Hi everyone! Once again, I want to thank everyone for reviewing all my stories! I know a few picked up a few discrepancies here and there, and I apologize if I confuse people. I try to stay close to what I've already written, but sometimes, the context of what I wrote before doesn't fit what I want to write for other chapters, and since they're all technically one-shots, I hope you forgive me and overlook them.

So, I actually haven't really finished writing this chapter, but I've been threatened with a metaphoric stick (at least I hope it's metaphoric and I don't get hunted down with an actual real one) by See Me as I Am 101 to just post up whatever I have so far. Since this chapter is going to be ridiculously long anyway, I figured I might as well split it into two parts...again. I have no idea why I started to write such long chapters. I really don't mean to, I swear! But I hope that's okay...

Anyway, I did rush through this a little bit because I didn't want to make you guys wait too long, so it's not completely up to my standards (I'm a bit of a perfectionist). I'll probably go back over it later and fix things, so if there's anything you want me to fix, just let me know and I'll consider it. Also, I took so many liberties again. Just giving you a heads up.

So, without further ado, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! And as always, please review!

Disclaimer: I do not own any Star Trek franchise.

No Into Darkness spoilers.

VIII

There's No Place Like Home Part I

Everything went downhill when Chekov knocked on Jim's door during shore leave. The crew of the Enterprise had been granted a sudden and rare month-long leave on their home planet and everyone had scattered the moment they had landed. Spock and Nyota had stayed in San Francisco; Sulu to Japan and Chekov to Russia. Scotty had remained on the ship, enjoying the emptiness and time with his 'girl', while Bones went to see his little girl in Georgia. Jim, on the other hand, disappeared with just a simple 'see ya later' and proceeded to go off the grid for no apparent reason.

The crew was instantly suspicious of his actions, but they didn't have the chance to ask before he completely disappeared. Each of them had secretly spent some time searching for him while on leave, but all leads had gone stone cold dead for two whole weeks.

That was until Chekov sought him out and discovered that he was in northern Germany, staying in some obscure motel that looked as though it barely passed the minimal safety requirements.

Jim's startled and slightly panicked look contrasted wildly with Chekov's bright grin.

"Chekov!" Jim gasped out. "How the hell did you find me?!"

"I found out zat you vere nearby, so I had to come find you."

"Shit…" Jim swore, dragging Chekov into his room, but not before poking his head out into the hallway to scan right and left and popping back inside.

"Keptin?" Chekov's expressions were confused as he found himself pushed towards the opposite wall.

"Damn it, Chekov! Weren't you supposed to be in Russia?"

Jim started rifling through his drawers, throwing out clothes and papers everywhere. He pulled out a well-hidden communicator and pressed it. Chekov could hear it dialing before an older, wary voice answered.

"Jim, you know you're not supposed to use this number unless it's an emergency."

Jim swiftly cut the Admiral off. "Pike, we've got a problem."

"What's wrong, Jim? Are you safe?"

He chose to deflect the question. "Chekov just showed up at my door! I thought you said that I was untraceable!"

Pike exhaled loudly.

"He was probably seen, Pike. They've been watching me for days. If I send him away, he'll get killed, and I'm not letting that happen. You've got to break protocol now, Pike. Things are going to get messy and you need to tell Spock to pick Chekov up."

"He'll pick both of you up." The strength in Pike's words was an unspoken promise to the young Captain.

"Just…don't call Bones, okay? He's with Joanna in Georgia right now and I don't want to interrupt."

"Jim, wouldn't you want McCoy there when we extract you?"

Jim fidgeted. He knew full well what lay ahead of him. There was going to be so much pain, so much blood. A piece of whatever was left of his shattered soul was going to die, and when that happened, the only one he could turn to was his best friend – his brother. Jim needed Bones, but Bones needed his daughter. Jim could never make Bones choose between his baby girl and him; not in this lifetime. Bones would always pick Joanna over him anyway, and Jim didn't want to put himself into the position where he could be hurt by that.

His fingers tightened around his communicator; decision made. "No. He already doesn't get enough time with his kid. Just tell Spock. I don't think we have much time anymore."

"Understood." There was a slight pause. "Be safe, Jim."

"You know that was out of the question when Komack brought me into this," sighed Jim, running his fingers through his hair. "Tell Komack that I'll finish the mission. We had a deal and he better keep to it."

He shot a glance at Chekov, worry and fear in his eyes – but not for himself. "Come and get us, Pike."

"We will, Jim. We will. Stay alive."

Jim hesitated. "I'll try. Kirk out."

He flung his communicator aside, letting it bounce off the floor, and plopped down heavily on the chair beside the door. He rubbed his face tiredly as he glanced up at Chekov standing awkwardly in front of him.

Chekov scrutinized Jim more closely. Jim's hair was no longer golden; it had been temporarily dyed into a darkish brown. It was longer and gelled back, quite unlike his usual ruffled style. His eyes were still blue, but there was a glint steel constantly within them, making them almost grey in color. His face was also covered in scruff, almost bordering on the line of a beard. And the oddest thing was that he was wearing a black suit – a jacket and a white button-collared shirt with the first three buttons left open. It wasn't something Jim would ever wear, even when he was off duty.

He was completely and utterly different, and Chekov wondered how he hadn't noticed until now.

"Keptin? Vhat is going on?"

Jim sighed. "I'm undercover, Chekov. Starfleet got word of some terrorists planning an attack and I'm supposed to investigate."

"But you are Keptin," frowned Chekov, trying to understand. "You should not hawe to do this."

"A while back, Komack got wind of my skill set and decided to put them to use. The goddamn man even went as far to threaten me. Despite Pike fighting for me, there isn't much he or I can do against that, even when I became Captain. Why do you think we were granted shore leave so easily?" Jim rubbed his face again. "Damn it, Chekov. You just had to come find me."

"Keptin?" Now, Chekov looked afraid.

"I had to infiltrate the organization and let's just say it didn't work out very well, so I tried a different tactic. Any minute now, they're coming for me."

"Vhat?!"

"And since you're here, they're going to nab you too," Jim continued as if Chekov never spoke. "Shit. This would've been so much easier if it was just me."

Jim stood up, smoothing out his suit in a nervous habit. He had experience; he had been trained (not willingly, of course. Tarsus, Frank, and the rest of the hundreds of people he pissed off had taught him how to handle…difficult situations), and Chekov wasn't.

Chekov was young and innocent. Sure, he had seen some harsh things. It came with the territory as a Starfleet officer, but Chekov's job usually kept him onboard. He didn't see the shit that Jim did on a daily basis. And that was only including the past couple of years. Jim didn't even bother to add his history to the mix. It would've tilted the balance between him and Chekov far too much.

Jim could've handled anything that was thrown at him. He was cockily confident in his high pain threshold, but Chekov? Jim just wanted to wrap the teenager in bubble wrap and throw him into an isolated, padded room.

But Jim was nothing if adaptable. He rolled his shoulders, resolve strengthening. Chekov could almost see the manic expressions of J.T. crawl upon Jim's face as he spoke. "Guess there's nothing we can do now but play the cards that have been dealt. You'll be fine as long as you follow a few simple rules. One, you will obey everything that I tell you. Whether it's to run or sit, you have to listen to everything I say. Even if I tell you to leave me behind."

Chekov looked stricken. "I vill not!"

"You're not going to have a choice, Chekov. Two, you say nothing. No matter what happens, you keep your mouth shut. Three, and this is most important, Chekov, no matter what happens, you stay strong, understand me?"

Jim stepped forward and placed both hands on Chekov's shoulders. "Chekov, I can't guarantee that you won't get hurt, but I will do everything in my power to bring you back safe, I promise."

"Keptin, are you going to let them capture you?" Chekov's eyes were ridiculously wide now and Jim was trying very hard to not read what was in them; it would probably break him.

"Yeah." Jim stepped back and flopped back down in the chair, his eyes drawn upwards, unseeingly, towards the ceiling. There was too much he had to think over; too many possibilities and outcomes to test in his mind.

"Vhy not fight?"

"Because I won't get any information otherwise."

"You vill purposefully let them take you for this reason? Are you mad?! Do you know vhat they vill do to you?"

"Yeah, well aware. It's not my first rodeo, Chekov. This is actually the third uncover mission I've been on since I've been Captain, and sixth since the Academy. I know what I'm doing. The only unaccounted variable for is you."

Jim kept his eyes glued to the ceiling, drawing up plans as he went and scrapped the ones he already had. Strategy was everything and it would be the one thing that would protect Chekov.

"Vas Doctor McCoy avare of zis?" Chekov asked quietly.

"Not this one," came the soft response. "Who do you think fixes me up in time to walk onto the Bridge in one piece?"

After a moment of silence, Chekov muttered. "Keptin, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not exactly your fault." A pause and Jim straightened to look at Chekov again. "How did you find me? You never said."

"I caught a transmission from ze 'fleet regarding your location, but I did not know zat you vere on a mission. I just thought zat since you vere alone, I could keep you company."

Instantly, Jim was suspicious, rapidly connecting the frayed lines that were supposed to be well hidden. "Was the voice male or female?"

"Male."

"Fuck. It had to be Komack messing around again! Fuck!" Jim angrily threw the nearby phone on the desk beside him against the adjacent wall, making Chekov flinch violently. The equipment shattered to pieces. "First the bastard drags me into this mess and now he brings you in?! That's where I draw the goddamn line!"

Chekov stared at the broken pieces on the ground, his entire body taut with fear and confusion. "But he did not tell me to come."

"No, but he knows how to play people," Jim spat. "I was forbidden to tell anyone of my location, and I warned him that it would raise some red flags among my crew. He used that to his advantage, bringing you over to Germany. God…I'm so sorry, Chekov. I never wanted to involve any of you in this kind of shit, least of all you."

"Vhy vas I vanted?"

"You're a genius and he has yet to learn about my skills with technology. He probably wanted you to help me take down the organization from the inside out. Like, hack and demolish their databases."

"Keptin, vhat is your mission exactly?"

Jim's cold, blue eyes reminded Chekov of J.T., and it sent shivers down his back. "You don't want to know that, Chekov."

All at once, Chekov snapped, "You alvays do zis, Keptin! You alvays do everything alone, even vhen there are people right beside you! You think you are protecting us, but sometimes, by doing so, you put us into more danger. And sometimes, you hurt us more by not zinking zat you are important! You are family, Keptin, and ve do not turn our backs on each other. I need to know vhat ve are facing, Keptin. Do not run avay from me."

"What if I don't want to tell you?" Jim's expression had become strained, almost pleading.

"I vill find out sooner or later. It vill be easier on both of us if you tell me now."

Jim's fingers started drumming on the arm of the chair. Silence fell, but Chekov waited patiently as Jim gathered the courage to speak.

When Jim finally spoke, he refused to make eye contact with the Navigator. "I was ordered to infiltrate and eliminate all the terrorist cells involved. Weapons, information, and persons included."

Chekov just stared at him. "Persons?"

"Leave no trace behind. Show no mercy."

"Vill you really do zat?" Chekov gaped.

"It wouldn't be the first time…" Jim murmured.

"Vhy vould you agree to this, Keptin?! You are not ze kind of man zat would do this sort of zing!"

"Clearly, I'm not the man you think I am." He leaned forward. Any trace of the kindness that Chekov had grown so accustomed to was gone, leaving only a cold mask that was a remnant of J.T.

Chekov didn't get the chance to ask Jim to elaborate before loud footsteps echoed towards them; angry shouts in the Germanic language reached them seconds before the door was kicked in.

Jim leapt to his feet, placing himself between Chekov and the throng of eleven men who came rushing in. All wore black ski-masks and carried archaic AK-42s.

"Hands in the air!" screamed a few of the men in German.

Jim raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender, and Chekov followed suit, despite not understanding what was being said. "We're unarmed. There's no need for those…" Jim answered quickly in German, nodding towards the guns. Panic was written all over Jim's face – completely faked, but it lulled the mercenaries into a false sense of security.

"I think there's plenty need for these, Captain James T. Kirk. We've heard rumors about you."

"Now, I'm a bit embarrassed, because you know who I am, but I don't have the pleasure of knowing you," Jim responded, unable to suppress his innate cheekiness.

"I think you know exactly who are. Boys?"

Five men moved forward, roughly wrenching Jim's arms behind his back, but Jim made no move to stop them.

"Keptin!" exclaimed Chekov, reaching forward.

One man swung around and smacked Chekov harshly across his face. Chekov was so shocked at the feel of fire spreading from his cheek that he couldn't even make a sound.

At that, Jim started to struggle, elbowing one of his captors to kick the man who hit Chekov. "Hands off him, you fucking bastards!" snarled Jim.

Immediately, all men except their leader leapt onto Jim. Punches and kicks were thrown; people were dropped heavily onto the ground. Someone got a lucky hit in, striking against the back of Jim's head so hard that his vision flickered. He dropped heavily to his knees, blackness swallowing him.

The last thing he heard was Chekov screaming for him, and Jim couldn't help but think of how things would be different if Chekov hadn't knocked on his door.

Spock was sleeping in his quarters in San Francisco when his communicator rang loudly. Blearily, he recognized the rhythm of the sounds that indicated the message's urgency. With more grace than a human, he fumbled to answer it.

"Spock," he forced out, blinking out the drowsiness from his body.

"Spock, we have a situation," Pike's voice had said. "You better come down to my office now."

The urgency in the Admiral's words was easily picked up and Spock wasted no time to slip into his Starfleet uniform before making his way to Pike.

Now, as he stood before both his and Jim's mentor, he couldn't help but feel as though he was still asleep.

"Can you please repeat that, Admiral? I am not sure that I heard correctly."

Pike sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. "Jim was sent on a mission and things got complicated. From my last conversation with him, his capture was imminent and he requested extraction for both him and Ensign Chekov."

There was a beat of silence as Spock digested the information. How had he not known about this? Jim was a magnet for disaster and danger, and yet he was sent out without the Enterprise as backup?! "What mission? Ensign Chekov was involved as well?"

"He wasn't supposed to be there; Jim was doing this on his own. And I can't tell you about Jim's mission, Spock. It's above your pay-grade. Sorry."

A flicker of anger arose in Spock's eyes. "I am Jim's First Officer: I should have been aware of this mission." He should have been on it with Jim. Once Spock learned that Jim had the survival instincts of a mayfly, Spock had readily and silently swore that he would always be there to support Jim and keep him safe.

If there was one thing Spock learned during his time with Jim, it was that Jim should never be left alone.

"You didn't have the clearance, Spock, otherwise I would have told you. His mission came from the very top and was supposed to kept in the dark."

"I have the same clearance level as Captain Kirk, Admiral. I should have been informed if my Captain was sent on a covert operation."

Pike gave Spock a look, well aware that the more formal Spock became, the angrier the Vulcan became, but if anyone had the right to be angry, it should be him. He was the last one to hear Jim speak before being taken. He was the last to hear the resignation, the fear – something that he had not heard from Jim in years. And he was damn sure that it was going to haunt him until Jim was found.

He stood up, raising himself to his full height. "Commander, I did not call you here to squabble over whether or not you had the right to know of Jim's mission. I called you here because Jim needs your help and you are wasting valuable time arguing with me. Now, you can sit down, shut up and listen to me or you can leave Jim in the hands of some terrorists who are more than happy to have their hands on the most decorated Captain in all of Starfleet."

Spock instantly snapped his mouth shut and all traces of fury were erased. Instead, it was replaced by worry and fear at the seriousness of the situation. It was quite a sight to see, seeing Spock plop down on the chair before Pike with all his attention on him.

Pike sank down in his chair too, "Jim was taken by a terrorist group that he was investigating. His last known location was in Poland at that explosion at the xeno-hospital in Warsaw. I'm not sure how it happened, but Ensign Chekov discovered where Jim was and went to him. From what I gathered, his appearance may have spurred the terrorists into action."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Jim's cover had been blown before Chekov even joined him. He was waiting for the terrorist to come to him."

Spock almost frowned. "I do not understand. If he was already in danger, why did no one extract him earlier?"

"Jim didn't tell anyone until he called me. Knowing him, he probably blew his cover on his own volition so that he could get closer to the terrorists."

"Even if it meant getting captured?"

Pike's face darkened. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"Pardon?" Spock's shock couldn't even be hidden by his Vulcan side. "This is not his first covert mission?"

"Unfortunately, no. You know Jim. He has skills that no one else has. He's a goddamn ninja and Starfleet can't help but use him. And Jim doesn't even have the ability to say no, not that he would. He's still too busy trying to prove that he deserves his Captaincy, even though he's shown that over a hundred times by now."

Somehow, that didn't surprise Spock in the slightest. Jim had always been a lone wolf, choosing to push away others and do things on his own. In Jim's eyes, no one else needed to get hurt – he alone was fine. Spock wasn't sure if this ridiculous low self-worth that Jim had was a result of his childhood abuse, the Tarsus trauma, or if it was just that he was born that way. Either or, Spock had noticed that Jim would always throw himself head first into a nearest fray without a second thought to his wellbeing. Spock wasn't sure how Jim survived up until now with that mindset, but he was sure that Dr. McCoy had something to do with it. The doctor was always one step behind Jim with his hyposprays at the ready. Spock, on the other hand, seemed to always be a step too late, just like this time.

Knowing how close Jim and McCoy were and how much Jim relied on the doctor, Spock made the logical leap that Leonard was aware of Jim's jobs on the side. "Does Dr. McCoy know of Jim's location? I assume that they kept in contact."

Pike winced. "McCoy doesn't know about this mission and Jim has asked that he be kept in the dark."

Dr. McCoy didn't know? He was not going to be pleased. Spock almost shivered at the thought of what McCoy would do to Jim when he got a hold of him.

"Spock, this must be kept quiet. The mission that Jim is on is very sensitive and it would put him in greater danger if word gets out regarding what he's doing. I'll help as much as I can, but I'm in a difficult position. I can't directly go against another Admiral's orders, so you need to find both him and Chekov and pull them out."

"I cannot do it alone, especially with the restrictions that I assume will be placed on me."

"You can tell the rest of your Command crew, but it has to be kept in that circle. Do you understand me?"

"Understood, sir."

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by Spock's communicator going off its hinges for the second time that night. He pulled it out to see that Dr. McCoy was calling him, which was an unusual event in itself.

His eyebrow rose in confusion, which was noticed by Pike.

"Is that McCoy?"

"Yes."

"Pick it up."

Spock raised his eyes to look at Pike. "Didn't Jim wish for his predicament to stay a secret from Dr. McCoy?"

"I promised Jim that I wouldn't tell him, but that doesn't mean that you can't. McCoy should know about this."

Spock nodded and answered.

His greeting was cut off immediately when McCoy's voice filtered through, "Spock, where's Jim? He hasn't been answering his communicator for a few days and he always takes my calls. You know where he is?"

For McCoy to have called Spock on his own will, it must have meant that he was far more worried than his tone could ever show.

Spock looked uncertainly at Pike. "I do not know of Jim's whereabouts," he answered truthfully after a beat of silence.

Instantly McCoy was suspicious. "What was that? You hesitated. You never hesitate. What the hell did that kid do now? Where is he? I'll grab my medkit."

"Doctor, I am answering you truthfully: I do not know where Jim is."

Even though McCoy fell quiet on the other end, Spock somehow could hear the wheels turning in his mind.

"Where are you right now, Spock?" McCoy asked.

"I am currently in Admiral Pike's office."

"He can hear us, can't he?"

"Affirmative."

"Give him the communicator." McCoy's tone was gruff and rude.

"Doctor…" started Spock, not wanting McCoy's naturally grouchy personality to offend an Admiral, even if it was Pike.

"Give it to him!" Anger laced McCoy's words and Pike and Spock just knew that McCoy had figured it all out.

Pike reached his hand out and took the communicator from Spock's hand. "This is Pike."

"Did Jim get sent on another goddamn mission?! Why the hell was I not informed?!"

"Jim," Pike sighed, as if that one word could elucidate everything. And it did.

"Why the hell didn't he want to tell me?! We had an agreement!"

"You had Joanna." And that in itself explained the inner workings of Jim's mindset.

McCoy actually paused at that. A sigh could be heard on his side. "That damn idiot with no sense of self-worth…Please tell me that he's fine and on his way home now."

"There's been a complication…"

"Spit it out, man!"

"He's been captured, along with Ensign Chekov," Spock answered, leaning slightly over Pike's desk so Leonard could hear him better.

McCoy groaned. "And you guys have no idea where he is either, do you?"

"If Ensign Chekov was able to discover where Jim is, then I am sure that I will be able to as well."

"How did Chekov even know where to start looking? Jim always disappears off the grid when he's on these missions, and he's damn good at covering his tracks. Even with Chekov's smarts, there's no way he could have found Jim on his own."

"Then how do you propose that Mister Chekov discovered Jim's location."

There was a sound of a door closing on McCoy's end. "I have an idea. I'll be in San Francisco in like two hours. I'll meet you at HQ. McCoy out."

Pike sighed again as soon as McCoy hung up. "That man is going to give me an ulcer."

"The doctor or Jim?" Spock asked.

"That's a very good question," Pike murmured, choosing not to answer it. "Make sure McCoy doesn't raise too much trouble when he gets here, Spock. I don't have enough power to protect him and Jim at the same time. And keep me updated. I'll try to open as many doors as I can. You did not hear this from me, but you are to retrieve Jim at all costs, even if it means resorting to unauthorized means."

"Understood."

Pike nodded. "Good luck, Spock. Find our boys and bring them home."

Steel and determination shone brightly in Spock's eyes. "It is the only place where they belong."

There was a low, dull throbbing at the back of Jim's head when he awoke. It pulsed with every beat of his heart, making it hard to think above the aching. As slow as his brain was working, Jim knew that his pain wasn't caused by a drunken night with Scotty and Bones. No, it was physical, and judging by the feeling, someone had more than likely taken a wooden bat to his head. It was actually kind of sad that Jim could pinpoint out how his injuries were incurred merely by the type of pain, but somehow still unsurprising with all the shit that he had experienced.

He suppressed a groan and kept absolutely still as his senses reached out to categorize his whereabouts. Judging by the feel of the cold, unforgiving ground under him, he was laying on his side on stone with straw scattered around him. His hands had been bound behind his back and his ankles were also tied together. Inching his fingers around the manacles, a picture of the steel shackles with at least two or three inches of chains formed in his mind. He hid a smile; he could easily maneuver out of these and pick them.

Slowly, sounds returned to him in increments and the first thing he registered was Chekov's low, frightened call of his name. And then all the ridiculous, suicidal plans had to be thrown out of the window, because Jim was not going to let anything happen to his little brother.

"Keptin! Keptin! Please vake up!" whispered Chekov urgently.

It was the fear in Chekov's voice that completely jerked Jim out of his carefully constructed pretense and his eyes flashed open. His predictions were spot on – he and Chekov were imprisoned in a small space with barely enough leg room for the two of them. A large, bolted wooden door kept them shut in. Chekov was sitting up, inches away from him, with his hands chained before him with his legs unbound. There was a dark bruise on Chekov's cheek and a trickle of blood down his split lip.

"Chekov!" gasped Jim, springing up. That was a tremendously horrific bad idea – the entire world titled nauseatingly and an agonizing headache came back with vengeance. And then suddenly, it was too much and Jim leaned over to the side (away from Chekov, because he still had some semblance of coherence left) and vomited painfully onto the ground.

His retching continued until he felt tears prickling at his eyes; each exaggerated movement sent sparks of pain running down his nerves. God fucking damn. They just had to hit him on the back of the head, didn't they? Fucking bastards. Some day or another, people have just got to learn that Jim could only take so many brain-bashing hits before he became a fucking vegetable.

"Keptin, are you alright?" Chekov asked quietly as Jim's body finally calmed down.

Jim leaned back, resting his head gently onto the stone wall as he caught his breath. He winced as the movement brushed the tender spot. "Yeah…" he breathed. "You?"

"I'm fine," assured Chekov.

"Did they do anything to you?"

Chekov shook his head, his eyes wide and afraid, yet so trusting of Jim. "No. I vas knocked out vhen zey put a cloth ower my face." His nose crinkled. "It smelled funny."

"Ah. That would be chloroform." Jim glanced around, frowning. "How long have we been here?"

"Several hours? I'm not sure."

"Has anyone come by yet?"

"No."

Jim shifted with a muffled groan. "Then they'll be here soon." He closed his eyes, swallowing hard as he tried to get a bearing. "Chekov, are there any cameras in this room? Look, but don't be obvious about it."

Chekov obeyed and dutifully replied. "Yes. One, in ze back corner behind you."

"Sound and video?"

"Video only."

"Great."

Silence fell.

"Keptin, are you alright?"

Jim felt Chekov shuffling closer to him and barely touching his shoulder, urging him to open his eyes.

"Yeah…" he said, smiling.

"Do you hawe a plan?"

"Working on it."

Chekov reached out and gently moved Jim's head downwards to check at this injury. "You're still bleeding."

"Head wounds tend to do that," said Jim. "But on the bright side, at least I don't have a concussion."

Chekov raised an eyebrow, quite like Bones when he didn't believe a word that Jim was saying. Jim almost snorted, if it didn't hurt so much. "I know concussions, Chekov. This isn't one, trust me."

There was probably some pretty severe bruising that Bones would yell at him for later, but Chekov didn't need to know that.

Like before, footsteps echoed outside of the door and Jim instantly got to his feet, wavering slightly, but steady in front of Chekov.

The door burst open and armed men, no longer masked, came in. The leader was a large man of six-four wearing a black outfit. It was taut around his shoulders and muscles and there was an air around him, as if he was the center of gravity and drew people in to him. Almost like Jim, there was also a feel of constant malice that never diminished.

"Captain Kirk, what a pleasure to meet you. My name is Hans," greeted Hans. His words were tinged with a slight German accent.

"Why, hello, Hans," Jim returned, a cocky mask upon his face. He was strong and stood tall; not something they had expected after hitting him so hard. "I've got to say, your bedside manner is lacking, Hans."

"Did you really think that no one will discover who you are, Captain?"

"Well, I am quite a good-looking fellow. It's hard to forget a face like mine."

Hans nodded at someone and he struck out, punching Jim hard in the stomach. Jim grunted and doubled over, but straightened immediately, a smirk still on his face.

"I wouldn't be so arrogant, Captain Kirk. You are not in power here," said Hans, setting his arms behind his back. "If you would be so kind as to answer our questions, it would be much appreciated."

"I'm going to just go ahead and say 'fuck you'," Jim said cheerily.

"I can't tell you how much that pleases me," smiled Hans. "Now I have reason to force it out of you."

The smirk on Jim's face dropped, turning into a feral snarl, as he growled out in German. "Bring it on, fucker."

"So be it."

Hans jerked his head towards Chekov. Men grabbed the teenager, dragging him to his feet. There was defiance in Chekov's eyes, not fear as Jim had expected, but either or, Jim was not about to let them harm his friend as long as there was still breath in his body.

His sharp elbow struck out, striking someone on the nose and breaking it. He ducked a hit to his head and leapt high, raising his knees so high that they almost crashing into his chin, and swiped his arms underneath his feet so that his hands were now in front of him. As soon as he landed lightly on his feet, Jim attacked the nearest man that had a hold on Chekov. Strong hands grasped the sides of the rebel's head and tightened as Jim twisted harshly.

The loud crack resounded in the small chamber and the rebel fell to the ground, dead. Jim didn't hesitate in his movements, even as the others froze in shock and fear. Jim punched the man next to him sharply in the temple; another one twice in rapid succession against his larynx. Others were struck with varying and precise strikes in the kidney, groin, and other vital points.

All it took was twenty-three seconds. Twenty-three seconds for Jim to completely incapacitate all the rebels.

Hans stared at Jim, something akin to nervousness in his eyes as he considered the man before him. His men lay scattered around Jim's feet, and the young Captain wasn't even winded. And all because his friend was about to be hurt. He raised his phaser to point at Chekov and Jim instantly shifted, putting himself before his comrade.

"You've shown your hand, Captain. It seems that we have leverage. I would tread carefully, Captain, or your friend may suffer." Hans set the phaser to kill. "Did you really think that you could escape with that?"

"Oh, I wasn't trying to escape. This little show?" Jim gestured at the fallen, groaning men, "It was to show you what I am capable of. I can easily rip you apart, Hans. You and the rest of your people. And you're right: you have leverage against me. I just wanted to let you know that if you touch a single hair on Chekov's head, I will spare no one."

"Your threats are empty."

Jim let his bloodthirstiness bleed through, his eyes so menacing. "Are they?" He switched into German. "I understand perfectly the position I am in; as should you. As long as my friend remains unharmed, I will not struggle. I will not fight or try to escape, but the moment you hurt him, the moment you touch him, I will burn this place to the ground. Do we have a deal?"

There was a flicker on uncertainty on Hans' face and Jim took a step forward, his entire presence domineering over the German man. "You knew who I was the moment I showed my face, so you know of me. You have heard of my tales. You know that my threats are as real as you and me." He paused for dramatic effect. "Now, do we have a deal?"

Jim easily read the anxiousness in Hans' eyes, and he knew that he had won. He lifted his bound hands in front of him – a surrender of sorts.

"Keptin, vhat are you doing?" hissed Chekov.

"Shut up, Chekov," Jim growled. "Rules, remember? Keep your mouth shut!"

At that, Hans tucked his gun away and reached out to roughly grab Jim's wrists. "Let's go." He kicked at a nearby rebel, and yelled at them in German. "Get off your asses, you useless idiots, and get out!"

Groans erupted as those left alive struggled to obey. A couple of them lifted the dead one up and all them exited the chamber.

Hans and Jim were the last to go.

"Keptin!" cried Chekov, halfway in motion to launch himself at Jim.

"I'll be fine," Jim said quickly, halting Chekov in his steps. "You just stick to the rules."

And then the door slammed shut behind him, leaving Chekov all alone in the epicenter of one the most vicious human terrorist cells in the universe.

Leonard had said a quick and tearful goodbye to his baby girl who clung to him like a limpet, before he climbed into the hovercar that was going to take him to the nearest transporter station. He almost had to pry her off him and he hated himself for doing so. It really was so rare that he got to spend time with Joanna – the girl was growing up so fast without him. But Jim – his stupid, genius best friend – just had to get himself in trouble again.

It wasn't as if he blamed Jim for losing time with Joanna – not even in the slightest, because he knew that Jim needed him more at the moment. He wasn't mad at Jim for getting himself roped into another covert mission again. He wasn't even upset because he knew of Jim's circumstances and how exactly he got chained by that bastard Komack from the beginning.

Back when they had first become roommates, he and Jim were caught in a bad situation. They were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. A small terrorist group had snuck onto campus and had held an entire building hostage. It happened to be the Engineering complex where Jim and McCoy had had classes in that day. When McCoy had realized what was going on, he had bemoaned that he wouldn't get to see his daughter one last time and tell her how much he loved her. At that, a strange mixture of longing and loss had crossed Jim's face, which was immediately replaced with a cocky grin. In the next second, Jim had disappeared into thin air with just a "Don't worry, Bones. I'll get us out of this."

As if that had really alleviated his fears at that time, but then again, that was before McCoy even knew of Jim's incredible skills.

The terrorists had weapons and threatened to kill them if any tried to call for help. As first year students, many of them had followed directions, pressing themselves face-down to the ground as the terrorists scavenged for starship blueprints. Those who didn't were stunned and were left where they fell. One brave girl had tried to pull the alarm and was quickly put down. One of the men had kicked her while she laid on the ground, curling to make herself a smaller target, and aimed his phaser at her.

All of a sudden, Jim had jumped down from the ceiling and sprung into action, leaping upwards and rendering the man unconscious with a swift strike to the back of the neck. Jim had easily disarmed him and accurately stunned the remaining men around, except for the obvious leader, but he kept his phaser pinned on him.

Seconds later, security had rushed in and taken over the situation, arresting all those that were involved in the terrorist cell. It turned out that Jim had incapacitated all members long before he even got to the first floor where the remaining five men were at, making it easier on security, but that information was kept on the down low. McCoy only learned about it because Jim had told him. Otherwise, Jim's extraordinary prowess was covered up by Komack who recognized Jim as a potentially powerful tool.

McCoy was never sure when Jim started going on Komack's missions. There must've been at least two before McCoy was even aware of their happenings. He had found out when Jim came back to their room, bleeding out of almost every orifice of his body. Jim had been poisoned and beaten, probably even tortured, before he collapsed at Bones' feet. Then the whole story spilled out.

Jim's record wasn't clean and even though most of his juvenile delinquencies were expunged, Komack dug them out and threatened to expel him from the Academy if he didn't obey. Admiral Komack held a lot of influence in the Academy and his threats were far from empty. Jim had no choice – even McCoy had to agree – but at least he was always going to be around to keep him in one piece.

When Jim rose to Captaincy, McCoy was so sure that Jim was going to be released from his bonds, but Komack found new threats – saying that he would take away McCoy and his crew (he knew he couldn't touch Jim, now that he was a hero, but the rest were completely open and vulnerable). So Jim kept it up, going and coming like a shadow. Sometimes, he would come back bleeding or bruised, but Jim always managed to stay relatively unharmed.

McCoy always worried when Jim left – he always knew that his best friend could be going to his death. All his missions were extremely dangerous and required the utmost discretion, but he was always alone. There was no partner or crew that Jim had to worry about – there was no one but himself that he had to concern himself with. Jim was always the safest in that manner because there was no one around that he could put before him. If Chekov was with him, then Jim was in more danger than before. McCoy had no doubt that Chekov would be safe (well, as safe as he could be), but Jim? McCoy felt more fear than he had ever had before in his entire friendship combined.

And Jim hadn't told him about this mission.

McCoy wasn't sure if he was angry or touched by the gesture. After McCoy had found out about these missions, he had made Jim promise to always tell him when he was being sent off. Jim hadn't promised, but he had agreed. For the next five or so years, Jim had been amenable and told him each time, but then and again, McCoy hadn't been with Joanna during those times. This was the first time that McCoy's time with his daughter had coincided with Jim's mission and of course Jim would choose to not tell him. Jim probably didn't want to interrupt his precious time with his baby girl and decided to proceed all by his lonesome self. The man was the most selfless person McCoy had ever met, and sometimes, McCoy hated it.

He hated how sacrificing Jim was because he hated seeing how Jim was always so unsure of himself – of how much he weighed in other people's lives. In their eyes, Jim was replaceable and insignificant. To McCoy, Jim was a solid anchor in his life. He couldn't be with Joanna every day, but he could with Jim. Jim made him see things in way he never thought to look before. He followed the goddamn man to the fucking stars!

When he found Jim again, he was going to have Spock hold Jim down while he beat into his head that he mattered. Jim had wormed his way into his and the rest of the Enterprise crew's hearts: he couldn't do dumb shit like this anymore.

His family wasn't going to let him.

Usually, when the threat of torture and unspeakable pain was lying in the immediate future, people would feel fear eat away at whatever courage was left, scratching, tearing, and dissolving so that there was nothing left in their veins except for terror and dread. But Jim wasn't exactly normal. There was confidence in his strides and aloofness in his mannerisms, and the rebels were genuinely confused.

Almost no one knew of Jim's past (Jim had made it that way). Almost no one knew how many times Jim had been torn down, ripped apart, and built back up again. He had been broken like a glass window, shattered to pieces over and over to the point that Jim couldn't even count anymore. He would painstakingly glue the parts of himself back together, one jagged piece at a time. There weren't many things left in this universe that frightened Jim, and there was a reason for it.

Torture was not one of something Jim was actively worried about, and now that Chekov's safety had been ensured, Jim could hardly care what was going to happen to him.

He was not so easily broken now.

As he was ushered down the winding, twisting hallways, Jim kept an eye out, soaking in his surroundings and committing it to memory. A part of him wanted to scold the rebels and call them stupid for leaving him unmasked, but then again, his mission would've been a little bit harder to complete if that happened.

These rebels were well-stocked. Jim took note of a few rooms filled with modernized and archaic weapons. He was sure he saw a rocket-launcher lying against a crate, juxtapose to a large pile of phasers. It was an odd sight to see – the past and present together to become a dangerous threat to the world outside.

The base itself was dark and dank; all lights were artificial and there were no such things as windows. It seemed that the rebels had buried underground – no wonder no one could find them, despite their flashiness of their actions. Jim's teeth gritted as he fought to fight down the latest bout of anger against these men as he remembered their most recent terrorist act.

The rebels had not distinguished between women, children, and their intended targets. They had just wanted the aliens out of Earth – to return the planet to its "rightful" owners. It didn't matter who they took down in between. They had been responsible for several bombings throughout the world, particularly in Europe.

Jim had been at the site of the latest attack a week ago – they had placed a bundle of C4 explosives at the very foundation of a hospital in Poland that was known for its extensive and advanced xeno-medicine. A hospital, of all places! A place of healing and safety.

He hated hospitals, he hated doctors and everything that ever came to medicine because he had been poked and prodded until he was plain sick of it. But he had always respected the medical field because they saved lives, and to someone like him who had seen so much carnage, that was sacred. When he had walked over the wreckage of the crumbled building, his eyes soaked in the sights of kids, babies, men, women, and different races – all innocent – as they lay disfigured around his feet. Their expressions and bodies had been frozen in a moment of terror and pain.

Even if Komack hadn't threatened his crew for him to go undercover, Jim eventually would have found a way to step in. These rebels had hurt kids and they weren't going to get away with it.

The layout of the base camp wasn't very complicated and it wasn't very large. The parts that Jim didn't get to see, he could predict, but he hadn't really been able to see the technology that these rebels had a hold of. That was key. It was easy to take down the people here, to bring this base to its heels, but the danger was in how far this organization had spread. Jim could easily upload a virus into their systems and shut down everything, but he needed to know what operator they had, and he needed to find out the locations of the other bases. It was going to be difficult with the constant security around him. They certainly were not underestimating him like others have. And it sucked.

Someone (Jim named him Twitchy out of spite), hit him hard, distracting him from his thoughts and roughly shoved him into a room. Jim stumbled in and immediately noted the stench of iron hovering in the air around him: blood, his mind supplied, and a lot of it at one point. There were shackles hanging from the ceiling's rafters; a table with a set of bloodied tools next to it. Whips, knives, and sharp weapons were stacked against the wall beside the hearth.

Jim was pushed towards the two chains in the center of the room, which were wrapped around each of his wrists. A creaking noise reached his ears as a pulley system was activated in the walls opposite to each other, pulling and forcing his arms apart so that he was standing with in the shape of a 'T'; then, his ankles were shackled to the stone ground.

"Captain Kirk," Hans said in German, "We have fulfilled our end of the bargain. Your friend will not be harmed. Now, would you be so kind to tell us how you found us?"

Jim smirked. "I said that I would not struggle or try to escape; I never agreed to answer your questions."

"Do we have to force it out of you, Captain?" A manic glint crossed Hans' eyes.

Jim easily matched it, giving Hans a feral snarl. "You can try."

'Twitchy' strode around Jim and grabbed a whip with frayed ends. Barbs were stuck on the bottom of each strand of the whip – it was made to inflict as much pain as possible.

Jim raised an eyebrow (if Spock could make it infuriating, then he could too), "Whips? Really? I didn't take you for a kinky man, Hans."

"And I didn't take you for a fool. Begin!"

Searing pain ripped through Jim's back as the leather tore through his thin shirt and skin. It burned as the barbs struck in deep, only to be jerked out again. Jim's entire body flinched and he couldn't manage to hide his wince, but he quickly detached his mind from his body, placing an expressionless mask on upon his face.

The first strike was always the worst. It was when the pain was at its peak, but now that the baseline had been set, Jim knew what to expect – what to prepare for. The longer the physical torment went on, the more endorphins would be released in response to his pain and sooner or later, everything would go numb.

Another strike landed, making the cracking sound echo in the room, and though Jim's body arching unbidden in response to the pain, he barely reacted. No sounds escaped him; no grimaces or tears.

And it enraged Hans.

After twenty or so lashings, Jim remained standing. His shirt was in tatters and blood and sweat dripped down his back. He was paler and breathing harder, but his blue eyes were still bright with defiance.

Hans walked forward, placing his hand on Jim's right shoulder. Jim felt his stomach roll when he realized what Hans was about to do.

"How did you find us?" Hans asked again.

"I followed the trail of stupidity," Jim gritted out, struggling to keep the trepidation from showing in his eyes.

Hans patted Jim's shoulder and another rebel (Bugger, Jim named him) started pulling at the chains at a rapid pace. Jim suppressed a groan as his arms were jerked harshly, threatening to be popped right of its joints. The agonizing pressure only increased in the horrible game of tug-of-war and suddenly, Jim's right shoulder gave out.

A loud pop resonated in Jim's ears, followed by searing pain that could have only been brought on by the dislocation of his joint. His nerves grated as his arm moved, sending jolts of lightning through his body. Jim had to bite down hard on his bottom lip to prevent himself from screaming out,

Hans said something to Bugger, but Jim didn't hear it. His ears were filled with the thudding of his own pounding heartbeat as he tried to breathe through the pain. The pulling on his arms suddenly stopped and Jim's entire body sagged, dropping to his knees. He sucked in a harsh breath as the reverberation of his knees colliding with the hard floor jolted his shoulder, sparking it further on fire.

Jim was panting now and sweat was dripping down his pale face.

Hans squatted down in front of Jim and lifted his head by his chin. "This is where you belong, Captain: on your knees."

Hans stood again, wiping his hand on his pants as if touching Jim was the most disgusting thing he had ever done. "Give him thirty more lashes and throw him back in his cell," he said to Twitchy as he left the room, letting the door slam shut behind him.

Twitchy nodded and raised the whip again.

When the leather slapped against Jim's back, he couldn't stop a hiss from leaking out. And it fell upon his skin over and over again until finally and blissfully, he heard the whip being thrown onto the ground.

Rough hands unbound his wrists and he collapsed onto the ground, unable to hold himself up anymore. The same hands lifted him up from his shoulders, eliciting a sharp grunt as they shifted his dislocated one. He felt rather than saw himself being dragged down the hallways again.

Words were being said over him and he filed them away to decipher later; for now, he was focusing on not throwing up and passing out before these moronic goons. Pride and all. He heard a door being unbolted and a key being inserted, and then he was tossed, like a piece of garbage, into his cell where he laid pathetically on the ground.

Laughter reached his ears just as the door banged shut, but he kept still, urging the pain to recede enough so that he could think properly.

Gentle hands roamed across his face, coaxing and caressing.

"Keptin…" whispered Chekov. "Keptin, are you alright?"

Jim forced his eyes open, urging his muscles to obey him. Shaking and with Chekov's help, Jim struggled to sit up, wincing. He was careful of the open wounds on his back and he clutched his dislocated shoulder as he tried to find a less painful position.

When he settled, Jim let out a sigh. "I'm alright, Chekov."

"You don't look like it."

Jim shook his head slowly. "This is nothing." And it really wasn't, because Jim knew that it would only get worse from here, but he wasn't about to tell Chekov that. "Help me up."

"Keptin, I don't zink zat is a good idea…"

"I need to set my shoulder. Help me up."

Chekov looked dubious, but he obeyed regardless. As soon as Jim was upright, he leaned his shoulder against the wall, aligning it properly. He took a deep breath and without letting himself hesitate, he jammed himself against the stone. The joint slid back into place, but not before sending sparks of burning agony down his neck and arm. The muscles around his shoulder and his neck spasmed, intensifying his pain for a brief second.

A groan slipped out of his lips as he slid slowly to the ground, his hand grasping his aching shoulder. His eyes had closed again in an attempt to shield his mind from the pain.

Chekov rustled forward, pressing against Jim's uninjured side. "Doctor McCoy vill not be happy zat you did zat," he said absently.

Jim chuckled, "He's not going to be happy with any of this."

His joint throbbed, overshadowing Jim's other injuries. Jim frowned, feeling the dull burn that remained in place; this sensation was not something that he was familiar with after all the times that he had to relocate his shoulder. He must've damaged the surrounding muscles with his actions; it was the only explanation. Oh boy…Bones really was going to give him an earful for this.

He shifted, biting his lip as another groan threatened to escape him. This time, the cuts on his back burned. Closing his eyes, he inhaled and exhaled, erecting a mental wall against the pain. Suddenly, he felt so tired. Exhaustion was seconds from overcoming him.

"Keptin?" Chekov asked cautiously.

"I'm just going to take a quick nap, alright?" Jim murmured. "Keep an eye out."

"Okay."

Silence fell and as much as he loathed it, Jim couldn't help but drift off into a restless sleep, dreaming of bright lights and laughter back on the Enterprise that had become his home.

Spock was waiting for McCoy at the front entrance of Starfleet Headquarters when the doctor arrived. He barely spared a glance to the Vulcan as he swept on past him, almost barreling into the building. Spock followed wordlessly, matching McCoy's strides easily.

"Has Pike told you any new information on Jim?" McCoy asked quietly. His voice was much quieter than he would ever speak in – too low for any passing ears to hear, but Spock was a Vulcan and he easily heard Leonard's question.

"No."

"Figures. Pike's hands are usually tied behind his back when it comes to Jim."

"Elaborate, Doctor."

McCoy gave Spock an odd and slightly confused look. "You do know that Jim's not actually Pike's subordinate, right?"

"Jim reports to Admiral Pike," responded Spock, a little befuddled.

"And Pike reports to Komack. Komack is the one that's holding the strings on Jim's back. Always has been. Pike cares about Jim and covers his ass most of the time, but he's careful to not rub Komack the wrong way. He can't help Jim, or anyone else for that matter, if he's been booted from his position."

"I was not aware that Admiral Komack has that much power."

"He doesn't, but he has plenty of sway in the Admiralty, though that's slowly shifting to Pike now. Jim was just going to wait for that to happen before he cut all ties with Komack, but it looks like he was forced to jump the gun."

McCoy turned down another hallway. "You said that Chekov's with Jim?"

"Yes."

"I will bet my ass that that meddling bastard was behind that. Fucking idiot is going to get Jim killed one of these days…" McCoy snarled under his breath.

Again, Spock found himself confused. "I am sure that Mister Chekov can be of help to Jim."

McCoy suddenly whirled around and forced Spock to back into the wall as he invaded the Vulcan's personal space. "Jim has always done these missions on his own – no team, no backup. It's always been just him. And that's because it's safer for him! There's no one else that he has to look out for, no one to protect. You throw in Chekov, a fucking sheep, into the midst of wolves, you can bet that Jim's going to be taking extremely risky chances with his life to keep him safe." McCoy backed up a step, frustration almost oozing out of his pores, and let Spock get his bearings back.

Turning, McCoy started to walk again. "So, we have to get them both out before Jim decides to do something stupid."

"And how do you propose we do that, Doctor? We do not have the means to begin our search."

"We don't, but I know exactly who does."

"Who is that?"

"The man who started this all."

McCoy came to a stop in front of a door. On it, written in gold, was: Admiral James Komack.

Spock set his jaw in determination, nodding to McCoy as they both got ready to wreak havoc. "Shall we begin?"

McCoy grinned with all his teeth. "It will be my genuine pleasure."

"Who do you think you are to barge in and demand answers out of me?" shouted Komack, his pudgy face red with fury.

Spock had slammed the door to his office open, frightening the Admiral for a brief second, and McCoy had proceeded to demand Komack to tell them where Jim was sent to.

"You put one of your own in a dangerous situation and worsened it by sending out Chekov to him!" McCoy returned, just as loudly. "I think I have every right to answers!"

"You have no proof of this!"

"Doesn't matter! Just tell us where you sent Jim and we'll get out of your hair, or what's left of it anyway."

"I don't have to deal with this. Remove yourselves before I call security."

"That would not be wise, Admiral," Spock said. "As the son of Ambassador Sarek and the counterpart of Ambassador Spock, calling security on me and my comrade here would only reflect badly upon you."

Komack's face reddened more.

"Furthermore, " Spock continued, as if he did not see Komack spluttering in anger. "We do not require much from you. Merely the last known location of Captain Kirk. It should not be difficult, unless you have other reasons why you refuse to cooperate?"

Spock's face revealed nothing – it was the perfect poker face – but Komack and McCoy could both see the threatening demeanor in his eyes. If Komack did not reveal what he knew about Jim, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that Spock would create chaos in a way that only a Vulcan could: demolish any sort of credible reputation that Komack had with pure logic and facts.

"Kirk was supposed to be in Northern Germany. I don't know if he was actually there and I have no idea if Chekov even managed to make his way to Kirk. That's all I can share with you without breaching protocol."

"Fuck protocol!" McCoy burst out, almost lunging forward before Spock grabbed him and held him back.

"Spock, get a hold of your CMO!" shouted Komack. "And get the hell out of my office!"

"Thank you for your help, Admiral," Spock said over McCoy's incredulous, "You're thanking him?!"

And he dragged McCoy out without another word.

When they were both clear, McCoy snapped at Spock. "What the hell are you thinking?! We needed more information from him!"

"Calm yourself, Doctor. He was not going to divulge any more information."

"We could've forced it out of him!"

"There was no need. He had left documents concerning Jim's mission upon his desk and I have them memorized." Spock pressed his communicator and requested a beam-up to Enterprise. "Do not worry, Doctor. We will find Jim and Mister Chekov, even if it is the last thing we do."

McCoy could only gnaw at the inside of his cheek as lights swirled around him and Spock, trying desperately to quash down the heavy, ominous feeling in his stomach. .

The countdown to save Jim and Chekov was ticking down fast, and even as he and Spock rushed through the Enterprise, the clock bore down on all of them.

And he could only hope that they wouldn't be too late, because McCoy was fairly certain that no one could survive losing the one and only James T. Kirk.

To be continued...

So, I guess the ending is a cliffhanger. Sort of? Whoops. Anyway, I know that I only included Jim in the very last line because in my head, no matter what happened to Jim, he would ensure Chekov's survival, and his crew knows that, so I'm making them assume that Chekov will be alive when they find him. And I know I made Komack the bad guy in this. I actually have no idea if he's actually like that in TOS or in the Reboot verse, so I just made up my own version to suit the story's needs.

With that said, I'm not giving away anything from the second part. Obviously, I won't kill off Jim, otherwise I have nothing to write about, but doesn't mean I'm not going to torture the poor guy. All the juicy parts are going to be in the next part, which I hope should be up soon. I can't tell you exactly when though. Again, it's unfinished and I've been really busy with school. I have ten exams (and a few quizzes here and there) within the next three weeks, so I'm pretty swamped, but I'll get it up as soon as I can.

Again, I know I rushed this chapter a bit, so it's not quite as good as I want it to be. I'm sorry if it's not what you expected or if I disappointed you. I'm always so worried that I won't meet your expectations and it's terrifying, but your reviews are very encouraging and I want to thank you all for it.

Thank you so much and I hope you continue to stick around and as always, please review!

~ Kanae Yuna