A/N: As promised, another chapter and up much more quickly than the last! Moved into the apartment and getting internet soon, so I'll actually be able to acknowledge you lovely reviewers. Thanks to all readers, reviewers especially, and last but not least, the wonderful Lina-Baggins for her beta read and suggestions. I've tampered with her changes, so all mistakes are my own. *cue usual disclaimers and warnings*
Seventh Circle
Chapter 5
McCoy's head snaps up at Kirk's panicked shout. Kirk blinks in surprise. The doctor's face is slightly paler than usual, but not nearly as pale as it would be if he had sustained a bad wound. Aside from a slightly swollen jaw and a split lip, he does not look much the worse for wear. McCoy looks fine, excepting the bloody stain soaking through his uniform just below his rib cage.
"Jesus, Jim, sit down before you fall down," McCoy says, his sardonic drawl defiant but strained. His tired eyes twinkle faintly with amusement. "Y'look like you've seen a ghost."
Kirk has never been so glad to hear anything in his life. Weak with relief, he sags heavily against the cell bars. His eyes close briefly as he concentrates on slowing his furiously pounding heart. Spock's eyes widen slightly in surprise as their gray-skinned captors usher the doctor back into their cell. Roused by the drama, Chekov manages to prop himself up on his elbows to ogle at McCoy. He sinks back to the floor with a pained grimace as soon as their gray-skinned captors disappear, saucer-like eyes glued to the doctor's midriff.
With a brief glance at Kirk, Spock asks the obvious question. "Doctor, are you wounded?"
"No, I'm okay," McCoy says, blowing him off. He seems unable to meet Kirk or Spock's eyes. "Borrowed this," he continues rather quickly, pulling a small object from his pocket and flipping it to Spock. The Vulcan catches it deftly and holds it out to Kirk, revealing a tiny light. "Thought it might come in handy."
Only several months hard practice listening to Spock's slightest of vocal inflections allow Kirk to hear the barest quaver in McCoy's voice. Kirk's eyes narrow slightly, while Spock's left eyebrow attains new heights. Since Bones is apparently uninjured, he is soaked with someone else's blood. Ice congeals in the pit of the captain's stomach at the realization.
Oh god.
"I'd like to get another look at Chekov, now that I can see my hand in front of my face—"
"Bones," Kirk interrupts, already dreading the doctor's response. "Whose blood is all over your shirt?"
They all already know the answer to his question, but Kirk needs to hear it aloud. McCoy hesitates for a long moment before forcing himself to look up at his friend.
"Giacomo's," Bones confesses, his voice flat with defeat. He wearily runs a broad hand through his sweat-dampened hair. "He's dead, Jim. I tried…wasn't much I could do…maybe if I'd been on the Enterprise. Hell, I don't know."
Kirk turns away to face the hallway, and closes his eyes briefly against the heavy weight of yet another death sinking onto his conscience. "How?" he forces out from a clenched jaw.
"Massive trauma. He bled out before I could do anything. Before they would let me do anything," The doctor says bitterly, lip curling contemptuously. "Though I think that was the intent."
Metal rattles in protest as Kirk's hands convulsively tense into fists on the bars.
"The intent, Doctor?" Spock asks, his Vulcan monotone seeming lively in comparison to McCoy's speech. Kirk can practically hear his eyebrows rising in morbid curiosity, before he forces himself to remember that Vulcans don't do morbid. "You believe they meant to kill?"
His irreverent (to human ears) inflection does nothing to improve McCoy's mood. The doctor's eyes flash dangerously. "Oh yes, Spock," he snarls, furious passion slowly creeping into his voice. "Even if I'd had time, if I was in Sickbay with nurses and equipment, the chances would have been small. Not impossible, but small. They didn't let me do anything until he was too far gone… and they knew it. "
Sensing the impending storm, Kirk silences his first officer with a look and draws the doctor's attention to himself. "Bones, what happened?"
"It was bad, Jim," Bones says, his eyes suddenly pleading. The captain's decision is obvious--Kirk made poor Chekov talk and Bones damn well would too. He needs to know what happened to Giacomo. Killing him very much escalated the seriousness of the entire group's situation. Slightly disgusted with how much the last thought sounded like Spock, Kirk grits his teeth and fixes his friend with a resolute blue stare.
McCoy recognizes defeat and passes a hand across his eyes wearily. As he does so the blue sleeve of his uniform creeps slightly upward to reveal raw, bloody skin around his wrist. He listlessly notes the injury before beginning to speak.
"They cuffed me and marched down a ways to another room. It had some kind of privacy field up, so you couldn't hear anything going in or out. They asked if I was the doctor and I told them to go to hell, which got me the lip. Then they sprung Giacomo on me…he was conscious at first." McCoy swallows hard to maintain control over his voice. "All I could do was stand there, watchin' him suffer and bleed. Then they shoved me in there and uncuffed my hands and said 'go ahead, try to save him'. But it was already too late. He died in my hands, Jim..."
Horrified silence descends over the group. Even Kirk cannot think of anything to say. McCoy folds his arms across his chest in a parody of his usual stance on the bridge, his shoulders slumped and eyes on the floor. The movement causes the awful stain across his abdomen to shimmer wetly in the cold morning light. There is a hollow, yet guilt-ridden look about his eyes that frightens Kirk more than anything. He has seen McCoy lose patients before, but never in such a cruelly personal manner.
After a moment, McCoy straightens slightly. It physically pains Kirk to watch his friend pull himself to back to some semblance of togetherness. His gaze flits to Chekov, who has been watching the three senior officers with wide frightened eyes. "Now, Captain, I should see to the living."
Kirk nods numbly, too many emotions coursing through his drained psyche to even begin to register. Horror and rage at one of his crewmen being left to suffer and die. Fear that one of them will be next. Relief that McCoy is uninjured physically. Concern for his friend's well-being. Awful, all-consuming guilt at placing them all into this situation to begin with.
Unable to keep still, Kirk begins to pace again. Spock stands precisely at the midpoint of his path, his hands clasped behind his ramrod-straight back. He knows better than to say anything while the captain is so obviously flustered. Kirk looks over to the other end of the cell periodically, where McCoy is carefully examining Chekov. It's a painful process, as the kid's black undershirt has stuck to any open wounds. Kirk cannot help being slightly amused. Bones is a heck of a lot nicer to Chekov than he ever was to Jim after Jim got himself beaten up.
"What d'you make of all this, Spock?"
The Vulcan weighs his words a moment before responding. "It is difficult to say, Captain. I was under the impression Janusia was a peaceful planet. There must be some logical purpose as to why we are being held, but I cannot fathom what that purpose may be without further information."
"What I don't get," Kirk muses, looking away from the wincing boy and back at his first officer, "Is why they went for Chekov and Giacomo first. Hell, they've got the captain and the first officer of the Federation's flagship and they go after the navigator and an anthropologist? I guess Chekov's got some security clearances, but Giacomo? And why kill him?"
The corners of Spock's mouth turn down ever so slightly as he thinks. "Perhaps he was killed as an example?"
"An example of what?" Kirk counters. "A disinclination to cooperate? They haven't asked us to do anything yet. They didn't even threaten us; just started…doing things."
Stumped, he stops and glances over at Bones and Chekov. He winces sympathetically at the sight. Chekov's bare torso is almost entirely covered by large bruises and raw, red abrasions. Kirk's blood burns as he makes out the very clear imprint of a boot heel near Chekov's sternum. No wonder the kid was having trouble breathing; his ribs probably hurt like hell. His wiry arms were more or less the same. Even his fingers were purple with bruises.
"Bones?"
The doctor glances up at him from his crouch on the floor. "Near as I can tell, a couple of cracked ribs and some broken fingers. All manner of cuts and bruises, and some funny puncture wounds I can't tell you much about."
"You do not vant to know about zhose," Chekov pipes up fervently. McCoy silences him with a glare and continues.
"Except that Giacomo had them too. Long story short, nothing I couldn't fix in an ordinary med bay. They definitely wanted him to live, Jim."
"Fascinating," Spock says. Chekov shoots him an alarmed look while Bones rolls his eyes. Kirk almost manages a chuckle. The navigator glances nervously back at McCoy before addressing Kirk.
"Keptin?" Chekov asks, his accented voice quavering slightly.
Kirk is only half-listening, having already moved on mentally to his discussion with his first officer. "Yeah, Chekov?"
"I remembered from zhe…from before, ser. Zhey…Zhey did ask me sometheeng."
He immediately has Kirk's full attention. "What was it?"
Chekov grimaces reluctantly. "I do not remember exactly, ser. Zhey were hurting me and…it was wery strange. Zhey wanted to know about you, Keptin."
"About me?" Kirk asks incredulously, his mouth suddenly going dry. Though the memories are dimmed by a haze of rage, he suddenly remembers hearing Chekov's terrified refusal to do something under threat of torture. "What about me, Ensign?"
The kid shivers. "I…I do not remember, ser. Ozzer zhan it was about you."
The little hairs on the back of Kirk's neck prickle and rise again as apprehension squeezes at his lungs. He exchanges surprised looks with Bones and Spock. McCoy has retreated behind one of his inscrutable doctor's expressions, but Kirk can see real fear in his eyes. The Vulcan's concern manifests itself much more obviously than usual in the form of slightly narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow.
"So they aren't interested in the ship or tactical information, but they're interested in me?"
"I don't like where this is going, Jim," McCoy growls.
"Yeah, you and me both," Kirk replies.
"I must agree with the doctor," Spock says, "Ensign Chekov's observation is most alarming."
However, further discussion is precluded by the ominous clang of the far door and heavy footsteps. Three pairs of concerned eyes instantly skewer the captain. Trying to ignore Bones' particularly grim expression, Kirk forces himself to swallow his rising fear and look outside the cell.
Big, Ugly, and Dopey are back, and their mean red eyes are glowering through the bars directly at him.