A/N: *grovel* I am appalled and so sorry it's taken this long to update! I'm busy and studying for entrance exams...blah. Many thanks to the five of you who reviewed: Musingsage, VikingShadow, JFarrell, CaptCow and -NightRise-! Without further ado...
disclaimer: I don't own anything. Sad.
Seventh Circle
Chapter 8
A shrill squeal crawls up from the floor and into his ear, where it eats mercilessly into his brain. Waves of gray mist roll across his hazy vision. Another jolt or two to his throbbing arms and he is conscious enough to realize the squeal is coming from his own boots as they are dragged across the floor. The irritating noise fades like snow into fog as his head lolls backwards again.
They dump Kirk unceremoniously on the floor of the cell. He groans as the impact jostles his aching body. Someone catches his head before it can slam into the hard floor and lowers it gently. The concerned face of Leonard McCoy, closely followed by that of Pavel Chekov, swims into focus above him. Kirk blinks. Someone is missing. Spock. Before Kirk can form the words to ask about the Vulcan, their faces dissolve into mist.
"Keptin?" a whispered voice, thin with fear, bored its way into Kirk's numbed brain. "Keptin?" Hesitant hands shook his arm. "Keptin, please!" Chekov's voice. "Zhere is someone watching us…zhey hawe red eyes-"
Hands shake his arm. "Jim? Jim?"
Kirk opens his eyes, and is confused to see McCoy, not Chekov, shaking him gently. Bones looks uncharacteristically relieved. Kirk blinks as he tries to reassert some control over his vision. Chekov's pale face joins the doctor's above him.
The ensign cocks his head appraisingly. "He does not look so good, ser."
"Neither do you," Bones grumbles, shooing Chekov out of his way with a gesture.
The doctor frowns down at Kirk, trained eyes sweeping over his prone form. The frown deepens as he spots the two holes charred into the gold fabric of his uniform by the agonizer. Kirk stubbornly attempts to push himself up onto one elbow, gasping as the cell walls begin to spin as he lifts his head. McCoy rolls his eyes and shoves him back to the floor.
"Let that be a lesson to you to just lie there for a while."
"Spock?" Kirk finally manages to croak. He closes his eyes as the room whirls drunkenly. The doctor gently runs his hands over Kirk's skull, feeling for injuries.
"Spock's been gone a couple of hours," Bones replies as he works. He snaps his fingers in front of Kirk's nose to get his attention. The captain's blue eyes open with obvious reluctance. "They hit you on that thick head?"
"No, the wall did," Kirk mumbles. Bones' probing fingers have finished with the lump on the back of his skull and moved on to the hypo mark on his neck. He weakly tries to push the doctor's hand away. "Lemme 'lone. I'm okay."
"Shut up and hold still," McCoy growls.
Bones' fingers tug at his eyelids gently. "Gerroff Bones…" he groans, trying and failing to roll away from the doctor. Kirk winces as a bright light lances into one eye. He dazedly reaches up to bat it away, missing by several centimeters. Scowling, he swipes at it again, but McCoy intercepts his hand with practiced ease and pushes it down to Kirk's chest. He shines the light into Kirk's other eye without missing a beat.
"Dammit Bones…I'm fine," the captain protests. "Look…"
"Dunno what they drugged you with," McCoy sighs, firmly pressing Jim back to the floor for the second time. "But there's not much I can do about it. Do yourself a favor, Jim, and just pass out."
Kirk's head rolls limply to the side again as he does just that.
"Keptin! Please!" the boy's voice was nearly frantic.
The floor was cold and clammy against his warm cheek. Startled by the sudden sensation, Kirk awoke fully with a jolt. What? Why was he on the floor?
"What…Chekov?" he managed to groan as his youngest officer's face resolved out of the too-bright light. His head simultaneously throbbed and felt light. His hand brushed something soft as he slowly pulled himself into a sitting position. Bones was sprawled beside him, stirring feebly. Spock lay motionless nearby. Kirk could see green blood oozing from beneath his dark hair.
"Sir…" Giacomo's voice, fraught with panic yanked Kirk's attention away from his injured first officer. He pointed with a trembling hand wordlessly to something behind Kirk. The captain turned.
A cluster of burly, crimson-eyed aliens was staring back at him. Kirk's eyes narrowed to icy slits. A barrier of metal bars separated them from the aliens. A cell.
They were in a cell.
Reality crashed into him like a thunderbolt. They were prisoners. Kirk's blood began to burn. He could feel Chekov and Giacomo's eyes boring into him, waiting for him to do something. The captain stood slowly and straightened to his full height. Despite being wide-eyed with fear, Chekov followed his lead and straightened up beside his captain. He shot the hesitant, trembling lieutenant a look of Slavic disapproval that Kirk would have found hilarious in a less dire situation. Behind them, he could hear muttered cursing as Bones found the injured Vulcan.
"I am Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation starship Enterprise. What gives you the right to hold me and my men?"
Instead of an answer, one of them keyed the lock. Before Kirk could move, one of them had seized Chekov by the collar of his uniform and dragged the terrified boy bodily from the cell. Kirk flung himself after the ensign—
He wakes in a chiaroscuro world, lying on his side at the edge of a pool of golden light surrounded by blackness. His head, blessedly clear, is pillowed on one outstretched arm. Only his eyes move as he takes stock of the cell. McCoy leans bare-armed against the wall nearby, his head nodding slightly as he dozes. His bloodied blue uniform lies discarded in the far corner of the room. Ensign Chekov has curled himself into a miserable ball next to the doctor. What little of his skin the captain can make out is still far too pale. Spock is nowhere to be seen.
Kirk finally bites the bullet and rolls onto his back. He can't help groaning as shooting pains slice through his battered body (particularly his shoulders) as he moves. He lies there for a moment, panting. Bones opens his eyes at the sound.
"Welcome back," he drawls, offering Kirk an attempt at a smile and a hand up. "I was wondering when you'd come 'round."
"How long was I out?" Kirk asks, grimacing with pain as the doctor helps haul him into a sitting position against the wall. He leans against the damp stone with relief.
"Long enough you'll get mad if I tell you," Bones replies evasively.
Kirk rolls his eyes. It's the only appropriate gesture he can think of that does not require painful movement. The undertone of frustration in his friend's voice is the only thing keeping Kirk from telling him off immediately for the non-answer. Before he can question the doctor further, Bones hands him a partially-filled container of water.
"It came while you were out," he explains. He notices Kirk's glance at Chekov and switches to his strict doctor-patient tone. "Drink it. I've had some and so has Chekov, so we can skip the part where you go all noble and self-sacrificing on me and refuse."
"Am I that predictable?" Kirk asks, managing a half-smile. The water feels wonderfully cool on his rough throat as he sips it.
"Yep, y'are. All of it, Jim. "
Kirk obediently (gratefully) drains the water and sets down the empty container. Bones is eyeing him, looking like he is about to ask a question. There is only one thing he would possibly ask about, and Kirk doesn't want to think about it. He rubs the stinging agonizer burns on his chest and hastily changes the subject. "How long has Spock been gone?"
The doctor raises an eyebrow slightly, but answers the question. "It's been a while…longer than you or Chekov."
Kirk's heart sinks. "Vulcans can tolerate more pain than humans though, right?" he asks, wishing he could somehow find the thought comforting.
"Yeah, they can. But that's what worries me," Bones replies grimly. Kirk raises a questioning eyebrow. "It takes some doing to make you yell like that, Jim."
"Thanks, Bones," Jim says ruefully, making a face.
"I don't want to know what they've cooked up for the hobgoblin."
Neither of them said anything for a few moments. Kirk is reminded of his own hellish hours spent waiting for Chekov, waiting for McCoy. It suddenly dawns on him that McCoy has just gone through the same thing. The waiting was probably even worse for McCoy. Imagining whatever horrors were being wrought upon his friends' bodies; possessing the knowledge and the skill to help them, yet being absolutely powerless to do so... Kirk shivers and breaks the silence. "This is some twisted shit, Bones."
"Yeah," the doctor laconically agrees. "I'm gonna be dreamin' about Giacomo for a while," he admits. "You sure you're okay?"
He studies Jim for a moment, and Kirk realizes McCoy is trying again to get him to talk about what happened with Lilith. Neither Jim nor Captain Kirk feels like discussing it yet. "I've been worse."
"Yeah, I know," McCoy retorts, his eyes crinkled slightly with concern but not questioning Kirk further. The ever-practical doctor takes a seat on Jim's free side and leans back against the wall. "Well then I'm gonna finish my nap. Something tells me that between the three of you, I'm gonna need it."
Kirk sighs as his friend closes his eyes. The conversation with McCoy was his only distraction, the only thing keeping him from thinking about the fact that his first officer is being tortured or that Giacomo is dead or that any of the horrible things that have happened to them are all entirely his fault. He has managed to fend off Bones' questions for now, but he knows similar tactics will not work on Spock. Eventually Kirk will have to tell his first officer and CMO something about his session with Lilith. The mere thought of her makes his skin crawl.
Two days gone and they are no closer to getting out of this mess. The communicator doesn't count. Neither does anything Lilith supposedly revealed. He rubs the agonizer wounds on his chest absently. If anything, his session with the teal-skinned woman created more questions than it answered. He cannot fathom why she is so interested in him or what she wants with his men. Until he can do so, he has nothing. Even James T. Kirk can't bluff without knowing what to bluff.
Attempting to distract himself from his own helpless frustration, Kirk glances down at Chekov. The kid's face is to the wall, but he is definitely shivering again. Kirk sighs and begins the arduous task of removing his gold uniform. It's difficult, as he can barely stand to move his shoulders at all and he's reluctant to disturb Bones for assistance. Swearing through gritted teeth, he finally emerges from the fabric and drapes it over the shivering teenager. Maybe it's his imagination, but Chekov shakes a little less violently. Kirk's low spirits lift slightly at the small victory.
No, they aren't licked yet. He realizes he is being childish about Lilith and her disturbing interest because telling Bones and Spock about it forces him to acknowledge it; to accept it as real. Kirk settles against the wall as comfortably as he can manage and begins to replay their conversation in his head. Maybe tomorrow one of them will be able to put the pieces together.
A/N: Kirk needed a breather. Especially given NEXT chapter! I feel bad for leaving you all hanging soooo long, so nice people who review get more than an e-cookie: they get an excerpt of the next chapter.