing for the first time the faces of his crew, his friends. They looked exhausted, but more than that, they looked haunted.
They had come for him. They'd found him.
The sterile interior of the Enterprise's shuttle was a stark contrast from the dark cave he'd been living in for… Damn. How long had it been? Weeks? Months? Memories from before Bajor, before Duranja, felt like a video reel from someone else's life. The thought of Duranja's cruel face sent a chill through his body and highlighted the burning pain throughout his body. He felt himself drifting, but in the distance he could hear the muffled sounds of his friends' voices. They had no idea what he had endured. He was fundamentally different, he knew that now, and he wasn't sure how to tell them about the torture, the fear. It reminded him far too much of his childhood, a planet under siege by its own government, a life on the run.
A sharp rubbing on his sternum erupted into his consciousness, and he was once again on the cold shuttle floor.
"Jim. Try to stay with me."
Bones sounded calm, but Jim knew him well enough to hear the panic barely suppressed under the words.
Jim opened his mouth and weakly cleared his throat.
"I'm here."
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Thanks for sticking around! If anyone feels like they know a good bit about the Star Trek universe, please let me know! My ideas for the next chapters need a bit of help with the specifics. I would really appreciate it! :-)