Chapter Four
Jim wasn't okay. McCoy could see this in the hunch of his back, the outline of bones under thin skin, wild hair and thick beard. He was curled up in the furthest corner from the door, bare back scraping against the ripped apart bench. His fingers were a bloodied mess, curled up into his chest, cradled there as broken bones and ripped fingernails bled profusely.
'Jim.' McCoy said, breaking the silence. If possible, Jim pressed even further against the wall. 'Jim, you're okay now. You're safe.'
Jim turned his face away, pressing it into the wall. His shaggy hair fell in a mess to his shoulders, browner than McCoy remembered it.
McCoy slowly lowered himself into a crouch, still a distance away from the frightened man. Jim spun his head around, darting eyes watching the movement.
For a moment, McCoy was able to forget the last three months of worry. The man in front of him was almost unrecognisable, merely a confused, wounded patient. He could almost pretend this was some native the Captain had ordered to be healed.
If it wasn't for those eyes.
''Do you know who I am, Jim?'
The question was meant to be a prompt, meant to spark some long buried memory, but there was no flicker of hope on the other man's face and the question hung flat and lifeless in the air.
'Do you recognise me at all, Jim?' McCoy asked, shifting forward. His tone was bordering on desperate.
'Can you even understand me?'
Jim buried his face into his arms, showing no recognition other than tensing at his presence, as if he was bracing for another fight.
McCoy moved closer, opening his satchel for his dermal regenerator.
'Here. Let me help.' McCoy said, stretching out a hand to touch him on the shoulder.
Jim reacted. Violently. A low growl resounded from the pit of his stomach. He lashed out in a fury of attacking limbs. His wounded fist smashed into McCoy's jaw and he stumbled backwards, clutching his face.
Jim let out a howl of pain and collapsed against the opposite wall. The distance between them felt tangible. McCoy examined the shell of a man for a moment.
He had become animalistic, wild, but something had changed in the few minutes since their last encounter. Before, the blows had landed with accuracy and determination, enough force to dislocate McCoy's shoulder with a shove.
No, Jim was confused and terrified. He drew sharp harsh breaths like he was expecting the oxygen to be snatched from him. At times, his movements became so frantic as he pressed into the corner McCoy thought he was trying to scramble up the wall itself and take refuge on the ceiling.
Jim glared at him in hatred as if it was McCoy's fault he was in pain. That is, McCoy realised with a chill, exactly was he was used to.
'That looks like it hurts.' McCoy said gruffly.
Jim bared his teeth at the voice.
'Let me help.' McCoy urged. He pulled out the dermal regenerator and noticed Jim's narrowing eyes. 'It's alright. Watch.'
McCoy reached over to the serrated edge of the ripped metal bench. Wincing, he slid his thumb against it, blood trickling into his palm.
Holding his arm outstretched, he brought the regenerator to his wounded thumb. The flesh healed quickly and Jim's eyes widened.
'Here. Let me.'
Hesitantly, Jim let his wounded hand fall to the side, away from his body. Every wiry muscle tensed as McCoy took the movement for an invitation to move closer. The muscles in his back strained and shivered while McCoy gently lifted the wounded hand.
The touch of skin on skin looked like agony for Jim. His face contorted in pain and a pitiful whimper escaped his throat.
Watching that had been the worst. If Jim had been expecting pain, McCoy could have dealt with it, but to experience pain when it wasn't there… that took years of conditioning.
McCoy ran the dermal regenerator across the broken, bloodied knuckles and began to bind the worst fingers straight. His eyes locked onto the only remains of the gold command shirt.
A thin scrap of material hung diagonally across his chest, no doubt torn from the hem. The other piece bore three silver bands encircling the ring of gold, denoting the rank of Captain. The insignia was supposed to fit snugly against his wrist; instead, it was pushed up over his bony elbow to the bicep of his too-thin arm.
'Jim? I need you to look at me, Jim.' McCoy said, ducking his head to catch the frightened man's eyes. He tried not to think about how true those words were. He needs this, damnit.
Finally, Jim's eyes found his face, but there was no trace of recognition there. He looked at McCoy, but he didn't see him.
'How long has it been since you ate?'
Jim's face didn't even register the question and he made no movement to answer it. McCoy was beginning to seriously doubt he could.
Then he was reminded of the wounded screams, proving that Jim did interact with his surroundings, he was just frightened and angry.
The fingers had healed as much as McCoy could help, so he bound it with gauze and let go. Jim snapped his hand back, pressing it into his chest.
'I'm going to get you some food.' McCoy informed him, scuffling backwards before standing up so his height wouldn't frighten him.
He couldn't help himself, he needed to provide some sort of physical comfort for his friend.
'I'm going to take care of you.' McCoy promised. A hand reached out instinctively.
Jim recoiled instantly, whimpering. He scrambled in the feeble attempt to climb away. Blood seeped from the nicks and scratches all over his feet from the nicks and scratches all over his feet from the shattered glass. A large gash by the arch of his foot still had a shard lodged in it.
'Damnit.' McCoy muttered, dropping back to a crouch.
To his right lay a set of surgical forceps and he reached for them quickly. As Jim jerked, the shard sunk further into his flesh, threatening to severely damage a central vein.
'Stay still.' McCoy ordered, gripping Jim's ankle tightly.
Jim howled and tried to jerk free of McCoy's firm hold.
'This is going to hurt a little.' McCoy warned before he dug the forceps into the gash. With surgical precision, the glass shard was extracted in moments but Jim was in anguish, tears streaming down his face and heaving great, panicked breaths. McCoy would prefer to spend more time mending the wounds, but he was afraid he'd never be able to get close to him again after this.
'Jim?'
The terrified man flinched violently, this time from his voice and not his presence. Then, for the first time since he arrived, Jim spoke, in clear understandable Standard.
'James.' He said.
McCoy froze, hope beginning to rise.
'James Tiberius Kirk. Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise.' Jim said, his voice was dull and flat but such a comfort to hear after so long without. 'Serial number N dash Delta 17676-0981,' he swallowed and continued, '3944.'
Then he repeated it, again and again, like it was his lifeline.
'James Tiberius Kirk. Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise. N dash Delta 17676-0981-5433.'
It became endless litany of name, rank and serial number, falling from Jim's lips in a steady stream of words blending together.
Two years earlier, the same Medical Bay had been torn apart by explosions during the Narada incident. The prematurely promoted Chief Medical Officer just finished twelve hours of delicate surgery removing the parasitic bug from Captain Pike's spinal cord. He collapsed into an exhausted heap of stained scrubs and scratchy stubble beside the Captain's bed.
Pike woke slowly, mind still fogged by the surgical drugs. He groaned out his name, rank and serial number.
McCoy asked him about it and Pike's eyes glazed over.
'When they're torturing you, you need something to scream.'
Jim, shuddering and helpless, pressed against the wall.
'James Tiberius Kirk. Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise. N dash Delta 17676-0981-5433.'
Thanks heaps to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! Your support is so amazing, I couldn't write the same without it.
What did you think of this chapter? Please review, it really ups the ante for me. Any comments, critisisms and ideas are all appreciated.