Chapter 8
Looking Into a Mirror
As Wolff and Jim's crew figured, Jim wasn't dead, though he sincerely wished he was the moment he woke up. He had come to slowly, his mind swam through molasses to reach consciousness, despite the undercurrent of urgency (he couldn't figure out why quite yet), trying so desperately to force him awake.
He couldn't decide what hurt more – his head or his ribs. But then and again, his legs felt so utterly bruised that he wasn't sure if he could even move them.
He shifted, groaning as the small movement sent sparks of pain throughout his battered body. His arm smacked against something, and he hissed in pain as his eyes snapped open. Darkness greeted him like an old friend and for a second he really thought he was dead and that Wolff's explosion had finally made him kick the bucket, but he was in far too much pain to really believe that.
The simple recollection of Wolff made Jim's mind snap back into order. Immediately, his sharpened senses slammed everything into gear and shoved his pain into the back corner of his head. In a swift movement, Jim turned a bit to kick harshly at the wall above him, hoping to hell that he was kicking the right one.
For once, luck was on his side and the wall gave out under Jim's powerful leg. It burst open, enveloping him with agonizing rays of sunlight, making him flinch. His eyes adjusted fast and he reflexively glanced down at his arms that were hugging Chekov so protectively against his chest.
He let out a sigh of relief to see his friend breathing evenly against him, and slowly released his tight grasp on Chekov, wincing as he did. His arms were so stiff and heavy, like they were made of stone.
Achingly, he withdrew his tangled limbs from Chekov's and started to climb out of the storage bin that he had thrown himself and Chekov into at the last second.
The instant the countdown showed up on the screen, Jim knew he wasn't going to have enough time to parachute himself and Chekov out of the shuttle without getting hit by the debris or aftermath of the missile as he had originally planned. Now, he had to scramble for a new one. And he was coming up blank.
Panic had filled his throat as he slammed against the console, ending communications with Wolff, but only because he wasn't alone. With more fear than Jim wanted to let show, his blue eyes connected with Chekov's, and he just knew that he had to keep Chekov safe. He brought Chekov into this, and he would be damned if he let anything happen to his little brother.
His eyes roamed over the shuttle and landed on the long, rectangular safety containers near the back end. He recognized the material and realized that their chances of survival had just shot up at least thirty percent (which still wasn't much, considering they were only at forty-ish percent right then, but updated seventy-three percent was more than what Jim had in the beginning).
Grabbing Chekov with an iron grip, Jim dragged them and his backpack towards the containers and pressed the button to release the one on the right. Once open, Jim shoved his pack to the very right of the container and practically man-handled Chekov into the bin.
"Lie down," Jim hissed.
Chekov scampered to obey, missing Jim glancing back at the countdown.
Ten seconds left.
Shit. Panic licked at him. There wasn't going to be enough time!
As fast as he could, he stepped into the container, reaching up to slam the lid down upon them. He heard the mechanism of the contraption lock and quickly rearranged himself to wrap around Chekov, using his body to shield the younger man as much as he could.
Chekov struggled a bit, not wanting Jim to take any damage for him, but Jim only clung on tighter.
Three.
Two.
One.
He closed his eyes.
This was it.
Zero.
And the only thing that Jim knew was pain and blackness.
It really wasn't much different than what Jim was feeling now, except that the sunlight was killing his head. Yeah, that was definitely a concussion, and a pretty bad one. Shit. That was going to make things difficult, but at least that seemed to be the worst of all his injuries.
Mentally categorizing his wounds, he had no broken bones (thankfully), but he was going to be ridiculously bruised for weeks. God, even his eyes felt bruised, though he knew that most of the damage was going to be on his arms and shoulders – the price of taking the brunt of the impact from free-falling hundreds of feet.
It was well worth it if Chekov was uninjured, but the teenager hadn't stirred since Jim started moving about, and it was worrying Jim more than anything.
With a sharp exhale, Jim clambered out of the container with a muffled groan. His muscles protested every single movement, but he still reached in to grab his backpack and sling it over his shoulders before he moved onto Chekov.
"Chekov," Jim breathed, shaking Chekov gently. "Wake up."
But Chekov didn't respond.
Jim leaned back, running his hand through his hair as he tried to come up with a solution. He glanced around at the wreckage around them. They had landed in the middle of a forest and took chunks of it down with them. Pieces of the shuttle were still on fire around them, buried into the ground like jagged tombstones and marking the place where they should have died. Few things survived the impact – the containers that were made of durable material like the ones they used on the Enterprise's hull and a couple of giant pieces of the shuttle that made up its exterior.
Smoke rose from the crash site, like a flashing beacon to their location.
Jim wasn't sure how long they had been unconscious, but he knew they didn't have much time before Wolff's men came searching for his body. Wolff would want confirmation of his supposed death. Jim had to get him and Chekov to safety before that happened. This was one incident where it would be detrimental if he got captured – there would be nothing that Jim could do once he was in Wolff's hands. Wolff wouldn't let such an opportunity go to waste and Jim would be dead before he would have the chance to utter a death threat.
With no other choice, Jim reached into the bin and slid his arms under Chekov's knees and shoulders and heaved with a loud grunt.
Staggering away from the site, Jim carried Chekov as far as he could, but with each step, he could feel his strength waning and his body giving out on him. Sweat dripped down his brow as the exertion pained him to his very soul, but he had to keep going. For Chekov.
Just another step, he would tell himself, and keep moving on. He hadn't found a suitable hideout yet and despite being in the woods, they were an open target from the crash site.
His vision suddenly blackened at the edges, and Jim found himself crumbling to his knees, barely able to breathe. The world spun nauseatingly and he couldn't even orientate himself properly. His hold on Chekov broke and he heard, rather than saw, Chekov fall to the ground before him.
Shaking, he reached out for Chekov, but his body and his pounding head was having none of it.
Chekov's blurry and unconscious face was the last thing Jim saw before everything faded into nothingness.
He wasn't even aware of the eyes that were watching him from the trees, let alone react to the hands that started dragging him and Chekov away.
In a few minutes, all that was left of Jim and Chekov's rescue mission was a few burning pieces of metal and trees.
A low murmur of voices echoed at the fringe of his consciousness. It was like background static at first – nothing made sense and it was just white noise. The sounds faded in and out and he thought he heard a familiar laughter, but there was too much pain in his head. His head throbbed with a vengeance, cutting off any semblance of thought in his mind. It didn't quite matter though. He was just so, so tired. Of what, he wasn't sure, but he was sure that he didn't want to wake up anyway.
So he just let go and welcomed the darkness that consumed him.
He was running. His lungs were inches away from bursting and terror was threatening to explode from his chest. He didn't know where he was, but he just knew that he had to keep running, to keep moving. Black hands reached out for him and he wrenched away, twisting his body to get away. But his foot stepped on nothing and he found himself plunging down, deeper and deeper into the darkness.
He landed hard on his back. Coughing, he kept still, feeling pain spear through his body.
"What are you doing?" a young voice called out.
Terrified, he jumped to his feet, his hands subconsciously up and ready for defense.
Before him was a young boy in his pre-teens. The boy's grey-blue eyes stared straight forward, penetrating flesh and soul, and it made him shiver with trepidation.
"What are you doing?" the boy asked again.
"I don't know," he responded truthfully.
"Get up. You can't waste time lying here."
Indignation rose in him. "I'm not. I'm standing."
"You're wasting time. He's coming. You have to be prepared."
"Who's coming?"
"The one who's going to take everything from you. Get up. Wake up."
But he didn't know how. He didn't know where he was or who he was, but there was an ingrained fear that was making his bones hurt. "What if I can't?"
Bodies of small children that he had once intimately known and loved suddenly appeared, sprawled all around him. "Then history will repeat itself."
Horror and bile rose in his throat as the memories of a past that could not and should not be forgotten slammed into him like a freight train.
"No…" he whimpered. "I can't do this again…I can't…"
The boy stepped forward, his right hand clenching into a fist. "Then wake up."
"But I'm so tired…I'm so tired of struggling, of fighting. I don't want to lose anything anymore."
"You can rest when this is all over. Until then, you will fight. You will struggle. You will do everything and anything to win this one last fight."
"And after?" His voice was meek and soft.
"Then you can rest." The boy raised his fist. "But you have to wake up first."
And the blow landed square on his face, tearing him away from the darkness.
Jim slammed to consciousness, his instincts taking over before his mind was truly awake. In a single fluid movement, he drew the blade strapped to his ankle and spun off the ledge or whatever he was lying on to grab the nearest threat and slam it to the wall, pinning his knife to its neck.
Adrenaline pumped through his veins; blood rushed through his ears. He was still trapped in the aftermath of his dream that he didn't even know what he was doing.
He barely registered the feeling of someone tugging at his sleeve. Slowly, yet rapidly, the fog dissipated and he heard Chekov panicking beside him, calling out for him.
"Keptin! Keptin! Let her go!" he cried out, trying so hard to move Jim's steel arms.
In the second that Jim realized that Chekov was beside him, clearly still alive, he was wrenched out of his trance-like state in a nauseating manner. Like a veil lifted, Jim suddenly saw who he had pinned under his blade.
It was a teenager who was clearly not that much older than sixteen. She had long black hair that she had tied tightly behind her into a ponytail. Her complexion was pale, almost like ceramic, and she had large, black-brown eyes that stared steadily from beneath her bangs to look directly at Jim. There was no fear within those irises or even in her beautiful, angled features that almost made her seem elfish.
Horror and utter shock spread across Jim's face and he dropped his knife and his hold on her so fast it was like he had been burned by both things.
"I'm sorry," Jim breathed, rubbing his face and stepping back into Chekov. "Sorry…I didn't realize…"
She flicked her hair and placed her hands on her hips, undaunted by the violence that was brimming under Jim's exterior. "It's fine. I shouldn't have touched you anyway. Your friend there warned me not to get close if you were having a nightmare."
Bewildered, Jim glanced back at Chekov, only to catch sight of six different children crowded around them. The youngest was probably four years old: she had ginger hair that had been messily tied up into two pigtails and a light splatter of freckles over her nose; her green eyes shown with fear and tears as she hugged a dirty, raggedy doll in her arms. Besides her was a boy – brown-haired, brown-eyed, and looked as if he wanted to melt into the background under Jim's stare. He couldn't have been more than five years old.
Jim closed his eyes before his ability to meticulously remember details seared the faces of these new children into his mind – before he saw his ghosts hidden behind those innocent faces. It didn't help that the young boy was a dead ringer for little Charlie whom Jim had lost so many years ago to Kodos.
He took three calming breaths before he turned to look back at the teenager he had almost injured while keeping a slightly trembling hand on Chekov's shoulder to steady himself.
This was not Tarsus. This was not Tarsus…
God, they were even hiding out in cave.
No. Jim wouldn't let himself go there. Under the strain of needing to save his family and the necessity of keeping the darkness within himself (the side of him that he was absolutely terrified of), he was unraveling rapidly, and he could feel it. Every edge of himself felt frayed and tattered. The only thing keeping him from just giving up and lying down in surrender to all the shit that had happened in his life was his mission.
He used to be so much stronger than this. He used to be able to take anything and still come out smiling, but that concept seemed foreign to him now.
The darkness at the edges of his mind grew just a bit more, but Jim didn't have the time nor the energy to dissect it and define it.
He worked to figure out the right question to ask the girl before him. Why were there kids here looking like they had been starved and beaten? Why the hell were they hiding out in this cave? Where were their parents? But Jim was afraid to ask. He was afraid of opening that can of worms that would never be able to be put back.
So he asked the one thing he could to the girl who reflected himself when he was thirteen: "What's your name?"
"Thea." She flicked her finger to point at the tallish boy next to her. (Jim guessed he was in his early teens, maybe twelve, but he couldn't be sure with how thin and drawn the boy was.) "This is my little brother, Liam."
Liam stood beside Thea – their features strikingly similar; almost as if they were twins – but he clearly did not hold the same confidence and strength as his older sister. While Thea stood straight and proud with her body held slightly forward, ready to protect her brother and the kids at any moment's notice, Liam shrank behind her, his shoulders hunched to make him smaller.
"Behind you is Lisa," she pointed at the girl who was hugging her doll.
Jim stiffened minutely when Thea gestured to the boy who looked just like Charlie, making Chekov shoot him a curious and concerned glance. "That's Eric."
Slowly, and a little bit unwillingly, Jim turned to look at the last two children among them. Both were boys; the eldest of the two was probably about nine years old – the same age as Joanna – while the other seemed to be around seven. They were clearly brothers, either by blood or bond, because of the way they hovered and protected each other. They both had dirty blonde hair and wide, brown eyes. Like the rest of the children, their plain shirt and pants had been worn out and were on the verge of becoming rags. The younger one was much thinner than the other and was clinging onto the arm of the other, hiding his sniffles with his brother's arm.
"And that's Tommy and Daniel," Thea finished.
Tommy, the elder one, hugged his brother closer to him. "He likes to be called Danny," he retorted.
At the call of his name, Danny shrank back, fear written all over his face.
Without really thinking (all that ran through his mind was how much he just wanted to mollify that little boy's fears), Jim leaned down and greeted the boy. "Hi, Danny," Jim said with a gentle smile on his face. He never could leave a scared child be. "Nice to meet you. I'm…" he started, but before he had the chance to make up a fake name, Thea jumped in.
"James Tiberius Kirk, Captain of the Enterprise," she said with such conviction and a hint of wariness in her tone.
Jim turned back around, frowning. He glanced at Chekov, who shook his head at Jim's silent question.
"Your friend didn't tell us who you are," Thea confirmed. "Didn't even tell us who he was. But I've seen your face on the news before. You're not a man that's easily forgotten, Captain."
Subconsciously, Jim shifted to place himself before Chekov and Thea. She was just a kid, but she had every means to take the both of them down by simply yelling out that she had found them.
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, relax. I'm not about to report you to Greenaway. If I was going to do that, I would've left you two in the clearing where his men would've found you. You've been out for two days, by the way."
"What?! Two days?!" Jim barked out, panic and surprise making him forget about the possible imminent danger that he and Chekov were in.
"You had a wery bad concussion, Keptin," Chekov explained. "Ve could not keep you avake for wery long."
That explained why Jim's head still pounded. Even now, he felt so weak and exhausted.
"And you?" Jim asked, quickly scanning Chekov, as if his eyes had the capability for x-rays.
"I'm fine, Keptin, thanks to you."
Jim eyed him harshly. "Are you lying?"
Chekov shook his head quickly. "I'm covered in bruises, like you, but other zhan zhat, I'm alright, Keptin. Promise."
Satisfied with Chekov's answer, Jim nodded. "Anything happen while I was out?" Jim asked, his eyes flickering towards Thea.
In that instant, she stiffened and an impassive expression crossed her face. She stood rim-rod straight, like a soldier, and looked stoic under Jim's gaze, as if the act could make seem anything other than what she was: a young teenager girl who was desperately to stay strong.
And all of a sudden, Jim was able to read everything about her.
She was afraid, but not of her own mortality, but of those around her. She was strong, yet, she questioned her every decision and wondered if she was making the right choices. The whole world was on her shoulders, weighing down those thin limbs so much that she almost bowed underneath it, but she hid all that – all her insecurities, all her fears and doubts – under that proud, confident mask. It was something she desperately clung to for her very sanity. Something that, if broken, would break her too.
There was such depth in her eyes – all innocence of childish naivety was gone. But there was still hope. And Jim recognized it, but it wasn't hope that she'd survive this whole ordeal. No, she was far too intelligent to believe in such fairytales, at least for her. Whatever Greenaway and Wolff did, they were on their own. These mere children were left to the wild to die. Always running, always fighting. Merely surviving and clinging onto the last inch of their lives.
The hope that Jim saw had nothing to do with Thea and her need to do whatever it took to keep these kids safe and alive. It had to do with the fact that there was still humanity within Thea's brown-black irises. There was still warmth, kindness, and profound desire to just be comforted by her parents – to not have to carry all these burdens and responsibilities, but they were buried so deep that she probably barely even felt any of it anymore. But it was still there, which is more than Jim could ever hope for.
Because in front of him wasn't just a girl.
It was like looking into a mirror: she was him at thirteen years old. She was J.T. a few short steps before he became so cold and so cynical. She was J.T. with hope because he knew that soul couldn't shatter like glass a second time.
And in that brief moment, Jim just knew that he had to save her. No matter what.
But could he? He was barely even sure if he could save his friends in the first place, let alone six children who didn't have the training and skills as the rest of his crew. And this whole thing was cutting far too close to home. With his memories that he had constantly kept locked up in the back of his mind threatening to resurface, Jim wasn't even sure if he was going to be sane enough to function.
God. He had forgotten how tiring and horrifying it was to not be sure of himself. To be afraid of himself and the lengths he would go to in order to protect people.
He was so tired. He had forgotten what it was like to have something to lose, and Wolff was right: it truly was a weakness, at least for people like him. Jim was never meant to be happy – he had should have come to terms with that so long ago.
Jim's sentiment and attachment had always been a disadvantage. It rang true with his childish need for Winona's attention, leading him straight down a spiral of self pity and abuse from her neglect and Frank's bottles. Whatever was left of his broken heart and soul died with each of his kids that he lost on that godforsaken dying planet. And then there was nothing. He remembered how easy it was to just flit around the world, learning and moving on, never staying still in one place for long. The moment anyone learned his name, he was gone, like the fading ghost that he was.
He didn't know when he let himself feel again. Maybe it started when Pike nearly blew out his eardrums with that loud whistle of his. Or maybe it was when McCoy threw up on him. He couldn't even figure out how McCoy had become Bones. Sure, he knew when it happened, but he hadn't thought that he would ever let anyone come that close again. And here Jim was, with the best crew in the world and six people who were his family that he would die before he let them come to harm.
He couldn't believe that, somewhere down the road, in the Academy, on the Enterprise, he had allowed himself to become happy. To dull his senses and enjoy life like he should have never done. The smiles and laughter that chased away his darkness were an illusion.
He should've known. No matter how far he ran, no matter how hard he tried, chaos and devastation followed him everywhere. It was just a fact – there was nothing to dispute.
He had spent all those years after Tarsus and before the Academy pushing people away, living a solitary lifestyle to protect others from him and everything that he dragged along with him.
But then he met Bones and he became lax in his defenses.
If he hadn't let himself give in to his pathetic need to fill in all the voids in his life, they wouldn't be in this situation at all.
Perhaps Wolff would still have come up with this plot to bring Jim down, but it wouldn't have been so easy for all this to happen.
His family wouldn't have been held as bait.
He was the reason Bones, Spock, Uhura, Sulu, Scotty, Chekov, and his entire crew was in danger.
He closed his eyes. It wasn't Wolff who posed the most danger. It was him. And that was the unavoidable truth.
Something in him snapped, like a twine breaking as it was being unraveled from a ball of yarn.
There was no stopping it now. The darkness was coming.
"Keptin?" Chekov questioned, worry clear in his voice. He was tugging on Jim's sleeve. How had Jim not noticed that? Oh yeah. He had had a concussion. No wonder his thoughts were so scattered.
"I'm fine," Jim said, almost automatically. "Sorry. What did you say?"
Thea flicked her hair impatiently. (There was fear in her eyes – fear of what Jim had seen from deep within her soul, but she hid it well.) "As we were saying, Greenaway's men have been combing the woods to find the two of you. Why are they looking for you?"
"Why are you hiding out in a cave?" Jim asked back tiredly.
A look of stubborn indignation made its way onto her face as she crossed her arms. "I honestly don't think you have the right to be asking the questions around here, Captain. We could have easily turned you in."
"And for that, I thank you. But you still don't have the higher ground here. It's obvious that you went to great lengths to find us and shelter us, which means that somehow or another, you need us. So, if you don't mind, I'd like to know what happened."
Thea eyed him suspiciously.
Jim sighed and in his usual graceful manner, plopped down on the ground. He was still a bit dizzy from his concussion. Chekov immediately joined him, his arms always touching in silent support. "We were always going to help you and these kids, Thea. We would've come saved you even if you didn't help us. There was never any question about that, so stop looking at me like we're going to leave you all behind. We need to know what happened. I need all the facts before I can make my first move against Greenaway and his people."
She tilted her head, distrust evident on her face. "What should I believe anything you say? Starfleet has clearly failed in protecting her citizens, and you expect me to believe that the most renowned Captain will go out of his way to save a couple of kids that are supposed to be dead already?"
A lifetime ago, Jim had said those exact same words.
He leaned forward, keeping his eyes on hers. "I know it must feel like you've been forgotten and discarded like you don't matter. The hell you've all been through is horrifying and cannot be put in words. I get it. You have no reason to trust Starfleet and I'm not telling you to. I'm asking you to trust me."
"Why should I?" she shot back immediately. "You're just their dog! How am I supposed to be sure that you aren't going lie to us like Greenaway did to our parents and the rest of Zenobia?"
"Then why did you save us?" Jim asked quietly. "Like you said, you could have easily turned us over to Greenaway in exchange for your freedom. But instead, you brought us back to your hideout and even tended to our injuries. If you really believe that I am just dog of Starfleet, why did you save us?"
"I…" she hesitated.
Jim's voice grew soft and his eyes rose slowly to connect with Thea's, and all of a sudden, she was drowning into the depths of those blues. "It's been hard on you, hasn't it? I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry that you were put in this situation. But you're not alone. Not anymore. I'll make sure of that. I will save you and your kids. I promise."
"I don't need your pity," she snapped. "We were doing fine on our own before you showed up."
"And I have no doubt about that. I'm not pitying you, Thea. After all you've been through, I know that that's the last thing you want."
Instantly, she was furious and practically snarling at him. "You know nothing of what we've been through."
"I would if you tell me," Jim sighed.
She crossed her arms, a stubbornness borne from anger showing on her face.
Jim ran a hand through his hair, ignoring how it made his head twinge a bit. He really didn't want to talk about himself, but he knew that Thea was never going to be open with him if she was under the illusion that Jim was the perfect soldier with that glamorous life. He didn't believe anyone from Starfleet back then either. How could he when he and his kids were left to die on a godforsaken planet? How could he when no one could possibly understand the hell that he and his kids lived through?
"You've heard of Tarsus IV, haven't you?" Jim said, forcing his voice to stay steady.
Chekov was immediately beside him, his side pressing against Jim's as quiet support.
Thea raised her chin. "Yeah, what of it?"
"You're looking at one of the nine survivors. More specifically, you're looking at the one who tried and failed to keep all but eight alive."
His blue eyes were piercing now, with such loss and devastation that it couldn't even compare to what Thea saw in her own. She sucked in a breath, the sharp gasp echoing around the silent cave.
Jim's voice was low and soft, and it hid his tremble well. "Do you still think that I don't know what you're going through?"
"I'm sorry…" she whispered.
But she wasn't apologizing for distrusting him or being so hostile, and Jim knew it. As kindred spirits, he knew that she was saying sorry for all that he had to do to keep him and his kids alive back on Tarsus. She was saying sorry because she knew what those choices did to one's soul – how it tore and shredded, leaving gaping black holes that just ate away until there was nothing left.
"As am I," Jim breathed back, and she knew he wasn't only speaking for himself.
She nodded curtly once, and the two broken threads connected in a way that no one else could possibly understand. And Jim knew that he was going to save her life and her kids, and more importantly, her very soul. He had to. For her as much as for himself. He had to believe that, if someone had been there for him, then maybe, he too, could have been saved from being stained black permanently.
Jim gave her a small encouraging smile. "So, will you tell me what happened here? Why did you guys flee to the woods?"
Thea flicked her hair briefly as she leaned back against the cave wall. "Several years ago, Zachariah Greenaway took the seat of the Head Council. He was charming and he made promises that he would bring about more prosperity and peace among us, and he kept up his brilliant act until about a year ago. Around that time, he had people coming in from other places – people who no one had ever seen before. His men grew in numbers and soon, their numbers outweighed the general population by two fold. No one minded and everyone was content with their lives. But then the crops began to die."
Jim flinched, unable to suppress the motion, but Thea continued, pretending that she hadn't seen the memories resurfacing.
"We had all thought that the Goddess was angry at us and turned to Greenaway to ask for help. He told us to go home and that he would figure out what to do. The next day, he sent his men out to all the villages, claiming that they were out to find the reason behind the crops dying. No one suspected anything until it was too late."
"They came for the children, didn't they?" Jim questioned, his voice soft. It was the only thing Jim could think of that would force all the villagers to turn against the crew of the Enterprise. Otherwise, he was sure that his people would never have let themselves get captured without so much of a fight.
She nodded, practically spitting her next words. "For 'leverage', he said. He threw all the kids into his prisons and held them for ransom to get everyone to obey him unconditionally." Her fists clenched and her jaw tightened. "No one had any weapons. We were all farmers. There was nothing we could have done against his trained soldiers. Those who fought and tried to protect their kids were immediately killed and put down. And those who had no children were executed publicly."
Her brown eyes were bright with unspoken wrath as she raised them to stare Jim down. "All the children were taken, Captain. Every single one of them, save for these few that I managed to bring with me."
"How did you get out?"
"Liam and I had been out, wandering the woods to find the Goddess and ask her to bring our harvests back. By the time we returned home, we found our village on fire. We found the rest of these kids as we ran from village to village, gathering all the survivors that we could find."
"And your parents?" Jim pushed gently.
"Dead."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Greenaway will be sorrier when I get my hands on him." She glared at him. "And don't you even think of stopping me."
Jim raised his hands in surrender. "I wouldn't dream of it," he lied. He knew that the only reason why she hadn't fully become J.T. was because her hands were still free of blood. There was no need to dirty innocent, pure hands when his were already so dirty. "My only stipulation is that you leave his nephew to me. I've got a bone to pick with him."
"Deal. Now, why are you here? I know that Greenaway blocked all communications out, so how did Starfleet know to come here?"
"How do you know that?" Jim tilted his head in curiosity.
She shrugged. "I may have snooped around a bit to gather more information."
He cracked a grin at that. "You and I are going to get along famously." The smile slid off his face as he continued speaking. "Royce Wolff, Greenaway's nephew, plotted to take me down and asked his dear old uncle for a favor. With information that was stripped bare of any detail, Wolff and Greenaway lured the Enterprise here to check out the claims that 'plague' had attacked your crops."
"But you weren't part of the original landing party. I was hiding just beyond the clearing and saw all the people that beamed down. I would've recognized you if you were there."
Jim actually looked sheepish at that. "I was kind of locked up in a maximum security prison back in San Francisco."
"Kind of?" She raised an eyebrow that reminded Jim of Spock. "What did you do?"
"Wolff framed me for the murder of an Admiral."
"That would do it."
"Yeah, it was a fun couple of days before I escaped." He glanced at her. "You said you saw the people who beamed down. I assume it was small? Do you know what happened to the rest of the crew? There's no way that they wouldn't realize that something had gone wrong when their commanding officers didn't return to the ship."
"I heard someone – probably this Wolff that you spoke of – say that he embedded a virus or something into the system so all communications were shut off. He said that without his consent, no one could leave and if anyone tried to do anything, his men onboard would take care of it."
"That bast-" Jim trailed off, looking at the kids and adjusted his language quickly. "Jerk...Great. So, my commanding crew is being held prisoner and probably being tortured as we speak. My ship is dead in the air and I've got nothing but my wits and kids to take Greenaway and Wolff down." Jim ran his fingers through his hair. "Piece of cake," he muttered, sarcasm dripping from his words.
"I am not a kid, Keptin," Chekov protested wildly.
"And I wouldn't say that you have nothing," Thea said, grinning. "Come. I need to show you what we've stolen from Greenaway's soldiers. You're going to love it."
It was like candy-land compared to the desolation Jim saw around him. Thea had certainly been busy. Sitting in the adjacent cave to the one Jim had woken up in was a small mound of weapons and devices. Jim quickly squatted down and shifted through them all. The arms were archaic, quite like the ones that Jim used when he was hunting down Iosif. There were four Beretta 92s with the ammo half-full, three grenades, and a full set of bow and arrows lying against the wall. Next to those were a couple of broken communicators and one PADD with its screen cracked.
It wasn't much, but Jim could definitely work with it.
He tossed Chekov the communicators. "Fix these, will you?"
Chekov knew better than to assume that Jim wanted him to just get the communicators working. "How vould you like me to configure zhem?"
"Leave one for communication. The other two, put a timer on them and attach them to the grenades when I say so." Jim picked up one of the Berettas and handed it to Chekov with a dark look in his eyes. "And keep this one on you."
"Keptin?" Chekov questioned, even as he reached out to take it from Jim, but not quite taking it. He had never handled 20th century guns, and he knew that Jim knew about it. So why was Jim giving him one now?
"I know, Chekov. But I need you and the rest of these kids safe, so take it, okay? If just to give me a peace of mind."
Chekov brought the gun closer to himself, nodding. "Vhat is zhe plan, Keptin?" he asked as he watched Jim start to arm himself with the rest the guns, tucking them into his belt.
"I'm going to do some patrolling and figure out the layout of the land. Do some recon before I make my move."
"Wait, wait, wait. You can't leave here," Thea protested. "Soldiers are crawling all over these woods looking for you. You walk out of here and they'll be on us in seconds. I've done my damnedest to keep all of us under the radar, and I sure as hell am not going to let you blow our cover."
Jim glanced at Thea, confidence in his eyes. "I'll make sure to cover my tracks. No one will find you guys if you stay here."
"How can you guarantee that?"
"Zhe Keptin is Starfleet's best operative," Chekov supplied.
"Yeah, the whole world knows that. But he's also known to be gaudy and flashy wherever he goes."
Chekov shook his head, "No, you do not understand. Zhe Keptin is Starfleet's best undercover operative."
"She's not going to believe you even if you say that, Chekov," Jim sighed. He stood, holding out the cache of arrows and bow towards Thea. "If you don't trust me, you can come with me. I'll need your expertise to navigate around these woods."
She looked doubtful. "You're still recovering from a concussion, Captain."
"I've done more with worse injuries. And if we're going to do this, it's Jim. Or Kirk. Take your pick. I'm not Captain anymore."
Chekov frowned at that last bit, but he didn't comment. It wasn't the right time.
Jim held out the bow and arrows towards Thea. "Thank you for saving Chekov and me. Will you help me save the rest of my family?"
She held her head up, proud and strong. Like Jim had been when he was thirteen. "Only if you save mine too."
"I will, even if it's the last thing I do."
"Then, Jim, it looks like we have a deal," she said, taking the weapons from him and slipping the bow and arrows over her shoulder and around her back.
Jim grinned. "Let's go bring down the bastards who dared to mess with the people we care about."
Her feral smile matched his. "Let's."
To be continued.
So...I'm still alive? Ish? I'm really sorry for not updating either of my stories for so long. School got far more hectic than I had ever expected, and then I got an ulcer from getting so stressed out, and then I hit a writer's block that I'm still trying to bully my way though. All excuses, I know, but it's been an awful, crazy busy past couple of months, and I truly apologize for being so late with my updates. Just to make you guys feel better, I'm halfway done with the next chapter of Ingenious Idiot and about the same for the next chapter of this story, so hopefully, they should be up within the next month or so (barring any ridiculous curveball which seems to happen all the goddamn time. Ugh. School sucks, people. It really does.)
I want to thank all of you guys for sticking with me and encouraging me through all the reviews and PMs. I really appreciate it. I swear, those were the only things that stopped me from getting completely stuck from writer's block. So thank you all. Honestly.
So, that's it for my little tidbit. Once again, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I hope you review! It makes my day. :)
Cheers,
Yuna