There were no painkillers that Frunize could give the stranger.
The knowledge, once found in the handbook, filled her with a terrible sympathy for the man under her care. All of the plants listed as being safe for human consumption in the event of injury had gone extinct since the dramatic change in climate had shaken the planet. There was nothing she could do to ease his suffering while she utilized her magic.
Deep in her heart, she felt as though she'd failed the man in some irreversible way. As a Frooliin, and one trained to be a healer at that, she'd learned never to doubt her emotions. Empathy was at the root of who she was, and so she somehow knew that what she was about to do was the cruelest thing she could do to the man. She didn't know why or how, but she felt it all the same.
They tied him down before she began. Tied his wrists and ankles and bound them to long wood poles, which Frunize's family sat upon to keep him as still possible. It was primitive and crude and so, so cruel a thing to do to a man so scarred, so terrified of helplessness.
"He will not forgive you," Ruhn spoke up, sitting across from her on the man's other side. It wasn't an accusation, just a simple stating of fact.
Frunize pulled from her bag of supplies a pair of small, fire-hardened forceps. She had to remove the stranger's shirt before she could begin the healing process. To say she was dreading it would be an understatement. "But he will forgive you," she said, knowing her son's true concern without looking at him.
The boy nodded, because as much as he played at being a man, one was never too old for reassuring from a kind mother. She handed him a knife and he deftly began to cut away the man's filthy shirt, working quickly and drawing only a few strangled moans from the captain.
When all that was left was the fabric sticking to the open burns, Frunize handed Ruhn another pair of forceps. "Be quick," she told him quietly, surely, "do not waste time trying to be gentle. To do so would prolong his pain." Turning to her mate and her other children who would be holding down their patient, she nodded grimly. "Keep him as still as you can. He is weakened, but panic will strengthen him."
One by one the family made their understanding known and held steady their positions. Frunize and Ruhn looked at one another. Then they began.
"Will you hurt them?"
His arms ached and cold metal was digging into his wrists. His voice was hoarse and broken and so young and he didn't want to be like this, didn't want to be helpless. He looked up and tried to muster all the strength he could in his eyes, the eyes his mother couldn't look at, the eyes Frank so despised. Eyes were powerful- they could cut someone down and pierce through them and shatter any and all faith they had in themselves. He knew that firsthand.
The man's smile was wolfish. It made Jim shiver, made him wish he was bigger and stronger and not so fucking scared. "I don't go back on my word, James." His hand, large and spindly and rough, dragged across Jim's shoulder blades as he walked behind him. "They'll die without you, anyway. I have no reason to harm them."
Jim wanted to throw up as that hand kept tracing him, caressing him, testing thin, spindly arms, pressing against sore muscles and counting every sharp rib. "What do you want me to do?" He ground out, like he had any control, like his ankles weren't shackled to the floor and his wrists to the ceiling.
A thoughtful hum came from the man as he poked at Jim's ribs, at his constantly roiling stomach. "Nothing yet. You're not ready." Jim's skin was cold and thin, and the man's hands seemed to burn against him. "I don't want your cooperation, James. I want your loyalty."
Fuck you, Jim screamed in his head. Tears stung his eyes suddenly and he had to fight to hold them back when just hours before he'd been resigned, completely committed to his fate. Fuck you, you murderer, you goddamn monster, you killed my family, he was quaking in rage, too blinded by tears and fury to notice the man had stepped away from him, disappearing into the shadows of the tiny, cramped dungeon.
"Eventually, your anger will be useful," the man said as he stepped aside from the door, allowing two large, burly goons into the cell. "But for now you pose a threat to yourself and to the future of this colony." He spoke now to the guards in a cold, neutral tone. "No permanent damage. Just make it painful."
The door clanged shut, and Jim was left alone with the two goons standing behind him. He heard the sound of a belt coming unwound, and he almost laughed. Like he hadn't seen this before. Like this wasn't a weekly occurrence back home. He evened out his breathing, held on, prepared to ride it out-
It turned out the guard's arm was a lot stronger than Frank's.
Jim awoke suddenly.
His powerful body thrashed just as Frunize peeled from his back a long, bloody strip of cloth. Not a sound was drawn from his mouth, and somehow that was more alarming then his screaming would have been. Instead he twisted and struggled, and when he realized his arms and legs were bound, he went completely still.
Both Frunize and Ruhn paused what they were doing. They were almost done with the bloody task of cleaning the man's back and trying their best to ignore the heart wrenching noises he made whenever a particularly painful piece of debris was removed. Ruhn caught his mother's gaze for a moment, conveying in that single glance all the dread in the world.
The captain's face was turned toward Frunize, and slowly his ice-blue eyes drifted to find her face. His skin was ashen and his entire body heaved with each unsteady breath he took, and desperately, he tried once more to free his left arm. When it held fast from the two grown Frooliins currently holding it down, he closed his eyes and swallowed convulsively.
"Jim," Ruhn whispered, moving gingerly to the man's other side. His eyes opened again, and he looked at the boy, but his body did not relax. Ruhn reached out with one slender green hand, but pulled it back when the man flinched violently. Pity glowed in his golden eyes for a moment before he steeled his resolve and tried again, this time ignoring the flinch and resting his hand on the captain's pale face. "My mother and I are trying to remove the remaining fabric from your wounds before we can begin healing you. I know you are scared, but you must relax."
For a long moment Jim gave no indication that he'd heard. Then, finally, he nodded, unconsciously leaning a bit into the cool hand on his burning cheek. "Just… please, tell them to let me go, Ruhn," he muttered, his voice hoarse and tight. "I won't move, I promise. Please." The last word was barely audible, and was somehow that much more heartrending because of it.
Ruhn looked to his mother, who nodded after a brief pause. Quickly the boy went about untying the captain's wrists and ankles, watching more tension leave his body after each knot came undone. Finally he was free of the restraints, and Jim lie still, his breathing evening out.
"We must proceed now, Captain," Frunize spoke up once her son had taken his place again. "This will be painful, and I advise you to lose consciousness again as soon as possible."
That got a choked laugh out of the young man. "I'll do my best," he answered with a thin veneer of humor in his voice. Frunize wasn't sure whether she admired that or thought it foolish. Both, if she was honest with herself.
Just as she was lowering the forceps to begin again, Jim's slightly panicked voice stopped her. "Wait, the baby. Is she okay?"
Frunize smiled indulgently at the man. "The child is safe, Captain," she said softly. "You saved her, and my people will be sure she knows your name as she grows." Still he looked unsure, like he couldn't quite believe he'd succeeded. "Jim," his eyes danced up to hers, so strange and small and blue compared to her own. "You have fulfilled your duty, and you have done so splendidly. Allow yourself to surrender, if only for a little while. No harm will come to you or to the one you carried."
He swallowed hard, and finally, finally, he nodded.
Frunize looked to the rest of her family, now not needed with the ropes unbound from their patient. As one they stood and left the room, all knowing without needing to be told that the stranger would not appreciate their being privy to his treatment.
After that, the removal of the debris was rather uneventful. The captain was unnervingly quiet through the ordeal, his eyes screwed shut and his fists curled whitely at his sides. Occasionally a grunt escaped his tight control or a sudden jerk shook his frame, but mostly he bore the pain in a stoic manner that was disturbing to the Frooliins, who valued the expression of emotion and sensation.
When finally the wounds were clean, Frunize used a cloth to wipe the sweat and grime from Jim's pale face. The fever was still scorching his skin and making him tremble and gasp in relief when a cold hand touched him, but she knew he would never admit to the discomfort plaguing him. "We will now begin the healing process," she told him. Remembering that he responded well to humor, she continued, "though you did not take my advice earlier that you lose consciousness, I strongly urge you to rethink it."
Jim huffed another breathless laugh, and Ruhn looked at his mother gratefully, aware as she was now of his peculiar preference for deflection. "The treatment involves the regeneration of damaged and absent cells, basically finding where there is a fragment and making it whole again," Ruhn explained. "We have painkillers for our own kind, but none are safe for use on humans."
"Whatever you have to do," the captain answered with an exhausted but sincere grin. "You guys are saving my life. I'm not exactly going to complain about your methods."
"Unless they involve detaining you," Frunize mused, not masking the confusion, showing it freely as all her kind did. Ruhn, dear, sensitive Ruhn, looked at her sternly, like one might at a child who was still learning the difference between honesty and cruelty. Hastily, she attempted to backtrack. "You bear physical pain like a Vulcan, yet other sensations you find unbearable? I apologize, I do not mean to… pry, I suppose. Your people value privacy in a way mine do not. I merely wish to understand your discomfort." She stopped speaking when she realized she'd been rambling, and a quick glance at Ruhn told her that the explanation hadn't helped anything.
"It's alright," Jim said, though all the levity in his voice was gone, replaced by a hollow detachment that reflected in his shuttered blue eyes. "Just don't like being tied down, that's all." There was a long silence, in which it was obvious the captain was looking for some way to explain his reactions. "Humans… we, if something happens to us, something painful or difficult or embarrassing, we don't… we don't like to talk about it, or share it at all."
The young man's fists clenched spasmodically, knowing the alien woman still didn't understand. "It's not healthy, to not talk about it, but… the pain, the memories, it all comes to the surface and," he stopped, then pressed on, they're helping you don't let them down you owe them this they'll keep the baby safe quit being stupid, "some of us are just… weaker than others. And we never deal with those things that happen because we're scared. Scared to look at our mistakes or to relive it or whatever, and in the end, it's just easier to, to…"
"To pretend you're okay," Ruhn spoke up, to which Jim nodded. He said nothing more, and both Frooliins knew that was the most they'd be getting out of him, at least for the moment. "We will begin healing you now," Ruhn said as his mother began mixing crushed herbs in her cupped hands, herbs that would be sprinkled directly over the wounds and left to dissolve into the skin over the course of an hour.
This time, Jim wasn't silent, and when his half-choked whimpers and aborted moans finally tapered off, Frunize was just glad he'd taken her advice.
Sometimes they let him sit on the floor, his arms still bound but now allowed to rest at his sides. He knew they did it just so he wouldn't lose the use of his arms, but he still felt a sick sense of gratitude whenever they let him rest, if only for an hour at a time.
Then they would string him back up again, like he was wildfowl left to cook over a fire. They'd beat him or they'd whip him or they'd slice him open or do anything and everything, really- they just wanted to make him scream, most days. Others days they wanted him to cry. Those were the worst.
Those were the days he came back.
He'd laugh and he'd prod and he'd taunt, he'd mock all of Jim's efforts- useless stupid should have known better honestly I thought you were better than this I can make you better no never mind you're not worth it- and he'd remind him that his family is dead. His friends will be dead soon, too, and then what will he do? Where will that leave him? Poor, broken James, never even had a chance, fought so hard, got nowhere, served him right for fighting the inevitable.
Some days Jim believes his taunts and he begs- begs for what, he doesn't know. Mercy or food or death, or just not to be left alone in the chamber like he is every night. The man will laugh and tell him how pathetic he is, like he didn't know that already, like that wasn't so obvious from the very first time Frank hit him, like that wasn't the story of his life.
Then he'll leave and Jim would be all alone again, in the dark and the cold and praying to a God he stopped believing in a long time ago.
A week after they first tied him up he finally learns why the man wants him. He's a tool, a weapon, he'll be broken and molded and fixed again into something new, something that can be used to hunt down all who ran away, all who escaped. They'll trust him because he's Jim Kirk and he's the bravest boy they've ever known and they'll never suspect, not for a second, that he's just a pawn.
Two weeks after they first tied him up and Jim wants to die. He tells the man so, but he laughs in his face and continues breaking each of his fingers and toes. His fingernails have already been torn out. His legs have been snapped, but they have some sort of primitive regenerator here that's healed them twice over so they could be broken all over again.
Three weeks after they first tied him up, betraying his friends is starting to seem like a pretty good option. They've branded him, on his left thigh, and the stench of his flesh burning and the feeling of it boiling and sizzling has him openly sobbing because his family burned too, and it was only fitting.
Four weeks after they first tied him up, he no longer makes a sound. He just stares.
Five weeks after they first tied him up, Jim Kirk is the perfect soldier.
Jim's eyes blinked open slowly, feeling sticky and uncooperative.
A green-skinned Frooliin woman knelt at his side, holding in her arms a soft bundle of blankets cradling the baby. She removed her hand from his shoulder, which no longer stung unbearably from the bullet wound. The woman smiled down at him with sharp, triangle-shaped teeth. "Hello, Jim. My name is Chenla."
He tried to voice a greeting, but it came out as more of a garbled grunt. The woman's appearance was surprising- she didn't look like Ruhn's mother, Frunize, or the other woman who was in the room at the beginning of his treatment- Ruhn's sister, he suspected. Both those women were sleek and wiry, in fact looking nearly identical to the men as far as build went. The only real difference was the men's broader shoulders. It was only instinct that allowed him to sort them into male and female.
Chenla, however, was similar to a human woman- curvy, with broad hips and full breasts, obviously a mother to her own children. "Ruhn came to me when your treatment had finished. He said you would appreciate seeing the baby. Is that true?"
Before he really knew what he was doing, Jim was nodding, the side of his face rubbing against the soft grass mat. A yearning awoke in him to affirm the continued existence of his small charge, and it was that yearning which propelled him to roll on his side and hold out his arms for the baby.
Chenla slipped the tiny, warm bundle into his arms, and immediately the tight knot of anxiety in his chest slipped away as he took in the sight of freshly washed red skin and huge, healthy-looking golden eyes. He smiled as he hugged the baby close, and she smiled in return with all those little pin-sharp teeth. "Thank you," he whispered to the woman, pressing his forehead to the baby's temple.
The woman smiled. "The female equivalent of your name is Jamie, correct?"
Jim looked up, somewhat startled, having somehow forgotten about the existence of any other life forms. "Yeah, that's be right."
Chenla nodded as she stood gracefully. "Go back to sleep, Jim. You need to rest and recover. Our leader will talk to you when you have regained your strength." With that, she turned away, and she exited the small hut with only a single, fond glance back at the two strangers.
Jim wrapped his arms around the baby's soft warmth, feeling her steady puffs of breath against his cheek. Within moments both were asleep.
So, is hurting fictional characters an acceptable skill to put on my college applications? It's still two years off, but hey, it's never too early.
I'll be keeping the story listed as Gen, but I can't be blamed if I accidentally slip in some s/u/k references in there. Accidentally.
My reviewers were Rolodexthoughts, Doodle0505, Ali, TheTransformingTrekker, lilyflower1345, SimplyOut, and tarooso. Thank you all so much!
Please remember to review!