Warnings: some strong language and violence
Kirk slips out into the corridor while Spock is in the labs again. Neither McCoy nor Spock was comfortable with Kirk leaving the cabin, but he can't sit by while Lester rules over his ship with an iron fist. There are things he needs to know, things he thinks his friends aren't telling him, and he needs to go to the crew to obtain said information. It felt a bit odd to slip on a dress and know that feet really did fit comfortably in those feminine boots and realize that doing hair was way more of a pain than he could have imagined. At least McCoy and Nurse Kellye had done a good job of finding a uniform to fit this borrowed body. Now to business…
Based on the chronometer on the computer in the corridor, Kirk figures Lester will still be on the bridge, but that Sulu and Chekov would be elsewhere. Chekov was likely in their shared quarters, but Sulu had the added option of being in the botany lab. Kirk has a moment of indecision.
"Computer, locate Lt. Hikaru Sulu."
"Lt. Hikaru Sulu-location… botany lab, science sector."
I might have known. Kirk hurries to the lab, praying no one would say anything to him or call Lester, and he is thankful to arrive without incident. He finds his pilot sitting in the corner of the room, tending to a large, curious-looking flowering plant with dark blue petals; it seems to be purring. He looks up when Kirk enters. Kirk expects one of those flashy Sulu grins, then remembers that he is currently no one to Sulu. He offers Sulu a smile of his own and approaches, saying, "You're Lt. Sulu, right? The pilot?"
"Yeah… who are you?" Sulu asks, looking puzzled.
Kirk chews his bottom lip. Sulu is extremely, almost as loyal as Spock. Just claiming to be Jim Kirk isn't going to fly here, but he needs to try something. He moves closer to Sulu, speaking in a low voice, "Mr. Sulu, you're not gonna believe this, but… the Cpt. Kirk on the bridge is not the real Kirk. I am. The one on the bridge is Janice Lester. She switched bodies with me on Camus II using some weird old machine created by their ancients, and now I'm stuck in her body and she's wearing me like a meatsuit."
Sulu's expression is nondescript. Kirk wrings the slim hands.
"Prove it."
Dammit. Kirk paces a bit, thinking hard. What's something only he and Sulu would remember? He half-wishes one of them was Vulcan to make this easier to do.
"Umm… well… there's, no not that… lemme think, lemme think… oh! The Battle of Vulcan! We space jumped down to the surface- well to the big drill Nero had- and we had to fight some Romulans, and Olsen died from flying into the drill stream… and I was worried before we got there because you said your combat experience was fencing. I shouldn't have been. You kicked some major ass. Then, umm… then you got knocked off the drill platform, and I jumped after you even though we both could have died-"
"But we didn't," Sulu replied quietly, "because Chekov got our signal in time, and he beamed us up."
"Yes, Chekov saved us, and plenty of others too… a lot of Vulcans wouldn't be here today if not for him…"
Sulu smiles and nods. Chekov is his best friend. He likes it when people praise the kid. He tells Kirk, "Must've been one hell of a machine, captain."
"Ugh, you have no idea," Kirk replies, overwhelmed with relief, "Listen, I need your help, Sulu. I need to know what Lester's doing with my ship and my crew."
"She's awful, sir. A dictator. She kicked Spock off the bridge for disagreeing with her over our change of course to Benecia, yelled at Pavel for talking out of turn, yelled at Uhura for humming, at Barwin for talking, period! We can't take it anymore."
"Well, then don't. Don't take it anymore. We'll take her down, but I am going to need help. Here's what we gotta do…"
xXxXx
Chekov looks up when the door to his and Sulu's quarters whoosh open. Sulu hurries over, whispering, "Pavel, you were right!"
"Right? Right about what?"
"About the captain! The Kirk on the bridge isn't really Kirk! It's Janice Lester, the woman that we picked up on Camus II. Kirk just told me," Sulu hisses.
Chekov sits up very straight, asking, "What? You saw him? Where? When?"
"Just now in the botany lab…" and he explains the whole, mad story to Chekov, who becomes increasingly agitated.
"We have to tell everyone!" he says at last, "Zhe crew needs to know someone else is in control of zhe Enterprise!"
"That's where you come in, Pavel. Spock and McCoy already know 'cause they busted him out of medical, but Kirk said he needs your help."
"Anything. What does he want?"
"He needs you to spread the word. Everyone knows you run the rumor mill here on the ship. You know who to talk to get news spread quick. He just wants you to talk."
Chekov smirks.
"I can do zat."
He goes first to Lt. Darwin, a pretty black woman with her hair shorn off who is a better navigator than anyone he's ever met. She's well-liked and, like him, knows who to talk to. He finds her running transporter simulations.
"Pavel Chekov, what can I do for you today?" she asks with a smile.
"Aisha, I have something very important to tell you. Zhe captain is an imposter. Here's what I need help telling everyone you can…"
Once Darwin has heard the whole tale, she replies, "The whole crew will know by the end of the day."
Chekov's next stop is Engineering, to see their loose-lipped chief engineer.
"Ah, laddie, what can I do for ye?" Scotty asks cheerfully.
He is less than cheerful when he learns what is going on with his ship, letting slip a few choice swears at certain points.
"Och, lad, I'll spread the word like wildfire. You can be sure of that!"
"Remember, zhe captain said to act normally until he gives zhe word. Lester must not know what we are doing!"
Engineering will be buzzing with the knowledge before the hour is out. Chekov's next stop is Uhura, who promises to pass on the message through Communication and Linguistics. Sulu has been to Sciences and Medical and Operations. All the Enterprise should know before the next morning's alpha shift. Chekov has to admit, he is pretty good at this.
On his way to grab some dinner in the mess, he accidentally walks into a dark-haired ensign in a gold uniform dress.
"Oh! I'm so sorry! I was not paying attention! Are you alright, miss?"
The young woman's eyes go wide. She quickly clamps down on his arm and drags him behind a bulkhead, hidden from sight. Chekov feels his face go beet red. He knows what other people get up to behind bulkheads and-
"Pavel Andreivich Chekov, am I glad to see you!" she exclaims.
Confusion reigns in Chekov's mind for a solid five seconds. Chekov has never seen this person in his life… unless…
"Captain?"
"Yes! Yes, Pavel, it's me! It's Kirk!" the person says excitedly, "Sulu brought you my message right? You been spreadin' the good news?"
The smile fades from the young woman's face when Chekov says nothing. Sulu had no reason to lie to him, but what if this woman had lied to him? Still, he couldn't be sure this was actually Kirk.
"Pavel… it's-it's me, I really am Jim Kirk, I promise."
"I… I want to believe you, but… I…"
He can't finish the sentence. The person in front him looks around, at everywhere but his face, clearly thinking hard. After a long moment, she says, "What about… what about when Khan attacked the Enterprise? Me and Scotty ran into Engineering but the gravity was busted so the ship was spinning and flipping, and me and Scotty nearly died falling off a catwalk but then you saved us. You saved me and Scotty and then you helped save the ship and the whole Earth. That was a good day. You did real good, kid."
Oh yes, that is his captain, so quick to dole out compliments and encouragement to his crew, to give a needed smile, to make everyone feel useful and cared for.
"It was not a good day, captain, you died," Chekov sulks.
"So you believe me?"
"Yes. Sulu told me what you wanted me to do, and I have been all over zhe ship, telling everyone. Zhe whole crew should know by zhe next alpha shift. I hope that is good enough."
"It's perfect. Thank you so much, Pavel. Keep up the good work. Where you headed next?"
"I was going to dinner. I have not eaten much lately."
"Good. I hear mess is pretty busy right now."
"Don't worry. I think I will be able to find somewhere to sit, someone to talk to."
Kirk flashes a grin and slips away. Yes… that is Chekov's captain.
xXxXx
Empty corridors bother Kirk. He feels exposed and watched in this alien body, especially because he knows he's being hunted. He'd much prefer a crowd to hide in. He currently tries to hide by walking calmly to pretend he was just going about his usual business when a hand clamps tightly around his wrist and hauls him behind a bulkhead. Fear flares up in his chest, sending adrenaline pumping through his veins, as he is slammed into the wall. He lets out a grunt and looks up.
It's very strange to see his own face looming over him, twisted by an evil grin. The grip on his wrist is tight and painful, though he does his best to avoid showing it on his face.
"You have been a very naughty boy, Jim," she hisses menacingly, "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to spread nasty lies about people?"
"May be nasty, but it ain't a lie."
His head snaps to the side from the force of the slap, his cheek stinging. He still shows nothing in his face as he looks back up. Damn, am I really that strong? Lester has his real face twisted into a snarl now.
"You ought to show me some respect. I am the captain, and I deserve respect."
"Oh, just 'cause you're the captain doesn't mean you deserve respect."
The second slap is more painful, abusing already bruising flesh, and Kirk takes slightly longer to recover. Lester is definitely not screwing around.
"Listen up, you fucking prick. I own you right now, because who is gonna believe you? You may have the half-breed and that redneck doctor on your side, but I can get rid of them just as easily as I can rid of you. I'll bring down a court martial on you all so hard, and you're gonna get nailed to the fucking wall," she spits, "I should throw your ass in the brig and let you rot, but I don't think I will. No, watching you scramble around trying to save face is so much more entertaining. I am enjoying this so much because you can't stop me."
"Just watch me, Janice," Kirk snaps.
He dodges this slap, but Lester twists his arm forcefully, almost wrenching his elbow out of joint. He fails to bite back a gasp of shock and pain.
"You will not stop me, and you will not get in my way. If I catch even a whiff of you spreading those rumors again, I won't take it out on you. I'll pick a crewmember and take it out on them, understand? Like… that little Russian bastard. I don't like that little shit much. Think he deserves to be smacked around a bit myself."
Rage flashes red behind Kirk's eyes.
"You leave them alone, you crazy bitch, or I'll fu- ah!"
Agony shoots up his arm and into his spine, nearly making his knees buckle.
"Respect, Janice," she hisses cruelly, "or that little Russian brat gets it worse."
Another slap connects. Pain and adrenaline send him into ragged breaths, set his body trembling. He thinks he may be afraid. A sound that may be a whimper escapes his throat when Lester clamps her hand on his already throbbing jaw, fingers digging into the bruised flesh of his cheek. She forces him to look up into his own sneering face. He does not like it.
"Respect. Look at me when I talk to you, understood?"
"Yes."
The fingers dig in harder, the other hand still twisting his arm. Tears spring up in his eyes that he desperately wishes would go away.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's a good start. Try again. Yes, what?"
Just give in. Survival, Jim. You can't help anyone if you're locked up or dead.
"Yes, captain."
She releases his face, hissing, "You better remember that," and throws him to the floor, wrenching his arm violently. He jars it more by using it to break his fall and lets out a cry of pain. Kirk watches his stolen body stalk away. The corridor remains empty.
xXxXx
Spock is startled to feel fear crawling along his skin, borne by the slim bond that connects his psyche to Kirk's. Kirk buries fear as easily as a Vulcan, so for him to feel it so deeply and forcefully is troubling. He is even more startled when the door hisses open and Kirk stumbles in, his breath ragged. Kirk's back connects with the wall beside the closed door, and he leans on it heavily, sliding into a heap on the floor. Spock is on his feet and at Kirk's side in an instant. He does not like what he sees.
One side of Kirk's borrowed face is half-covered with a blossoming bruise of blue and purple and black. The blows to his face also split the lower lip and a spot over the cheekbone. His whole body is shaking, and he's holding his left arm gingerly to avoid use. The chest rises and falls erratically as he struggles for air. Rage bubbles up inside Spock's chest, boils against his ribcage and up his spine, and he manages to calm himself only because his rage seems to disturb Kirk. Spock pushes down the anger and sends calming thoughts over their tenuous link; Kirk relaxes slightly.
"I will call for Dr. McCoy," Spock tells him, "These injuries req-"
"No!" Kirk gasps, "No, don't call Bones. Leave him out of it… please…"
"I do not know if I have the skill to properly tend your injuries. I would prefer to call Dr. McCoy," he says honestly.
"No, you can… you can do it, Spock… I trust you…"
Why must Kirk have such unshakeable faith in him? Spock agrees, however hesitantly, to tend the wounds to his captain's borrowed body. Kirk's head bobs lazily in what Spock supposes is a nod. He has no energy left, spent it all in denying McCoy's aid. He still sits on the floor of Spock's cabin, loose-limbed but shaking. Without thinking, Spock carefully scoops Kirk up into his arms, and he feels a strange sense of pleasure when Kirk curls into his chest. He deposits Kirk onto the bed, his back to the wall, and retrieves his medical kit. Kirk barely moves when he sits beside him. Spock pulls out a hypo of painkiller, but Kirk mutters, "No… no, I'm aller-allergic to that one. You know that, Spock."
"Yes, Jim Kirk is allergic to it, but Miss Lester is not. Her bodily reactions are nowhere near as volatile as yours."
Kirk's lips quirk up in a smile, and Spock's heart flutters against the base of his ribcage.
"I don't wan' a painkiller."
"I would not recommen-"
"Spock, I don't wan' it. Don't like 'em."
Kirk is still stubborn through his weakness. Spock puts the hypospray down.
"What did she do to you, Jim?" Spock asks in a low voice.
"Well, she smacked me a few times, near twisted my arm off," he replies quietly, "threatened me, threatened my crew… ran back here as fast 's I could…"
"You were afraid."
"Yeah, for my crew… my friends…"
"What did she threaten to do if you did not comply with her wishes?"
"Said she would smack the shit outta Pavel if I kep' actin' up. I can't allow that, Spock, I just can't. I'd rather she take it outta my hide…"
"And I cannot allow that," Spock states, "It is my duty to protect you from harm."
"As my First Officer?"
"As your friend, Jim."
Kirk wets his lips slowly before saying, "See what you can do for my arm… sore as hell…"
Spock obliges him, carefully pushing his sleeve up the slender arm. Much like the cheek, the wrist is a mottled black and purple, the bruise wrapping around completely. Kirk lets out a hiss of pain when Spock manipulates the arm. The elbow joint appears swollen, Kirk flinches away when he tries to touch it.
"You must allow me to contact Dr. McCoy," Spock tells him, "Captain, this is beyond my medical skills. Dr. McCoy would be better able to determine the extent of any internal damage far better than I."
Kirk's eyes are unfocused, his chest still heaving with rapid breaths. Spock is becoming increasingly concerned with Kirk's health. This does not feel right, but he isn't sure why Kirk is in such a bad way. Could there be head trauma from being struck repeatedly? Throwing up a quick mental shield, Spock reaches out to take Kirk's pulse and finds it pounding and jumping under his touch. He racked his brain for the answer, wondering his medical knowledge was not greater and vowing to amend it. It cannot be shock. There is no blood loss, no damage to the heart or spine. Why is he having such a strong reaction? He grabs the datapad containing Lester's medical records and a comm.
"Dr. McCoy," he barks into the comm, "I require your assistance immediately."
McCoy's response is swift: "I'll be right there. Hang in there."
Spock does not reply, returning his full attention to Kirk and Lester's medical data. He finds what he's looking for in a matter of seconds. Lester is prone to panic attacks, and because she is prone to them, Kirk is. Logic tells him that Kirk's hyperventilating earlier is the likely culprit, but the same logic also tells him that he cannot apply logic to this condition. Panic attacks are, by their definition (generally), caused by emotional reactions. He concludes that the assault Kirk experienced and the subsequent fear is the cause for this acute reaction. He cannot stop himself from reaching out and resting his palm against Kirk's uninjured cheek. Long lashes flutter. Breaths wheeze and hitch. His head tilts to the side, pressing his cheek against Spock's hand a bit harder.
In reality, only a few seconds pass. It feels much longer in Spock's mind. Kirk's emotions launch an assault on their fragile bond. Fear collides viciously with Spock's senses: fear of pain, fear for others, fear of dying. He fears himself, fears how people view him after seeing his own power firsthand, fears his own strength. These fears are Kirk's. Is that how his crew sees him? Powerful? Terrifying? Fearsome? Wrathful? Pain echoes along the contours of Spock's arm and jaw in alignment with Kirk's injuries. Panic and defiance and humiliation are all consuming. Spock feels a burning in his lungs, feels his chest constricting, his heart pounding, feels dizzy, nauseous, like he's being smothered to death-
The anxiety rolls out of his mind as quickly as it came. Spock pulls in deep, controlled breaths, feeling like he hasn't breathed properly in days. Kirk's breathing is still too fast and shallow for his liking. He tries to send calming thoughts over their slight bond, feelings of friendship and happiness and peace, trying to calm his friend and set his breathing aright.
It has not settled by the time McCoy arrives.
xXxXx
McCoy enters Spock's quarters and finds the hybrid sitting on the bed beside Kirk, one cupping a feminine cheek. He quickly approaches his friends and asks, "How is he, Spock? What happened?"
"He was in an altercation with Lester," Spock replies, his voice low, "As for his condition, he appears to be having trouble with oxygen intake, which I have attributed to a panic attack caused by hyperventilation."
McCoy feels rage bubble up in his chest but shoves it down. Anger gets in the way of treatment. There will be time for anger later. He gently takes Spock's wrist and pulls his hand away from Kirk's face, asking him wordlessly to move away so he could better examine Kirk.
The right cheek was bruised and slightly swollen, the mottled colors spread out in the shadow of a hand. Dried blood is crusted over the cheekbone and in a split in the lower lip; they'll need cleaning. The unmarred cheek is flushed at the apple but pale around it and does not feel warm. Kirk is now close to passing out, his eyes fluttering, his breaths shallow, his heartbeat too fast. McCoy turns his attention to the left arm held gingerly in Kirk's lap. A whimper pushes past the captain's lips as McCoy gently inspects and manipulates the arm, noting more bruising at the wrist and around the swollen elbow joint. These injuries tell him all he needs to know about Kirk's 'altercation' with Lester. He has to push down the ball of rage again.
He gets to work quickly, administering carefully measured hypos to bring down swelling, alleviate pain, and regulate the fast and erratic heartbeat. McCoy then cleans the open cuts on Kirk's face before closing them up with the dermal regenerator, which takes very little time. He also applies a salve to Kirk's bruises to help them heal faster, though it would still be a few days before they were gone completely. Once the minor injuries are taken care of, he moves on to the elbow.
The elbow did not appear dislocated or broken in any way, despite Kirk's pain, but the area around the joint was swollen and slightly bruised between the bony points. Based off the heavy bruising at the wrist, he would say that Lester had damn near twisted the arm off, leaving Kirk with a fairly substantial sprain. He gives him a hypo to speed up the healing process and manages to regenerate some of the ligament tissue, but he won't be fully healed until tomorrow. McCoy wraps the joint in the meantime to avoid too much movement, especially since the patient seems to be perking up.
"Doctor, do you have diagnosis?" Spock asks.
"Yeah, you were right, Spock," he replies, "Got all worked up with that fight-or-flight and threw the body systems outta whack and set off a panic attack. None of the damage is too bad. Worst is the elbow. Lester pert near pulled his arm off, sprained the elbow pretty bad, but he'll recover by tomorrow if he stays in bed like his doctor says," he adds forcefully as Kirk moves to get up, "C'mere, kid, got one more for ya…"
McCoy swiftly administers a hypo of a solution filled with various vitamins and nutrients to help Kirk feel better faster. Kirk still looks weak but has that damn smug smirk now. Looking at the captain trapped, battered and bruised, in the unfamiliar body, McCoy feels a surge of affection for him. He reaches out and brushes some hair away from the forehead, mumbling, "Christ, Jim, only you… tell me what she did."
Kirk tells him, and McCoy can't fight down that anger any longer. He presses his mouth into a thin line, balls his shaking hands into fists, blows hard through his nose. She's evil. He hates her. He hates the way she treats the crew. He hates how she treats him and Spock. He hates that she hurt Kirk. Tears of rage fill his eyes, and he wills them not to fall. He does not want to cry in front of Kirk and Spock.
There is a pressure one on of his hands, so he looks down. Kirk has taken hold of it in one of the small, delicate, slightly calloused hands. McCoy cannot decide if he thinks it feels wrong.
"You oughta rest, Jim," he mutters, "You had a rough day."
He knows just how rough it was when Kirk complies without complaint. McCoy leaves him be, moving to sit in a chair beside Spock, each holding a datapad and secretly watching Kirk.
"We'll set him right, Spock. Don't worry."
"I am not worried."
"Bullshit," McCoy retorts, "Ya can't lie to me. I'm a doctor, dammit. It's my job to know when people are hurtin' and won't tell me. Yer worried. I can tell."
He waits.
"I do not see any logical way to return the captain to his body. We cannot turn back to return to Camus II without raising a mutiny and taking control of the ship away from her. She will not allow such a course change."
"Not sure I'm seein' a problem with a mutiny just now, Spock. Besides, ain't that part of Jim's grand plan? Take back his ship?"
"It may be possible," Spock concedes, "The crew is largely of one mind on their lack of affection for this leadership style. Raising such a mutiny would not be difficult. My concern is with how we will explain our actions to the admiralty."
"Well, we're already gonna have to explain the weird captain's logs and random punitive charges she's leveled at everyone she can think of. I think explaining a mutiny that wasn't really a mutiny's gonna be the least of our problems. I mean, is it really a mutiny if it's Jim takin' back his ship from a hijacker?"
Spock mulls it over moment. McCoy recognizes the 'I-agree-with-you-but-don't-want-to-admit-you're-right-just-yet' face.
"Tomorrow," Spock says at last in a quiet tone, "We will do it tomorrow, if Jim is well."
"Yeah… if Jim's well," McCoy agrees.