39. Rescues.

"Jim?"

Spock found himself in a black void, the conscious area of Kirk's mind, uninhabited for now due to the effects of the spells.

Ignoring the tangible and eerie silence, Spock collected himself and slowly ventured forwards, mindful of the need for caution in Kirk's fragile condition. In the physical realm, McCoy was monitoring their conditions, poised in case something went wrong.

Spock did not allow himself to dwell on that possibility.

The air around him gradually eased into a light blue as he steadily descended into the intricate web of what was Kirk's mind. He felt a slight breeze begin to ruffle his hair, clouds forming around him in a comforting cage.

He broke through the cloud gently, aware that this was a natural barrier created by Kirk's mind, and felt a brief tingling sensation, as though he had just been doused in warm water.

Yet he was dry and he knew, with absolute certainty, that he was now completely immersed in his friend's mind.

A lone bird flew past, signalling that he was getting closer. Sure enough, he saw a hazy map before him, a carpet of all that was James T Kirk.

It was as though the world was flat, simple upon first sight, but as he drew nearer he saw that this was just a clever illusion, a way of hiding what really lay within.

Large mountain ranges bordered the map-like world before him, leaving access difficult for those who tried to enter on a simple level. It was as though Kirk had built a natural wall around himself, hiding his complexity from the world.

It was only those who truly knew him, who recognised him for the sophisticated and emotional person he was, who could get in. Those who simply allowed themselves to see a swashbuckling captain would see only mountains, only a barrier.

Spock navigated himself slowly over the snow capped regions, his form that of a bird in order to ease his travel.

His eagle eyes saw a rainforest begin to pan out before him, melting seamlessly into the mountains, a bizarre mix of habitat. Slightly warmer, greeting and congratulating the intruder on getting past his first defences, but still warning him away, telling him not to get any closer, to abandon the man within.

Still in the sky, Spock flew over the rainforest, neither surprised nor shocked to see the sky begin to darken once more, the trees melting away, presenting him instead with the image of space, stars surrounding a gleaming ship which he instantly recognised as the Enterprise.

This was the real Jim Kirk, Spock knew. The nature that he had seen were walls which, while also a part of the man, did not show the true picture. He was layered, unravelling before Spock's very eyes.

Kirk was dedicated to those he loved, fighting for them tooth and nail when the situation demanded it. He searched for them when everyone else had given up, he argued with Star Fleet over them, risked his career for them. He rivalled Scotty with his deep care for the Enterprise – his first true home. Spock had been told enough by Kirk to know that, and he felt privileged to see such an intimate part of his friend.

But when he drifted through the metal of the ship, now taking on his true form and planting his feet firmly on the ground, he was shocked at what he saw.

Kirk sat in the captain's chair, staring vacantly into space, and Spock knew that he hadn't been seen. The human's posture was slumped, one arm dangling over the chair's armrest, and his eyes were tired. The set of his shoulders was heavier than Spock had ever seen it. He was defeated.

But what struck Spock most was the emptiness. There was no chatter here, no whirring of machines. It was as if Kirk had found the ship, found his dream, but didn't know what to do with it, who to let in.

Spock braced himself and stepped forwards, his focus on the man before him, lost in the centre of his own mind.

"Jim."

Kirk stirred, the eyes drifting slowly over to Spock, blinking sluggishly. "Spock? What are you doing here?"

"I have come to save you."

"Save me?" Kirk repeated, his voice hollow. Tired. "Spock, there's nothing to save." He gestured around him. "This ship is empty. There's no one here."

Acting on impulse, Spock took a few steps forward, keeping his eyes open for a reaction from the man before him. "I am here."

Kirk uttered a hollow laugh. "For how long? No one I've ever known has stayed."

Spock ignored the brief shiver that ran down his spine as he looked at the man before him. The man who looked so broken, so alone – nothing like the Jim Kirk he thought he knew.

"I am here," Spock repeated, his voice firm. "Always."

"Sam left me," Kirk continued, bypassing Spock's words. "He got married. Went to live on another planet…" he finally met Spock's eyes. "Everyone leaves me."

"I will not, Jim. I am here for you – always."

Kirk seemed not to believe him. "They all said that. My mum – but she was never really there for me to begin with. Not really. She sees my Dad. She never sees me. Everyone sees him – they say they're here for me, but they never are." He blinked, the action full of immeasurable weariness. "Why can't they see me, Spock?"

Feeling incredibly out of his depth, Spock continued to walk forwards until he was directly in front of Kirk, almost touching the knees of the seated man. "Jim," he said softly, "you have proven yourself to be your own person. You have accomplished many great things, both academically and in the eyes of Star Fleet. You are James Kirk, and are respected as such. Everyone aboard the Enterprise, everyone at Star Fleet – your family," he said firmly, "love you for who you are."

Kirk allowed a wry smile to grace his lips. "That doesn't sound much like you. What happened to all the logic?"

"This is a mind meld, Jim," he replied flatly. "There are no barriers, no social rules. What you see is my true self, just as I see yours."

"I've never been so open before," Kirk confessed, gesturing around him. "It feels…strange."

Spock nodded. "It will be unfamiliar, without experience."

"I'm not sure I like it."

"That is not unexpected," Spock replied. "However, you need not worry. I am a friend, Jim, perhaps more so than you realise," he added quietly.

Kirk's eyes began to sharpen in their focus. "What?"

"I have not been completely open with you, Jim. I allowed my Vulcan heritage, and the beliefs of my Vulcan peers, to cloud my judgement. I have allowed it to bury my human emotions."

"What are you trying to tell me?" Kirk's voice was hopeful, childlike in its curiosity.

"I will not leave you, because I cannot."

"You…you can't? What's stopping you?"

Spock struggled for a moment, uncomfortable with the idea of sharing more but knowing that he had to, for both their sakes. They had been walking on eggshells for far too long.

"If it's some misguided sense of loyalty to your captain-" Kirk began in resignation, but Spock cut him off, horrified that his silence had been misinterpreted.

"No, Jim, it is much more than that."

"Then just say it," Kirk said wearily, remaining in his slumped position. "I think I can take whatever you decide to throw at me now."

"Allow me to show you," Spock said instead, relieved when Kirk nodded.

The view screen before them flickered, and suddenly Kirk found himself looking through Spock's eyes, the ornaments and furniture telling him that he was in the Room of Requirement.

Slowly, almost unnoticed, Spock lowered the remainder of his mental shields, allowing Kirk to feel his emotions as he viewed his memories.

Kirk watched as Spock heard his confession of love, watched as his alternate self smiled tentatively. He felt Spock's leaping elation at the words, the pure unchecked joy that coursed through his body even as the Vulcan averted his eyes.

But the feeling was quickly smothered by a barrage of other emotions. Self-loathing for the misery he was about to cause this human. Inadequacy. But worst of all was the longing and the overriding sense of pain, both of them combined almost too much to stand.

Pain, Kirk realised, because all that McCoy had told him about Spock had been true, and not just something to take the edge off the rejection. Pain because Spock was about to do something that made every fibre of his being scream in protest.

And suddenly, Kirk knew.

The memories rushed by faster now, his face smiling at Spock many times over, affection accompanying the memories.

Until finally they halted, and Kirk saw with a deep sense of shock his own body lying in Spock's arms, unconscious, blood soaking his face under his nose.

But what shook him to the core was the fear, the desperation to get this man to the hospital wing before it was too late, before he was lost forever.

And all the while was the mantra running through the memory, the words crushing in force. A simple two word sentence. A desperate command.

Don't die. Don't die. Don't die.

Fear, as Kirk's breath hitched in his chest and Spock almost tripped up the stairs, forgetting in his haste the trick step. Kirk's arm flapped limply as Spock righted himself and continued, at a run now, all but pushing students out the way.

Don't die don't die don't die.

He laid Kirk down on the bed, almost not letting do before practical logic told him that he had to, so that Pomfrey could save him.

Don'tdiedon'tdie-

"Alright," Kirk said, interrupting the memory. His hands shook as the images stopped and he turned himself to Spock, who stood by his side.

The shields were still down, and as Kirk gazed into Spock's eyes, he saw and felt around him the love the Vulcan bore for him, always existing but never vocalised. Unacknowledged until now.

"It's true," Kirk murmured.

Spock graced him with a small smile as he gently laid a hand on Kirk's shoulder. "Vulcans do not lie."

And suddenly, Kirk was relieved.

He had found, after all this time, true love. Love for him, James Kirk, not the man people thought he should be or wished he was. He'd found acceptance for all his faults, all his insecurities.

And it didn't matter that the man standing before him was a Vulcan, one of the most private species in the Federation. It didn't matter, because Spock accepted him, was willing to open his most private self up to Kirk, to draw him back to himself.

Because Spock had shown Kirk what he had been unable to see all along. He had something worth living for, and it was enough.

A low hum announced the ship's awakening, and Kirk stood up, the air of acceptance gone as he took the hand on his shoulder and held it in his own.

He walked over to the navigation console, drawing Spock – his saviour, his reason to live – with him. He pressed a button and smiled.

Spock raised an eyebrow, the fact that he could do so even in a mind meld sending a wave of amusement and affection through Kirk. "Fascinating."

"I think we've established that my mind is full of surprises," Kirk murmured, smiling properly for what felt like the first time in years.

"Then you will return?"

Kirk nodded. "For you."

The ship hummed as the engines clicked into gear and Kirk squeezed Spock's hand gently, happiness becoming a part of him, right down to his very bones.

The view screen began to grow brighter as the ship moved forwards, the black of space going through the various shades of blue before becoming blindingly white, almost painful to look at.

Spock squeezed Kirk's hand back, his skin comfortingly warm and real after the loneliness of Kirk's mind. It was anchoring. "We must go into the light, Jim."

Kirk's lips twitched. "That's always supposed to be a bad idea," he quipped. "They say that if you go into the light, you tend to die."

"I assure you that I shall not allow that to happen," Spock said seriously.

Kirk chuckled. "You'll come with me?"

Spock nodded. "I would not do otherwise," he said simply, and Kirk's heart lurched again as they both took a step forwards, side by side.

The light engulfed him, enveloping him from every side, and although Kirk could no longer see the Vulcan, he could feel him at the edges of his awareness, beckoning him closer.

Sound began to drift to him slowly, horribly distorted, as though something was between the sound and his ear.

"He's coming around…"

The light dimmed and he felt grateful for the small mercy. The fierce thumping in his head began to escalate, and he briefly wondered if someone was hacking away at his nerves with a sledgehammer.

Every part of him felt as though it was on fire and he whimpered slightly, inwardly cursing. A hypo was coming for his neck, he knew, and he flinched, bracing himself for the impact.

Instead he felt gentle hands, comfortingly hot and soothing against his nerves, lifting him slowly up into a half-sitting position. He felt something touch his lips and opened his mouth obediently, not knowing what the liquid pouring down his throat was.

Belatedly, he realised that he had yet to open his eyes – he had managed to forget.

Concentrating, he succeeded in bringing the world into view, though it was slightly blurry, as if he was seeing it without glasses.

Spock was the one holding him up, his expression drawn into one of concern and relief, for once not hindered by the usual barriers and masks, reminding him of his mind meld image.

McCoy was hovering next to him, his expression equally worried; his face seemed to have gained about ten lines in the short while he had been unconscious, and Kirk realised for the first time that Spock had never told him how he was.

He continued to drink the potion held at his lips, recognising that the hand holding it belonged to a Healer he did not know, the face clinical and detached.

It must have been bad, Kirk thought as he felt the almost agonising pain recede to a dull throb. Bones would kill him.

Finally the potion was taken away and Kirk was eased back onto the bed as the Healer turned to McCoy. "I've done all I can. The rest is up to him now. I've left a list of instructions with Poppy Pomfrey – she'll know what to do."

For once, McCoy did not bristle at being told how to take care of a patient. "Thank you," he murmured instead.

Definitely bad, Kirk decided.

He cleared his throat once the Healer had left, surprised at how much effort this simple task took. "I've missed something," he whispered, wincing at the weakness of his voice.

"That was a friend of Dumbledore," McCoy explained, nodding his head in the direction of the departed Healer. "He won't report us, and neither will his assistant."

More than one of them, Kirk noted. Catastrophic, then.

Kirk nodded, relieved. "What happened?"

"As you have no doubt surmised," Spock began, "we have escaped from the Ministry holding cells and are currently 'on the run'-"

McCoy muttered something under his breath. Spock ignored him.

"As we were exiting the Ministry, Mr Avery decided to utilise your body as a shield, leading to you being left vulnerable to attack."

"What Mr Concise is trying to say," McCoy interrupted, "is that you were hit by several strong spells. Some of them at once. As you can probably tell, it's wrecked havoc with your nervous system."

"I wondered what that was."

McCoy snorted, and Kirk decided he'd missed the sound. "What about Avery?"

"He escaped," Spock informed him.

"Professor Snape?"

McCoy and Spock exchanged hesitant glances, and Kirk was instantly on alert.

"What?"

"He's…not doing very well," McCoy replied. "It seems he's been run down for a while, having to go between the Death Eaters and Hogwarts. Obviously," he added, looking exasperated, "the man doesn't know how to lighten a workload by asking for help. The spell that Shacklebolt cast on him took a while to have its full effect – he fought it long enough to get back here from Voldemort's headquarters, but after that his body just gave in."

"Where is he now?"

"In the room next door," McCoy replied.

"How badly hurt is he?"

"He's in a coma. A deep one." McCoy looked grim. "Given his condition, the odds aren't pretty. Spock's volunteered to try to pull him back," McCoy added him when Spock remained quiet, "but we aren't sure if it'll be enough."

Kirk stared at his First Officer, astounded. "You can do that?"

"I believe you are evidence of that," Spock replied quietly.

"Is it safe?"

"Perfectly," Spock replied.

"When do you plan on starting?" Kirk asked.

"As soon as possible," McCoy supplied.

"I have to see him," Kirk decided, trying and failing to sit up.

"You can't, Jim," McCoy sighed as Kirk's head flopped back onto the pillow. "Aside from the fact you can't move, only Healers have been allowed in his room since he arrived here."

"I will ensure that he recovers," Spock assured him.

Kirk raged at himself as he felt his treacherous eyelids begin to close. He struggled, but was unable to fight the heaviness of his body, the leaden feel of it as it sank into the mattress.

"You've drugged this," he slurred.

McCoy snorted, not looking amused. "I've had you in my care enough times to know that you don't lie still," he retorted. "I asked for it to be spiked with Dreamless Sleep, but apparently even that doesn't knock you out quickly enough."

Kirk yawned, hating himself for doing so when another man lay unconscious in the house, possibly permanently comatose. "I hate you…"

"Tell someone who uses medicine morally…" he could have sworn he heard McCoy retort, but his mind was lost in the dark once more before this could register, the feel of Spock's hand on his arm lingering long after his sight faded.

oOo

Scott stood on the transporter pad aboard the Enterprise, Chekov his only companion. The boy was a computer whizz kid and the only one likely to help Scott break into the ship's transporter controls in order to bring them back. They both had earpieces connecting them to the Enterprise, where both Sulu and Uhura were ready with back up and language assistance.

Around the room stood a large security squad, all poised to apprehend the prisoners once they were beamed back, and place them back in the brig before they could cause any trouble. Scott only hoped that Star Fleet decided to come to their aid in defeating Ehlette's ship because, loathe as he was to admit it, the Enterprise had taken a serious beating.

"Are ye ready, lad?"

Chekov nodded, his breathing slightly faster due to the adrenalin and apprehension coursing through his system. "Aye sair."

Scott flashed him a reassuring smile before turning to the Ensign operating the transporter controls. "Ye need tae beam us intae the living area," Scott told him. "We'll be able tae get tae the brig from there."

The man nodded. "Yes sir."

Scott acknowledged the man's reply and turned to the Security team. "Have yer phases on stun and aimed at the pad when ye get the signal alerting ye to transportation," he told them. "Stun the prisoners on sight, before they can try tae escape."

"Aye sir."

"Right," Scott announced, straightening. "Energize."

The familiar tingle engulfed his body and he felt himself being tugged gently towards another destination, the scenery dissolving around him to be replaced with a misshapen corridor, no one but Chekov in sight.

"Alright lad," he murmured, "the brig should be at the end of this corridor, if the plans are accurate."

Chekov held his phaser in front of him, and Scott followed suit, cursing himself for momentarily forgetting his training. Once an engineer, he thought wryly, remembering what his trainer had told him, always an engineer.

They weaved their way past doors and quarters, all of them protruding into the corridor, almost as though the entire complex was made of bubble wrap. Some doors were still flung open from the rush to get to stations, the furniture just visible in the darkened quarters.

Everything was as the plan said it would be, but he was still wary of new security measures, new alarms which he did not know about.

Sure enough, they rounded a corner and encountered two guards, both of them impossibly tall, both of them so muscled that their clothing appeared to struggle not to come off. They could not have been more intimidating if they had tried.

Wordlessly, they fired at the intruders, who leapt back around the corner to take cover. Holding Chekov back so the young Russian would not have a chance to get injured, Scott stuck his head and shoulders briefly around the corner, fired twice, and managed to fell one of the guards. His fellow, who had been slightly quicker, danced behind another corner.

Scott turned to Chekov. "There should be a door a few meters down there, lad," he pointed at the way they had just come. "Ye need tae cover it in case they call for help."

"Aye sair," Chekov replied, turning around and pointing his phaser at the door, which mercifully remained closed for the moment.

Sparks began to fly off the wall and Scott knew that the guard was firing at them again. Gathering his breath in one small gasp, Scott repeated the earlier process, knocking the guard flat on his back, but not before he felt a stinging pain in his gun arm, causing him to allow the weapon to clatter to the floor.

Issuing a short but quiet cry of pain, he bent forwards to pick it up, absently noticing the small drops of blood which fell onto the floor.

"Meester Scott?" Chekov asked anxiously, his attention momentarily distracted from the door.

"I'll be fine, lad," Scott told him, his teeth bared against the pain as he ripped a piece of clothing off the dead body of his attacker and tied it around his wound. "I'll stay together until we get back, do nae worry."

Chekov looked doubtful of this as he stared into Scott's pained face, but did not argue, knowing that they had little time. "Vich vay now, sair?"

Scott nodded forwards, indicating the turn beyond the guards. "Straight ahead."

"Sair?"

Scott ignored Chekov's confusion, creeping forwards, gun raised using his good hand, noticing that it wavered slightly. If he'd had a choice, he would have been shot in the other arm – not that he did have a choice, he thought. It seemed fate was determined to weaken his only form of self defence.

His musings were brought up short as he reached the wall, and he found what he was looking for. A small button sat tucked out of sight near the floor, its red colour indicating that the hidden room beyond held prisoners. Bracing himself for the revealing of the less-than-sane prisoners originally from his ship, he reached out and pressed the button.

To his dismay, a hidden panel slid aside, revealing instead a computer, demanding an access code.

"I can do that," Chekov said quietly, glancing at the screen, "but I need help vith the language."

"I hear you, Pavel," Uhura said quietly over the earpiece. "What does it say?"

Chekov squinted at the display and repeated the words as best he could, thankful that it was not in alien symbols. "Or vehntahr l'ferr, puhr l'ghins."

There was a brief pause filled with the tapping of fingers on keys before Uhura replied. "To open the door, enter code."

"Can ye bypass that, lad?"

Chekov nodded silently, fingers already gravitating towards the metal panel of the machine, finding appropriate wires. After a moment of fiddling, another display appeared on the screen.

"L'ghins vrih."

"Code correct," Uhura supplied.

Shortly after this pronouncement, the door slid open to reveal a single cage, completely square, and Scott resisted the urge to chuckle. Within the cage, squashed together so that they could barely move and wearing expressions of equal contempt, were the abducted prisoners.

"Sair?"

Scott shook his head. "The Gaaran hierarchy," he explained as he made his way into the room. "Circles for rich people, squares for the poor."

"What are you doing here?" The so-called Dark Lord questioned abruptly, having caught sight of them.

"Rescuing ye," Scott replied shortly, lifting up his phaser and keeping it trained on them.

"Rescuing?" The woman spat, eyes narrowing. "Why would we need help from you, Muggle?"

"Take a look around!" Scott said furiously, keeping his voice down as best he could. "These people might kill you, we won't."

"Muggles are all the same," the woman countered, tilting her chin arrogantly.

Scott barely stopped himself from growling in frustration. "Do ye really want tae take that chance?" Without waiting for an answer, he opened a channel to the transporter room on his communicator. "Enterprise, Scott here. Four tae beam up from the cell."

"Aye sir," a slightly muffled voice replied. Seconds later, the self-proclaimed wizards disappeared, looking slightly shocked.

An alarm went off, and Scott cursed.

"Enterprise, beam us up now!"

Static filled the communicator, allowing only a few words through. "Damaged...need...only one..."

Scott cursed again and lifted the communicator closer to his lips. "Beam up Chekov."

"Sair-"

"No arguing," Scott argued, his gaze full of steel. "Beam him up now, Enterprise!"

Mouth still hanging open in protest, Chekov disappeared, leaving Scott all alone aboard a ship full of people employed by the woman who wanted to kill him.