Still Counting
He always hated rain.
Humans classify this moment as a 'relaxing time', when water forms and gathers in those menacing clouds up above and shows vulnerable life forms underneath it. Why would this be considered as a point of relaxation? Being drenched in water unexpectedly shouldn't be pleasant– it isn't, yet, this attracts all the more attention. While the rain beconned those to stay in doors, he finds himself in the rain, limping along each puddle, squinting through the downpour that blurred the area.
Unlike Vulcan, rain was there chilling him to the bone.
His eyes squinted up, his eyelashes flickering constantly against the competing water and wind. The dark sky lit up every so often, the faint outline of lightning burned into his retinas and the loud thunderous booms that followed made him stiffen, his arm tensely wrapped around his aching torso while his other limp one hung uselessly by his side. The thin jacket he found a little ways back did little favors keeping him warm, but he was grateful. Water didn't penetrate him as much as earlier.
Suddenly, a person appeared and knocked into him, nearly making him tumble back as a white flash of pain surged through his brain.
"Whoops! Sorry," said the figure before they rushed away, hunched within their jacketed body. His eyes followed him as he pushed himself off the wall, urging for his breathing to settle; it was like his heart was hammering in his abdominal area, never relenting when his mind– his instincts told him to run as far as he could. That person, so inconsequential, managed to frighten him, falter his steps to be anywhere he was before. In a place like this, there was no way of telling who or where one could be ambushed and killed. He was a walking target, he can (will, his thoughts corrected) be taken out in a matter of time.
He walked until he found a diner of sorts. It was unlike anything he exhibited before, it had an unusual design that should belong in the early 21st century. As out of place as it seemed, it beckoned him until he was inside. A buff of warm air bombarded his senses, enveloping his body in a welcoming sensation that nearly made him shutter. His boots sluggishly stomped to the back area until he slid into a worn, red booth. It squeaked oddly against his wet clothes. His eyes shut for a second while his sense of smell captured an enriched sweet aroma and his hearing caught the distant pounding of the rain that no longer touched him.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when he opened his eyes to find a waitress standing beside him.
The woman held a notepad and pencil, her presence awaiting his. "Welcome. What can I get you?"
He faltered. "Oh, apologies. I-I… do not have any form of currency," he muttered, discouraged. His body shook with cold, currently wishing he had some credits to spare to purchase some warmed goods. His mouth hurt incredibly, specifically his tongue. Perhaps it wasn't best that he sewed it back together, the procedure was immensely difficult. Furthermore, he wasn't sure when it was the last time he'd eaten a good meal that wasn't bread and water.
"Well, the first cup of coffee is free," she offered with a controlled tone, one that he envied to display at the moment. "You want that?"
"I…" He doesn't drink coffee, it displeases him greatly with the bitter taste. "Do you have any tea instead?"
She shook her head 'no'.
A small huff that vaguely resembled a sigh escaped him. "Then a coffee should be sufficient."
After she left, he gazed around the surroundings. There was no other customer inside but himself, both predictable and unnerving. He had a hard time telling if he should be thankful to be alone, but considering what he escaped from, he just wants some familiar company. Even the waitress that returned with the cup and pot of coffee was reassuring to a small point.
Thanking the woman again, he brought the mug to his lips, enjoying the warm sensation it brought him, and took a sip. He grimaced. It tasted strong, like soil, but it was worth it to be warmed. He looked back up again at the sound of assorted clicks. In the corner was a large box, one that glowed in several colors and displayed names of several music choices. It was a jukebox. He's seen one before, it always mesmerized him with the selection of songs, both classical and newer choices. As the next song changed, which explains the clicking sound, his ears perked at another sound from the kitchen. It was another clicking, but much heavier and slightly spaced. His eyes narrowed as he slowly sat up.
The moment he saw the barrel of a firearm, he ducked under the table, narrowly missing the borage of bullets flinging his way. Dust and stuffing flung every way as the table and seat were practically obliterated. When there was a pause, he crawled out, flinging his (somehow still intact) coffee mug toward the aggressive waitress. She yelped when it splattered all over her chest, keeping her distracted long enough so he ran forward and began to wrestle the machine gun from her grip. Predictably, she fought back, but it did nothing toward his Vulcan strength. He shoved her away, the weapon securely in his hands; with a simple change in aim, he pulled the trigger and fired, watching her drop to the floor in a growing pool of blood.
So much for a safe place to stay, he thought bitterly. He walked over her corpse toward the kitchen, peering in and pointing the weapon in case there were any other enemies. There were none. Considering that the woman had attacked him, he doubts that there would be any food, so he makes quick work to head back out. He froze just before the doorway, however, when the sounds of the door opening stole his attention.
"Gosh! I'm starving!" Said a voice. He hid by the wall, the weapon steady and loaded.
"Christ, already? You just had lunch not three hours ago! As yer Doctor, I'm tellin' ya to watch yer diet!" Another voice exclaimed, this one having a certain accent to their tone.
"Oh, come on, it hasn't been that… long… Holy shit." They must have spotted the tarnished area-
"Sonofabitch! What in the absolute hell?!" And then the body. "Who the hell did this?"
Knowing that there was no other way out, he adjusted his grip and spun out of the room, the weapon already pointing at the two figures. His glare stilled just as his heart did when he laid eyes on them, their frozen stature seeming to do the same. The bright colors of gold and blue flickered in his memory, faint voices pulsing, sounding so far to hear the words but close enough to recognize. They looked the same, unlike him. They still had the same personality, same responses, same everything. The thought of it made his blood boil. How can they come in here, act normal, after what they did to him?
The gun never lowered.
"Spock…" The man in gold breathed. Would it be right to call them by their names? Their titles? For all he knows, they might be completely different people than he remembered.
"God, yer alive!" The older man in blue, the Doctor, exclaimed in shock. Both seem emotional with the run-in, but not for him. He feels nothing about what they're feeling. "We thought you were dead. What the hell are ya doin' here? This isn't Starbase VI."
He said nothing, his gaze flickering between the two uncertainty.
"Are you, uh, are you going to put the gun down?" The Captain mentioned, eyeing the weapon just as uneasily. His gaze went twice the speed, analyzing their bodies and intentions. Sensing nothing out of place, the gun slowly lowered, but not completely out of sight. The Captain sighed, shoulders slumping and a relieved smile gracing his features. He shot a sharp look, making it disappear just as quickly. "It's good to see you again, Spock, you were missed dearly."
His eyes flashed in fury. " Liar," he gritted out, his throat suddenly feeling like dust.
The two humans physically reeled back in shock.
"Spock, we aren't lying," the Doctor refuted stubbornly. "You've been gone fer three months! Ya think that you weren't needed, wanted? Christ, everyone was darned devastated to hear you disappeared-"
"I did not disappear," he whispered, eyes narrowing, his body wobbling a bit. The Doctor scooted forward, his stance precautionary for some strange reason. His eyes narrowed again, but he didn't put up the gun this time. The humans awaited for further explanation, but he provided none. Why would he? After what they did. What they did…
"We should get you back on the Enterprise, where it's safe." He shook his head, already protesting. Safe? There was no such thing as safety. He had to stay on his mission, he had to stay on task. If he didn't, his commander would surely be displeased. No, not again. Failure was unacceptable. "What will you fail?"
He blinked. He wonders how much he said aloud. Speaking aloud when not supposed to? Another thing his superior would punish him for. The man in gold suddenly took out a small portable device, a communicator, and flipped it open. His ears twitched at a long pitched ring that faintly emitted from it.
"Kirk to Enterprise. Kirk to Enterprise, you read?" The man frowned as he later heard the ring, smacking the device afterward as if it would fix it. He approached the glass window, eyes roaming the dark street. His senses told him that someone approached him on his right. Based on the blue hue he captured from the corner of his eye, it was the Doctor. "Damn. Why won't they answer?"
"Because your signal is being blocked," he admitted, the weapon positioned carefully against his shoulder. He hid a wince, an ache flaring through his side. It was difficult to see in the rain and the light in the diner wasn't doing any favors. Furthermore, with the earlier shots fired, it must have attracted attention within the mile radius. He cautiously stepped out into the wet environment, his senses being mixed by the uncalculating space. In the distance, he heard sounds of gunfire and faint screams. His posture stiffened.
"Spock-"
He sprinted off in the direction of battle. He heard the voices of those humans screech behind him before their frantic footsteps chased right after him. He glanced back, eyebrows tightening with agitation.
"Why are you following me?" He demanded, turning back to the front to maneuver out of the way of abandoned cars and road blocks.
"'Cause we're your friends and shipmates, dude!" The Captain yelled over the rain. "Why the hell are we gonna leave you after we just found you?"
His gaze sharpened. "You are the ones who left me in the first place. I do not need you anymore."
"Like hell. In yer current state, yer lucky to be even conscious!" The Doctor yelled, waving a tricorder near the other, who glared in return. "We'll get this shit sorted out later, but you need to get back onto the ship."
"N-No." A near whimper escaped his mouth when his torso jostled unevenly, making him instinctively clamp onto his tongue, shooting more pain through his system. His sprinting stuttered to a near stop, turning into a limping hop as he pulled through to get to his destination. His eyes wanted to water, to gather emotion and let loose because right now his entire body just screamed Make the pain STOP! But he couldn't. Not yet. Not ever. He had to get there, be there to assist like he was meant to!
When he arrived, it was a blood show – in an unfortunate literal sense. He's never seen so much blood, like the courtyard was painted with shades of reds. It made his stomach lurch but he aimed again at the nearest shooting figure and fired. Those who did not look familiar were obliterated under his severe watchful eye. He held the weapon, limping toward the center, firing at the people who shot first. When he made it, he nearly slipped, almost tumbling to the ground when he stepped onto something slimy and thick.
It was a severed arm. Near it was the body that it belonged to, one that he recognized.
Then, something hit his back. It's almost like something slammed into him, jostling his system as he landed onto the corpse. When a cough sprayed green blood from his mouth, he realized that he was shot. It felt distant, but arms still wrapped around his torso. A protest settled on the tip of his tongue, but a grunt of pain made its way out first. Just leave him, it hurts too much. Everyone was dead, why should he be taken away? His vision pulsed and blurred, the dark rainy background faintly being washed by yellow and white swirls before he found himself in another area, this one lit up and vaguely familiar. There was a whirring sound that brought his attention, coming deep within the floor that his ear was pressed into. It rumbled beneath him, almost soothing his aching body.
Then hands surrounded him again and he snapped.
"Do not to-... touch me," he gritted out through his chattering teeth and weak tongue. When had he become so cold? So tired? He couldn't get up, his body feeling bound to the ice cold floor, preventing him from seeing who those hands belong to.
"You're safe now, Spock, everything's going to be okay," said the Captain, sounding far and concerned. He blinked sluggishly, eyebrows furrowing.
"No… No… miss- ion. Not saf-... safe." His arm shifted to his side, the other still curled uselessly across abdomen, willing to find strength to sit up. Panic seized him when he realized he couldn't. "Can't get up… Cannot…"
"It's because you're injured. You've been shot, you hobgoblin!" The Doctor hissed. In a softer tone he added, "Your back is compromised. We have to move you onto a stretcher so I can examine ya in medbay. But you need to listen or you will hurt yerself even more, do I make myself clear?"
DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR, SOLDIER?! He shut his eyes, willing for that voice to go away. He understands the order, he knows what needs to be abided to ensure the rest of his safety. With a tight nod, he finally let himself be handled by those hands onto a safe carrier. When he was placed onto it and floated into the air, he finally caught sight of who was observing the interaction at the base of the transporter pad: the Chief Engineer and Chief Communications Officer. His eyes dimmed when he saw the woman reach out to him, but hesitated before dropping her arm completely. The sound of a choked sob reached his ears, but he did nothing to comfort the woman.
His eyes shut when he was moved to the medbay, merely thinking and using his remaining energy to heal up his internal wounds and build back his mental shields. More like mental paper, he thought illogically. He focused the bodies near him, sensing their presences and their loud uncontrolled emotions. It nearly hit him like a tidal wave with all of their expressiveness. If he didn't want to end up like them, then he would have to focus too.
It was an old folktale my gamma used to sing to me, back before… well, back before THIS. So, I'm not gonna shut up. It calms me down, asshole. He thought hard about his next actions, siphoning his memories for the correct tune, before his voice began to replicate it in a quiet hum. At once, the emotions around his person jumped like brightening colors that exploded his vision, the feeling of alarm and fear knocking on his shields. He continued to hum nevertheless, knowing that it distracted him from his lingering pain.
When the biobed stopped, so did he.
His eyes opened to the sound of machines whirring and the voices of perturbed medical officers thrummed his ear drums. His gaze slowly analyzed the scene, noting the CMO had waved around his tricorder like a stick of dynamite over his body and yelled out to nearby personnel to assist him. Off to the side was the Captain, overlooking the operation with an extremely tense expression that made him think that if the man clenched his teeth any harder, they might shatter.
When the feeling of someone grabbing his jaw, he snapped his eyes toward one of the junior doctors. Alarm and panic seized his brain as his mouth was pried open, anger and fear instantly weaving through his mind, deciding what to respond in this fight or flight experience. The junior doctor wasn't there opening his mouth anymore, it was a dark figure, with beady red eyes and a hungry expression. His eyes widened when those fingers went closer to his tongue, feeling a metal scalpel pressing onto it, and horror seized his mind!
And then he clamped down on those fingers as hard as he could.
Everything lashed out at him all at once. There was a scream that pierced his eardrums, a stab to the neck that made him yelp and let go of those fingers, a flurry of bodies moving around at lightning speed that he could barely make out someone with red coated hands being hauled away. The metallic taste gave him a thought that he made a mistake. It was not the man who grabbed his mouth, it was the young doctor who was simply checking to see why he was in so much pain there. He bit the young doctor like a ravenous beast. What was strange was that he felt… something. With all the people he killed, everyone he tortured, he felt differently with this one. All the previous people who were dealt with by him, he never had any reactions. This was new. This was something. This wasn't…
Nothing.
"You lay a finger on any of my people again and I will end you."
The threat made him tense. The growl was unfamiliar, unwanted. But it made all the points not to doubt it. He laid still for the rest of the procedure, wide awake and deathly aware of each thing happening around him. He was offered a sedative, but that hypo from earlier had already churned his stomach, so he refused. He sensed the Doctor's worry when he twitched at the melding of his wounds and the wraps of gauze around his body. The Captain was further away, but he sensed him too. It was fear that pricked his mind and… there was something else, something his thoughts were too weak to comprehend. Something much more intense.
What was the Captain feeling?
When the operation was over, he had fallen into a light meditation. Pulling out of it, his eyes blinked up at the now visible ceiling then to the rather empty room. It was dimmed slightly, automatically informing him that the ship was in its night cycle. He extended his mind, searching for any figures that might make themselves known, but he was rather surprised to find himself alone. Usually, a nurse was nearby to watch over the injured. But the medbay was empty.
He checked his body, clenching and extending each joint; when it was acceptable, he tossed his legs over the edge and sat up. He felt practically all his hairs standing on end when he spotted a figure at the far end, shadowed from the face but their enormous body beaming out like a spotlight. It stayed still as he continued to watch it apprehensively, waiting for them to move. How did he not sense it? He should have felt their presence, their emotions. Even machines and non-living beings showed in his line of thought. If so, what was this thing?
The moment it took a step forward, he shot out of the bed, only to tumble onto the floor with a smack! His breath hitched as he glanced at the being, who took another step forward, before scrambling the best he could to his feet. His legs were numb, tingling from the lack of use. The sling holding his arm screamed in pain, but he didn't dare voice it. Instead, he wobbled to his knees and began to crawl like a madman, scrambling across the floor as the footsteps of that creature behind him drew closer. He quickened his pace, rushing toward the door, never once ever thinking that it would be so far unlike now, the steps getting awfully closer but he couldn't help but feel painstakingly slow. His mental shields became like razors right when he felt the figure practically tower over him.
He found the door. With the last remaining strength in his legs, he propelled himself out like a cannon, narrowly missing the door as it opened, and crashed into the hallway the next second. Light flared into his eyes as he stared back at the now blocked door, his breaths erratic and his eyes wild.
And he was alone again. Just like he was for the past few months.
After sitting there for a few minutes, he gathered himself enough to stand and walk, using the wall as a form of support. He wasn't too sure where he wanted to go but his legs took the reins and let his mind wander. The hallway was empty, once again odd but not unpredictable. It was a dim memory stored in his head, one that shows himself roaming the halls late at night to review the conditions of the ship and safety of the crew. Like a responsible First Officer should. Like a First Officer he would never be again. Maybe he was already replaced, stripped of his positions. It surprised him that he felt… betrayed at the theory. It shouldn't considering they were the ones who left him in the first place, yet it hurts all the same.
It was the canteen that he finds himself in. He scanned the room, noting that it was devoid of life, before making way to the replicator. The screen lit his face when he scanned his finger, his pupils shrinking instinctively as he blinked away. The bold black letters that spelled ' Good Night, Commander Spock ' made him narrow his eyes, thinking that his rank must not have been adjusted yet. He scrolled through the options, eyeing each labeled food and drink with dead intentions. Nothing looked appetizing, nothing looked edible and it made his stomach sick. It was all overwhelming, all too good to be true. Nothing was there for him, just taunts about what he couldn't have. This replicator was wrong, it isn't his option. With a shaky finger, he finally chose an option. The machine buzzed before there was a small ping, the latch opening to reveal what he chose.
A slice of bread and a cup of water.
It was like the only thing he could eat anymore. The only thing he accepted was to digest. Grabbing both items, he wandered over to the nearest table and sat down in a chair that thudded down with his weight. It took a lot out of him to get where he was, a little out of breath in the end, but as he stared down at the sad scrapings in front of him, he couldn't bear to care. His body went into autopilot as he ate. His hand grabbed the bread, tore it, and dipped it into the water until it was a mushy consistency in his mouth. Easier to chew. Easier to swallow. Faster to clean.
The bread and water were gone before he knew it, leaving a slightly fogged cup and an empty plate sitting in his wake. Somehow, he wished that there was more. And then he remembered that there was an option. So he stood, wandered to the replicator, and ordered two more slices and the same cup of water. When he got back to his table, he rushed to stuff it into his mouth, his chews and the sound of his glass clinking slowly becoming louder. It was gone again. So he went back to get some more. As he grabbed the other slice, completely forgetting to dip, he realized how disgusting this was. How unpleasant it was making him feel. He was going to get in trouble, to be punished. He wasn't allowed and now he breaks the rules, the rules he shouldn't break. The rules he was denying but he was simply just hungry.
In human terms, he felt like a pig.
Tap. Like all systems in a machine, he responded to the sound quickly. His flinching knocked the glass over, which clattered on the table and spilled across the floor. His hand caught the cup before it too fell before his attention went toward the sound. His heart lurched in his side at the figure in the doorway. It was smaller, thinner than before. Nevertheless, it left him extremely tense. The glass would prove helpful as a weapon – the figure stepped into the light just as his grip tightened – before everything settled just a second when he recognized the teenage navigator.
"Kommendeer," the boy acknowledged. A mix of surprise and joy tinked his mental shields. Ignoring the intruder, he quickly made work to gather some tissues nearby and duck down by the table, cleaning up the mess he made. His ears twitched at the sound of the teen approaching, so he looked up. The Ensign stopped in his tracks, stiffening at the untrusting gaze he shot. His gaze dropped back to the soggy tissues and globs of water. "Der eez a tovel even dee cabinet. Eet could vork bettew."
He said nothing.
There was a hesitant pause before the navigator walked away, quickly returning with the said fabric. The teen kneeled beside him, peeling the used tissues off the floor and replacing it with the grey towel. His eyes were trained on the garment that picked up the water for so long that he hadn't realized that it was done until the navigator was staring at him, towel nowhere in sight.
"Are ju okay, zir?" The Ensign asked quietly, a wave of concern hitting him like a sudden cannon. He blinked owlishly, gathering himself from such an unintentional attack. This human's emotions were intense.
"I am adequate," he finally mumbled, internally cursing for the lack of strength in his voice. He wished that he had the same composure as before, he wished that everything was like before. But it wasn't and now he doesn't know what to do about it.
"Oh." There was a tight pause. "Vell, no offense, Kommendeer, but you do not zeem okay."
He tightened his lips. "I am no longer your Commander, that you must understand. I had not been present for over four months, sixteen days, thirty two hours, and three minutes. My rank has been stripped by now," His eyes narrowed slightly, "have you not noticed?"
The Ensign raised both his eyebrows in surprise. "'Course I have not, zir, because ju have not been streeped of jur vank. Ju have been First Officeer dee entire time." The news made him freeze. "Dee Keptin has been sending in jur veports vhile ve ver lookeen for ju de entire time."
"No, he has not. He and the Doctor were the ones who left me." Anger rushed in suddenly and, unprepared for such, it made way to his voice. "I called for help, but they ignored me. They left me BEHIND!"
The Ensign jumped back in freight as he suddenly stood and grabbed the nearest item, that being the chair, and threw it across the room with a resounding crash.
"You are a liar, a liar just like them," he whispered toward the shaking teen, running his hand across his sweaty face. He tore off the sling, gritting his teeth when his arm flopped sorely against his side and tossed it elsewhere. His eyes went to the navigator, feeling dull and confused. "It was raining that day when they left. It was heavy and drenched me to the toe. I've always been displeased with rain… but that day, it solidified my resolve."
The Ensign looked like a 'deer in headlights', as the term would go. Frozen in fear because of his outburst.
"It was not your fault, Pavel." He turned away, missing the way the teen perked, and began to leave. It was never his fault.
He walked aimlessly again, but this time he had a form of where he wanted to go. To see. His legs seemed to connect with his mind more than him today as he made it to the holodecks. When he entered the overly large room, it lit up in his presence.
"Computer, access fingerprint connection," he said to thin air.
" Accessing print senor." A thin podium lifted from the ground a few feet from him, a dark textured circle indented on the top. Placing his finger, he waited for the now blue spot to turn green before he dropped his arm and watched the podium disappear. " Print scanned."
"Access and project memory files, stardate:..." What was the stardate? "Four months and sixteen days prior. Mission status: Class M planet, uninhabited. Landing party review."
" Accessing…" A moment later he was engulfed in rain. He squinted up, gazing at the dark clouds above him before the red terrain just below his feet. It was beginning to get muddy.
"Okay, so, what should we look for? Rocks, plants,... cool alien people?" His gaze shifted to the left, where he saw the landing party of gold and two blues stood around to observe the area. "I don't know about you, but I have a good feeling about this place."
"Then that means that somethin' bad is gonna happen," the Doctor grumbled, scanning around the area with his tricorder. The man wasn't wrong, he mused. "Why the hell am I down here in the first place? Last time I checked, I'm a doctor, not a damn plant to be withstandin' this rain!"
"Oh, come on. You haven't felt good rain in months since the five year mission started!" The Captain retorted, looking up and opening his mouth to let the water collect in it before swallowing.
"I do not advise you to drink the rain water, Captain. I am detecting a sort of bacteria that can very well lead to digestive issues, respiratory infections, and loss of hair."
"What?!" The man screeched, immediately beginning to scrape off the damage made on his tongue. His past self raised an eyebrow just as he did, still amused with the interaction. "I'm gonna lose my hair?! Dang it, Commander, you could have warned me!"
"I was, but you impulsively began your shenanigans before I had the chance," the First Officer shrugged ever so slightly, already walking away as the Doctor rolled his eyes at the overreaction.
"Quit complainin', Jim. Yer bein' overdramatic. Plus, that isn't the part you should bein' worryin' about." With a sigh, he gazed back at the Vulcan, ignoring the whining man to see that he had gotten further away, entranced by whatever it was he was following. "Hey, hobgoblin! Where the hell are ya goin'?"
"I have found a form of life," the science officer in question called back, his eyes never leaving the tricorder in his hands. "It seems to be returning to its habitat nearby."
The Doctor grunted, huffing when he noticed that their superior had already forgotten about the water and was mesmerized with something else entirely. "We'll go this way."
"Don't go too far, Spock!" The Captain yelled back, looking out into the distance and spotting something troublesome. "There's some rocky terrain over there. It might be unstable, so keep an eye out for any unsteady areas. We shouldn't go that far and risk the chance of being separated. If there's an emergency, call either of us or the ship."
"Yes, Captain." With that, the Vulcan walked off to follow the organism. He held back, gazing tightly at the two men who went off in a different direction, their conversation fading out of his range. He followed himself, knowing that the lifeform was an insect scurrying across the landscape. Too mesmerized by the creature, the First Officer continued to walk forward, flickering his gaze between the tricorder and the odd life. It was until they were a distance away that a loud sound over the rain caught the attention of both of them.
It was a strange animal, one vaguely similar to a four-legged mammal and just as threatening. It growled loudly in the direction of the First Officer before it began to chase him down. He watched himself run away, forgetting the creature and venture off into the distance. Instead of following, he made his way down the mountain, trudging through the mud and rain like it was something he did many times. And, in a sense, he has. It wasn't long until he found the spot, looking up just in time to see the First Officer come rushing by. Then, by the next moment, the Vulcan was being tackled to the ground by the creature, knocking him back from the cliff until he was just hanging by the edge. The creature growled and snapped at the Vulcan, who in turn could do nothing but endure the attacks. He reached up at his own skin, feeling the scars on his chest from where they were ripped open. One final swipe finally led the Commander letting go, plummeting down into a basin of mud and dirt. He stared, watching himself crawling out, leg compromised and refusing to hold him properly. It would be illogical to climb.
"Captain! Doctor!" The First Officer shouted, though his voice drowned in the rain. His communicator was lost in the mud, much like his hope. "Captain Kirk, can you hear me? Doctor McCoy!"
There was no one to hear his cries, he pleaded for help.
"JIM!… LEONARD!"
Eventually, the Commander had seen two figures above, one gold and one blue, scanning the area almost frantically.
"Jim! Jim! Leonard, I am here!"
The one in gold looked down in their direction, their face blocked by the rain but the posture readable. Then, the man turned away, lifting something to his face before they both were gone in swirls of yellow and white, leaving their crewmate and friend behind to stare up at the cliff in frozen disbelief. They were gone, but surely they would come back. So, they waited, looking up at the sky, watching for any sign that the two might return or beam them up into the safety of the ship.
But no one ever came.
His ears perked at the sound of someone behind him. Turning, he made immediate eye contact with Jim then Leonard. Their names… it felt warm in his mind, unlike the coldness he had been feeling for so long.
"You saw me and you left," he broke the silence, the rain still pouring but not wetting them. He always hated the rain.
Jim shook his head, looking very troubled. "I didn't see you. It was so dark and the rain made it even worse. We came looking for you when you didn't respond to your communicator, but you weren't anywhere in sight."
"I was there." He turned away, gazing back at himself, who began to crawl up and stagger away. "I presumed for so long that it was because you did not see me, but my emotions told me it was that you wanted to leave me there. To abandon me."
"Why would you think that?"
"I wondered that too." He wandered to the muddy pit, crouching beside it and digging his hand through the mess. He pulled it up a second later to hold the dirty Starfleet badge. "I wondered why you did not beam me aboard, but I soon figured that I did not care." He looked out, watching as the Commander slowly disappeared into the heavy horizon. "Do you know what happened to me? A merchant, an old war General, convinced me to assist him in the makings of a battle with those who I did not know or care about. I refused, but something happened… I am not sure, I do not recall, only that I soon became a part of his war and fought like a mindless soldier. However, he was rough with us. Tortured us when we were too weak, had us living very minisculely too compact our minds, barely fed us to teach the ways of surviving." His gaze cut to the two humans. "I was in comrades with one of my squad members, one heavily injured during a battle. The General told me to end his misery but I refused to do so. He made me do it and right after he cut my tongue. I couldn't speak for months, but I still thought. I thought about where you were to save me, to help me finish this battle so we can leave and return to exploring the stars. But you never did. You explored without me. You left me behind.
Four months, sixteen days, thirty three hours, forty two minutes, and counting. Because it is a fact that you have yet to save me and I am still waiting."
"We were attacked that day," said Jim. "D'you know that? Yeah, some unidentified vessel attacked our ship out of nowhere, completely making us vulnerable. Didn't respond to our hails, didn't try to negotiate, didn't give us a chance to look for you. That ship pushed us far out into space but, for some reason, it stopped out of the blue before turning around and warping away. We wondered what happened, but we knew that you were still down there, so we quickly went back and ordered a full planet scan for Vulcan lifeforms. The storm had already dissipated by the time we arrived so there was no way that we couldn't find you. It's the truth, Spock, because you were gone without a trace.
We looked for you, and I mean we practically tore up the galaxy just trying to find ya. Then, we got a lead that there was a Vulcan spotted on a planet past Federation space. Considering that there were so few of you left, well, we took a long shot. It worked out in our favor," he smiled a little. He stood, feeling the silver pin in his hands despite the airy texture of the hologram.
"You know why ya can't remember what happened?" McCoy crossed his arms with a hard look on his face. "When I was fixin' ya up, my tricorder picked up somethin' up with yer head. Signs of multiple blunt force traumas in yer noggin' some deducting serious complications, one of them memory loss. What happened before you met that General is lost because it was what he did to you. He abused you, you hobgoblin, and you didn't even know better."
He turned away again, his fists clenching at his sides. He really didn't know any better, did he?
"Computer, cancel simulation." The world around him dissipated, but he couldn't bring himself to care. His mind subconsciously monitored two forces moving beside him, one on the left and the other on his right. His eyebrows furrowed deeply, waveringly, as arms wrapped around his tensing shoulders.
"We're sorry for not being there, Spock, we should have 'cause we're family," Jim mentioned.
"Yer back with us now and we ain't gonna let you slip out of our fingers again," Leonard added.
As a small tear leaked from his eyes, he finally put a stop on his internal clock. He was gone for four months, sixteen days, thirty three hours, and fifty three minutes. But now, he was found.
END.