A/N: Wow. I feel SOOOO awful for leaving you all hanging this long! Seriously. New job is great, but moving is terrible and has been an absolute logistical nightmare. Thank you to all my readers, with extra big thanks to all of you who reviewed; your reviews kept me going when I was suffering massive writers' block on this chapter!
All previous disclaimers and warnings still apply.
Seventh Circle
Chapter 4
The darkness is truly complete now that the tiny light from McCoy's chrono is gone. Kirk clings to the cold metal bars of the cell, sightlessly staring through the dark towards the door where Bones was taken. Nearly overwhelming guilt wells into his chest, where it mingles with simmering rage.
It is Kirk's fault they are here. He should have known something was wrong. Somewhere deep down, the tiny rational corner of his brain that speaks in Spock's voice is telling him not to be stupid; that there is no way Kirk could have anticipated the events that landed his men in this hellhole. But there is no denying the fact that Kirk is in command; that he is responsible.
That his men are suffering the consequences of his stupidity hurts Kirk more than he could have ever thought possible.
Kirk can tick them off on his fingers now. Chekov, beaten within an inch of his life. God knew what was happening to Giacomo, but it certainly wasn't good. And now his friend McCoy. Bones, who had grudgingly put up with his hijinks at the Academy and grudgingly patched him up afterwards. Bones, who by smuggling his friend Jim onto the Enterprise, set in motion the series of events that would catapult one Cadet Kirk to the captaincy of Starfleet's flagship.
Runty's red eyes glinted evilly as he pointed at McCoy. The doctor did not move. Kirk gingerly eased out from his seat behind Chekov and got to his feet, his blue eyes narrowing to icy slits. McCoy and Spock looked back at him expectantly, but there was nothing Kirk could say or do and they all knew it. McCoy's face hardened as he resignedly turned to face the burly aliens.
"Well, all right then."
The clenched, twisting sensation of anxiety slices through his guilt and seizes Kirk's stomach with a vengeance. He forces himself to take a deep breath. Bones'll be okay, he tells himself firmly. He's tough; much tougher than Chekov and far more stubborn than any of us. Everything will all work out in the end. Yeah, right. Kirk doesn't believe it. He can't even reassure himself; how the hell is he supposed to reassure his men?
Anger and frustration finally overcome the young captain. Kirk's strong hands close tightly on the metal bars of the cell. He shakes them violently, again and again, until his hands cramp with exertion and he is forced to pry his white-knuckled fingers away. Panting, he leans his forehead against the cold metal and grits his teeth against the searing pains of slowly returning circulation and rising emotion.
Kirk reclaimed Bones' blue uniform from Chekov and bundled it at the doctor. Bones shrugged it on as they marched him out of the cell at phaserpoint. Whatever happened, he was going to face it like the Starfleet officer he was. Runty grabbed at his arm, but McCoy jerked away defiantly. The alien grunted to his companion, who leveled a nasty punch at McCoy's kidney. The blow sent Bones to his knees, but Kirk could tell from the subsequent cursing that he was angrier than he was hurt.
"Get your hands off me!" the doctor's voice snarled as they hauled him to his feet and he disappeared from Kirk's sight. The door slammed them all into darkness.
The soft scrape of a regulation boot against the stone floor signals Spock's approach. Kirk can feel the Vulcan's eyes boring into the back of his head. Lost in his guilt, Kirk does not acknowledge him. Little snippets of previous conversations, figments of his stress and exhaustion, keep drifting through his mind.
"Well, all right then."
"We'll get out of this…I'll…I'll get us out of this."
"I know…"
Spock's voice sounds from the darkness to Kirk's right, breaking his concentration. "Captain?"
Kirk doesn't want to respond. He doesn't want to listen to the Vulcan's perfect logic; his perfect rationality while Kirk's men (his best friend!) are suffering and maybe dying. He doesn't want to think about McCoy's squared shoulders and bullheaded courage or Chekov's unwavering faith. He wants to sink back in a dark corner and put his head in his hands. Kicking himself is proving much easier than finding a way out of this mess.
"It is illogical for you to continue to blame yourself for our current predicament."
Kirk doesn't even bother to pretend like he has not been blaming himself the entire time. "No, it really isn't, Spock. I'm in command, it's my fault—"
Spock cuts him off in that annoyingly polite Vulcan way. "If the Captain would be so kind as to let me finish?"
Kirk swears the Vulcan only refers to him as 'the captain' when he's experiencing very human irritation. Clearly, he has something on his mind. "Sure, whatever. Go ahead."
"As I said, it is illogical for you to blame yourself for an event you are not responsible for," the Vulcan continues. "It was my fault. I cannot allow you to take responsibility for my actions."
"What?" Kirk exclaims, thrown by this sudden, completely unexpected admission. "Don't be ridiculous, Spock."
"It is hardly ridiculous, sir. I was unaffected by the compound in the drinks. I should have noticed that something was wrong. I thought Ensign Chekov was merely becoming intoxicated—"
Just deciphering the Vulcan's speech requires enough thought that it distracts Kirk, at least momentarily, from his anxiety for McCoy. "To be fair, so did I. And Bones—"
"I should have attempted to contact the Enterprise immediately," Spock interrupts again. "It was quickly apparent that something was not right. I went to see if you and Dr. McCoy were injured. My…emotional… need to ascertain your well-being caused a delay in my transmission to the Enterprise that could have resulted in their failure to transport us out, and thus our capture. I apologize for my failure, and I take full responsibility for my actions, sir."
To Kirk's surprise, a note of real guilt has crept into his usually impassive voice. It never occurred to Kirk that Spock would actually consider himself responsible for their disastrous situation. Somewhat shocked by the realization that Spock might have been (illogically) kicking himself, Kirk decides to put a stop to it.
"Spock, that's bullshit and you know it."
"Captain?"
"Don't you captain? me. It took like a second. Besides, concern for your friends and crewmates is never a failure in my book, Spock. And none of us could have ever seen this coming. Quit beating yourself up."
"But Captain—"
"Seriously. That's an order."
"Yes, sir."
The two men stand in silence for some time, each lost in his own thoughts, until the tiny window near the high ceiling of the cell begins to glow with impending dawn. Kirk finally settles with his back to the bars, relying on the uncomfortable metal digging into his spine to keep him alert. Spock remains nearby, his dark eyes periodically flickering from Kirk to hallway to Chekov.
It is not long before the first cold rays of dawn reach down into the cell from the high window. The longest of the rays bisects the exposed throat of Pavel Chekov, softly illuminating his too-pale face. Even from where Kirk is sitting, he looks like hell. The boy is loosely curled upon the floor, chest rising and falling laboriously. A great black rent in his gold uniform marks the place where the silver Starfleet insignia was ripped from over his heart. The gash across his forehead has the dull burgundy color of dried blood, contrasting sharply with his pale face and the dark purple circles forming under his large eyes.
"Well, all right then."
"We'll get out of this…I'll…I'll get us out of this."
"I know…"
Kirk glances away from Chekov and towards his first officer. At least discussing their situation makes it feel like they're doing something. He decides to break the silence with a question that has been nagging at the back of his mind for several hours. "So you don't think we got a transmission out?"
"Unlikely, Captain. I was attempting to raise the Enterprise when I was rendered unconscious," Spock explains, diplomatically ignoring Kirk as the captain swears viciously under his breath at the news. "When we first arrived on the planet, there was some sort of interference with my tricorder readings. Whether this scrambling effect is natural or deliberately created, I cannot say. However, I believe this effect will make it quite impossible for the Enterprise's sensors to distinguish our biosignatures from those of any other sentient being in the area."
"That'd explain why they haven't beamed us out yet," Kirk says, his heart sinking as the small hope of rescue by Enterprise fades. "Looks like we're on our own."
"So it would seem, Captain."
Figures. But Spock's story reminds Kirk of his last few memories of the dinner before waking up in the dank cell; the memories he'd been reflecting on just before Bones was taken. "Was it just me, or did they all seem to be in on it?" he says slowly.
"Captain?" A tinge of puzzlement colors the Vulcan's voice.
Kirk frowns. "When Chekov keeled over, none of the Janusians seemed concerned. It was like they were waiting; like they knew what was going to happen."
Spock's left eyebrow arches skyward. "Indeed. I noticed it myself. I found it—"
He suddenly pauses mid-statement, his dark eyes darting away from Kirk and towards the hallway. It doesn't take sensitive Vulcan ears to hear the echo of approaching heavy footsteps. Kirk is immediately on his feet, gripping the cell bars and pressing his face to the space between them. His heart races as he cranes his neck desperately for a glimpse of the ominous door. It seems too soon, far too soon, for them to have finished with McCoy.
After what seems an eternity to Kirk's pounding heart, the door opens at last. The familiar form of Leonard McCoy, his dark head bowed slightly, appears between two of their brutish captors. Which two, Kirk does not know nor care. He is more concerned with the dark, wet stain spreading across the front of McCoy's blue uniform.
"BONES!"
Yes, it's an evil, evil cliffie, especially after a two week update hiatus. Don't worry, chapter 5 is written and currently being edited. PROMISE it will not be another two-week wait on an update! ;) If you haven't been following it already, go read "The Hyde Complex" by my lovely beta Lina-Baggins while you wait.