A/N: My apologies for not updating sooner. Life is crazy for numerous reasons I shall not go into here! Thank you very very much for all the lovely reviews (please keep them coming!) and to all of you who put this story on alert! I was really excited by the enthusiastic reception to this story!

Many thanks to the lovely Lina-Baggins for the excellent beta read!

All previous warnings and disclaimers apply here as well. Without further ado...

Seventh Circle

Chapter 2

Kirk's heart pounds in his throat. "Chekov?" he asks hesitantly.

Chekov's knees abruptly buckle and he collapses into Kirk's arms. Oh god no… An invisible hand squeezes the remaining traces of hot blood from Kirk's veins, replacing it with ice and adrenaline. He shoots an alarmed look at the doctor, who has replaced Spock at his elbow.

"Easy now," McCoy mutters as Kirk sinks slowly to the floor under Chekov's dead weight. His drawl is steady as ever, though now it is threaded with cold steel. "Hold him up a little so I can get a look at him, Jim."

Kirk cradles the boy against his shoulder and chest as gently as he can. Chekov's head lolls limply against his shoulder. Chills race down Kirk's spine as the damp, unruly curls brush against the bare skin of his neck. A nasty looking gash-- a jagged black line in the dim greenish light-- splits the paper-white skin of the boy's forehead.

"Chekov?" Kirk calls, more urgently than before. McCoy fumbles in the dark for the boy's bony wrist. Spock hovers nearby, his eyes and silver Starfleet insignia glimmering faintly.

"Damn it!" McCoy swears under his breath. Kirk watches in horror as he releases the boy's wrist and places two fingers anxiously to his neck instead.

"C'mon kid," Kirk pleads, trying to keep his rising panic out of his voice. "Pavel?"

The curly head lifts ever so slightly, swollen hazel eyes fluttering open.

"K-Keptin," Pavel Chekov gasps.

The kid is alive. Kirk closes his eyes for a moment as relief washes over him and he lets out a breath he was not aware he was holding. He silently thanks every deity he can think of that he will not be adding Chekov's death to the others on his conscience today.

McCoy attempts to examine him by the feeble light of his chrono before cursing it roundly and giving up. His hands become his eyes as practiced fingers trace Chekov's limbs for blood or injury, eliciting several sharp gasps and a few cries of pain from the ensign. Kirk watches as the doctor's shoulders tense in barely-suppressed anger and thinks – not for the first time – that he is glad he is not his Chief Medical Officer.

"Keptin," Chekov gasps again. His thin voice is heart-wrenchingly hoarse. He is shivering now, and his head keeps lolling drunkenly against Kirk's chest as if he is fighting to stay conscious. Kirk holds him closer, trying to use his own body heat to warm the kid up.

"Save it, Ensign," McCoy growls. He has already stripped out of his blue uniform tunic and wraps it over Chekov's skinny torso. "Don't you pass out on me, now."

Worried, Kirk looks over the boy's head towards McCoy. Bones sighs. "I don't know, Jim. I don't feel any major injuries. But for all I know, he could be bleeding internally. I need light to examine him properly. Well, properly as we're gonna get without a tricorder."

Damn. It is decisions like the one currently facing him that make Kirk hate his own authority. They've been thrown in prison for no discernable reason. Nobody's heard from Lt. Giacomo for hours. At least one, probably two, of his officers have been tortured. Another one of them could be taken at any time. Kirk desperately needs information...and fast.

Yet the only source of information is a battered teenager who just wants to fall asleep and escape his still-hellish reality. The last thing Kirk wants to do is cause the poor kid any more pain, which making him relive the past several hours would undoubtedly do. But can Kirk risk the safety of the group? Shit. He should be flirting with cheerleaders, not fighting for his life. Heart sinking, Kirk glances up at Spock for approval and receives the faintest of nods. The Vulcan has followed his thinking; the decision is logical. But it still sucks. McCoy looks from Kirk to Spock to Chekov, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Is he able to answer questions?" Kirk asks, forcing his voice to remain even but refusing to meet the doctor's eyes. He doesn't want Bones to see the indecision still reflected within his vivid eyes.

"Would you be?" McCoy retorts, an edge creeping into his I'm-the-doctor-shut-up-and-let-me-doctor tone. Chekov is beginning to nod dangerously again. "Hey, none of that, Ensign!"

"We need answers, Bones."

"Jim, he's barely conscious!" the doctor snarls. "Hasn't he been through enough for one night?"

McCoy has touched a nerve. Kirk glares at him over Chekov's head, his icy blue eyes eerily pale in the green light. "If we're going to get out of this alive, Doctor," he snaps back, wielding his friend's title like a slap to the face, "I need to know what they want from us."

Jim regrets the words as soon as they are out of his mouth. Pulling rank on his best friend feels about as fair as a sucker-punch to the gut. There is a small glint of reflected light quickly snuffed out with a whisper of fabric as Spock straightens and clasps his hands behind his back. The Vulcan thankfully keeps his opinions to himself as McCoy huffs mutinously.

"Yes…sir."

Sorry, kid. "Ensign Chekov," Kirk says sharply, throwing the weight of his rank behind the words.

Chekov's curly head snaps up instinctively at the sound of an order. "Yes…Keptin?" He still sounds dazed, but slightly more lucid than before. At least he's speaking Standard.

Kirk avoids Bones' gaze. "Before, did you see Giacomo? At all?"

"Zhe anthropologeest?" Chekov answers slowly, grimacing. "Da…yes, ser. For a moment. He vas…it vas wery bad, ser."

Kirk's heart sinks as he exchanges looks with Spock. Chekov's skinny body begins to tremble again. Kirk continues to ignore McCoy's glower and puts a hand lightly on the boy's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Ensign, but I need to know what happened," he says quietly. "What did they want?"

"Vant?" A tinge of surprise colors the boy's heavily-accented voice. "I do not understand, ser."

The little hairs on the back of Kirk's neck prickle and begin to stand on end. Even in the impossible light, Kirk can see Spock's left eyebrow creep skyward.

Christ, this was hard. "They didn't ask you any questions?"

"No, Keptin." His voice is growing weaker.

"None? Nothing at all? Think, Ensign," Kirk urges, a fresh wave of self-loathing washing over him as he pushes Chekov. "It's important."

"Jim, really—!"

"Doctor." Spock's tone leaves no room for argument. McCoy scowls.

Kirk can feel the boy's head move against his chest; imagines the large hazel eyes looking up at him mournfully. "No, ser. Zhey…zhey just…hurt me, ser."

Chekov's simple description of being tortured into near incoherency makes Kirk feel sick to his stomach. "You're sure?" Kirk asks, gritting his teeth against his rising temper.

"No questions...ser." Chekov's voice is nearly inaudible now, even though he is mere centimeters from Kirk's ear. "Keptin…I'm...sorry."

He falls silent, wide eyes fluttering shut. "Chekov?" Kirk asks, prodding him as gently as he can. "Pavel?"

But the boy does not stir. Stunned silence descends over the small group of officers as they digest Chekov's words. McCoy finally sums up what they are all thinking.

"What the hell is going on?"