Jim moaned pitifully under his breath, his lips beginning to tinge blue.

"…Y'didn't pick anything up…?"

McCoy's head shot down to face the pale kid that was somehow clinging onto consciousness.

"Pick what up? What?" but the blonde's expression just fell slack as he succumbed into unconsciousness, "Jim! Pick up what? Jim!"

….

"He's in shock, pulse 150, BP 100 over 60."

"His body is littered with scars; what the hell happened down there?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. He's tight-lipped about it. He asked about my scanner picking something up, but he passed out."

"Think it's got something to do with it?"

"I'm betting my life on it. Scanner picked up nothing, so we'll have to try something else."

"Could have been hallucinated, what with his mental state and all."

"I don't know, M'Benga, he seemed pretty damn serious about it."

McCoy waited until the hoverbed turned the corner into sickbay before ordering his demands;

"Get me a full body scan, a head CT and a blood draw. Keep him on oxygen and find out if any of the scars have been infected. They're still pretty new and he didn't go into shock for the hell of it."

A blonde nurse appeared from his side and glanced up at the monitors seconds before McCoy did.

"His pulse is still rapid, we should shock him before we do anything else."

McCoy frowned for a few seconds but nodded his agreement. "Do it."

Jim's body had its chance to try and correct itself, and now McCoy had to fix it for him. Again.

Gaaasp!

A screeching racket that sounded like alarms hammered his ear canals.

Jim's eyes shot open the millisecond he returned to consciousness, his brain firing a million signals for danger.

Everywhere he looked was confined by spherical white walls, the enclosed structure nose-to-nose with him, while the constant screeching whirring and beeping resounded in his ears.

His heart was thrumming away in his chest, panic reaching his throat before he could even figure out what was happening.

What the hell is happening what the hell is happening what the fuck what the fuck where the hell am I they've got me they've got me they've got me—

A familiar static voice broke through the surrounding noise;

"Jim? It's alright, you're just gettin' a scan," the southern voice failed to reassure him, his breaths still coming in rapid gasps. "You're on the Enterprise, you're safe."

The voice derived from above him, so apparently there were speakers somewhere, regardless of the fact there was just solid white metal staring him in the face.

All he could see was metal.

His fight-or-flight responses were on fire, but he couldn't move.

"I need you to calm down for me, Jim, you're hyperventilating. Try n' breathe real slow for me."

God knows what the man was expecting of him, but Jim couldn't stop himself from his rapid wheezing at this point. His body had taken over from his mind and it wasn't listening to him.

Among the constant screeching of whatever machine he was inside of, a new, more distant siren started blaring from somewhere he couldn't put his finger on.

He wanted out.

Out out out out out out out—

Clunk.

As if by magic, the solid piece of metal he was lying on vibrated while the enclosed space started moving backwards, until finally the structure was out of sight, and a much larger room came into view.

He still couldn't move though, and his spiral into panic wasn't alleviated at all by his newfound freedom, in fact he was sure the world was spinning even more.

It was just then that he realised he was no longer in his Captain's yellows. Despite the fact he couldn't move his head, he recognised the thin flimsy material of sickbay's gowns any day.

As he loudly wheezed in another breath, he noticed several people were standing around him, along with Bones, the man that had been trying and failing to get him to calm down.

Bones jumped to his side the second he was out of the machine, hands flying over him in places Jim couldn't pinpoint due to his blurring vision.

Whatever he was doing was clearly helping though, as his limbs suddenly began to feel lighter and was able to move them.

Bones' face soon drifted into view above him.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's alright," he soothed, "I've taken the restraints off, you're fine. Just breathe, Jim, it's alright."

Restraints? So, that's why he couldn't move his limbs…

The confusion in his face must have been obvious as Bones continued;

"Yeah, I didn't know how you were going to wake up," then he paused, his eyes drifting away as his mind wandered in thought, "Christine, did those scans come through?"

Jim blinked up at him, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach telling him he'd had to go through the whole ordeal again awake.

"Yep, we have six images but the third one is a little blurred."

Bones nodded towards her and looked back down at Jim with a faint comforting smile, "I'll be right back."

Jim only glanced away, waiting for Bones to leave before he attempted to take stock of himself; a little easier now that his breathing was slowly easing back into normality.

The last thing he remembered before waking up here was showering in his quarters. Pike had yelled at him for staying in the shower for too long and wasting water, but he was too lightheaded to form a reply that would be heard over the sound of rushing water. Then it just went black.

And he woke up here.

"Jim?"

His head automatically turned at the voice, finding Bones striding back over to him, PADD clutched in hand.

Bones took his attention as acknowledgement and turned his PADD around, so the blonde could see.

"Scans came back completely clear."

Jim squinted at the screen, deciding to continue remaining quiet and looked away to his hands.

He heard an exasperated sigh from his doctor beside him.

"Jim, you got me worryin' about something before you passed out; about picking something up on my scanners. What were you talkin' about?"

Jim's eyes didn't move away from his hands. Where was Pike? Was he still angry?

"Use your words, Jim. Talk to me."

Was he gonna be banned from using water? Was that even allowed?

Would he tell the other admirals?

"Jim, for the love of god I'm gonna cook up a truth serum in a minute. Tell. Me. What. You Meant."

It'll be fine if I'm restricted from water for a while. I'm…used to it. I'm used to it.

"For the love of … oh. Ah. Well, something's got you stressed out, huh? Your heart's beginning to get itself another work out."

Would Pike really do that to me? He already knows what happened before, would he risk bringing that back to me? Maybe he would defend my case…

"Welp, I'm gonna stand here all day, Jim. That metal slate looks pretty uncomfortable though, it's unfortunate that you'll be staying there until you tell me."

Stop. Stop, I'm not gonna tell you shit, Bones. Go away.

You don't need to know. If you knew… I let down Pike.

Jim peeked up at the sound of a stool being dragged across the room, not realising Bones had swiftly left to grab a chair; plonking it next to him and glaring at him intimidatingly.

"So?"

It took every ounce of Jim's being not to scoff as he turned away, resuming his exhilarating hand-watching activity.

The sight of his fingers sprawled out on the blanket below was magnificent, electrifying even, nothing in the world could distract him from watching his—

"I'm going to shoot you with stimulants until you give me an answer."

He's bluffing.

Speaking of sight; the vision in his left eye still hadn't come back yet.

What was it Ruri said? They were going to keep that implant in his head until he came back to hear their decision?

Well, that wasn't very practical. What's he supposed to do in the meantime?

He can't just sit and listen to Bones moan all the—pshhht!

Jim flinched wildly, thrashing at the stinging that unexpectedly made itself known to his neck, before locking eyes with Bones.

"Don't tell me you didn't see that coming, you heard what I said," then a pause… "You can hear me, right?"

Deciding that he didn't want to endure some unnecessary hearing tests, he glanced up at his unrelenting, irritating, merciless doctor and nodded briefly, before staring down at his hands again.

Bones was an asshole.

"So, you're choosing to ignore me on purpose, huh?"

Maybe if he didn't have an implant shoved into his head, he'd be paying more attention to Bones right now.

The fact his vision was impaired was the only reason why he didn't see the damn hypo coming.

"Well, that's just fine. That's real good, Jim, ignoring your chief medical officer, especially since you're a captain and all."

You're not winning this fight, Bones.

If this even is a fight. I just don't want to talk to you. Or anyone for that matter.

"I'll just have to make a medical log on your profile."

This is so ridiculous…

"Don't make me do this, Jim."

It's either this, or Bones unleashes examination hell onto me for having something implanted in my head. Not to mention my vision's impaired. I'd have a medical log anyway.

"Alright, suit yourself, you idiot."

Grinding noises met his ears as the stool behind him was dragged away, Bones undoubtedly really planning to write a report on him.

"Get him on a biobed in sickbay," Bones shouted as he left.

He really wanted some water.

"God damn idiot," McCoy grumbled to himself, hitting open the doors to the main area of sickbay with his elbows and striding into the quiet room, "Only gives a damn about himself and no-one else."

Stomping straight over to his office, he ignored the staff that attempted to greet him and let the door slide shut without a word.

"If he did give a damn about himself he'd let a damn doctor help."

With an exasperated sigh, he slumped back onto the sofa and threw his head back.

There was so much he needed to know about what happened with Kirk, but the idiot wouldn't even open his mouth; a worrying conclusion considering how talkative he usually was.

He'd threatened Kirk with writing up a report for refusing medical treatment under orders, but not even that would sway him.

McCoy wasn't going to write a report.

No.

He respected Jim too much for that. He just wanted an excuse to get out the room.

Pike was still on board, though, staying in guest quarters. It could be possible to get Pike to convince Jim to speak. If Pike knew, then soon enough so would McCoy.

And Pike was not one to rebel under orders.

"Computer, establish audio-visual transmission with Christopher Pike, guest quarters 2651."

"Link establishing…"

McCoy rubbed his hands across his face while waiting, until finally a hologram flashed up in the middle of the room.

Pike looked as tired as he was, though probably not for the same reasons. Yet.

"Doctor McCoy," he greeted seeming to be distracted by something else around the room, "What can I do for you?"

McCoy wondered if he should be calling an admiral while sitting slouched on his sofa when on duty, but hell, he couldn't find the energy to make the trip over there.

"Uh…it's about Jim, sir."

That drew the admiral's attention back to face hologram-McCoy.

"Is he alright?"

"Yeah, he's fine. For the most part. He's hiding something and won't talk. In fact, not a single damn word has been uttered out of his mouth since he woke up."

Pike nodded slowly, glancing off to the side and pulling a PADD into view.

"And you're coming to me to get him to talk?"

McCoy shrugged, "If you can…"

Pike pursed his lips together and released a loud sigh, leaning back on the chair he was sitting on.

"Alright. I'll do what I can, McCoy, but it'll have to be tomorrow," he explained, his eyes drifting off to the side again, "I'm currently in the middle of a meeting with the board—or I was, until you called me."

McCoy's heart stuttered for a second at the realisation, "Yeah, of course. Sorry."

The admiral merely shrugged and tossed his PADD to the side.

"Just be stern with him; don't let him turn the conversation into a joke because then he gets his own way."

"Yeah, yeah."

If I can make the conversation more than one-sided.

"I'll see you tomorrow, McCoy."

McCoy nodded curtly, "Sir."

The transmission flickered and faded away, leaving McCoy half-slumped on his sofa, no better than he was when he first walked in.

McCoy wasn't even able to walk through one set of sliding doors before his communicator went off again.

Perhaps if he proclaimed himself as off-duty, all the crew-members would leave him alone.

He stuffed his hand into his pocket and pulled out the communicator, swinging it open and leaning against the wall.

"McCoy here."

"Sir, this is the medbay, Kirk's got himself into a frenzy and we can't calm him down."

Christ, not again.

Holding back alarm and setting off to storm down the rest of the corridors, he groused, "Have you never heard of sedatives?"

"Don't you think we've tried? He's manic, screaming nonsense at us about experimenting on him and throwing every piece of equipment he can get his hands on!"

Experimenting?

What the hell?

"I'm on my way. Get everyone else out the room and seal him in there."

The priority was to make sure no-one else got hurt with Jim's violent tirades. He'd seen sharp knives and bottled hyposprays the last time he was in the room.

"Yes sir. But what about Kirk?"

Damn it.

He clenched his jaw, "If there's no way in hell you can calm him down, then we'll just have to fix the damage once I get there," he inhaled deeply, "If he's attackin' you 'cause he thinks you're gonna hurt him, chances are he'll stop once he realises you can't get in, and he can't get out."

There was no reply, simply the unsettling sound of static as the transmission was cut off.

Grunting, McCoy thrust his communicator back into his pocket and picked up the pace, sprinting the rest of the way to the entrance of sickbay.

The minute McCoy burst through the doors to sickbay, it was obvious which room they had placed Jim in by the commotion outside one of the room entrances.

At least six medical staff members were huddled together, everyone with tricorders and PADDs galore, peeking through the glass window every now and then as if Jim was a damned zoo exhibition.

He strode over with intent, nodding towards one of the fear-struck nurses, "Hey, what the hell happened?"

She looked confused, shaking her head and pointing at the window, "He just went nuts, he's still at it."

McCoy recognised the voice, "You're the one who called, huh? Were you in there with him? What did he say?"

The nurse shrugged, "Accused us of attempting to experiment on him."

Oh, yeah, she already said.

He marched towards the window, peering through to locate Jim, "He's still at it now?"

Sure enough, Jim was hurling medical equipment across the room, screaming incoherently while hypos and small tools that once lived in trays were scattered across the floor.

"Okay," he had seen enough, "Keep the privacy curtains down, and don't let anyone in," he ordered, flicking on a wall switch and watching the windows form an opaque shield.

The nurse patted his shoulder for attention, "You can't go in there on your own while he's like that!"

McCoy tugged her hand away from him, scowling and striding backwards towards the door while asserting, "Can't I?"

Jim glanced up at the captor that had obviously come to punish him for making so much noise.

The man in white scrubs approached him slowly, gradually raising his hands in submission, evidently thinking he can trick him; or waiting until he's close enough before striking.

"Hey, Jim, it's just me," his captor tried, continuing to step forward while he stepped back, "I'm not gonna do anything, just wanna sit down and talk, yeah?"

Jim shook his head wildly; they were waiting to get him off guard. He was never off guard. He was waiting for them to attack.

He briefly glanced past the man to see that the windows everyone was taunting him through were now opaque. Meaning he couldn't see anything but the four corners of this experimentation chamber.

"Now, c'mon, Jim, just sit down on that bed so we can have a talk 'bout what's scaring you,"

Jim shook his head again.

So you can experiment on me again? Get out.

He briefly glimpsed down at a scalpel on the floor, eyes snapping back up to the other man to make sure he made no sudden moves.

Slowly, but surely, he knelt to the cold tiled ground, eyes still locked onto the man who was watching him too, as he picked up the knife and stood back up onto his feet again.

Regardless of the fact he was now wielding a sharp object, the other man's expression was still concerned, and he hadn't attempted to lash out yet.

Jim took a step back, the other man watching him carefully.

"What'cha plan on doing with that, Jim?"

He glanced down at the scalpel in his hands, fingers trembling for some godforsaken reason he couldn't figure out.

Subconsciously trying to keep his distance with the man, Jim continued to step back, still observing the instrument clutched between his fingers…

…Until his legs knocked into something solid—instantaneously an alarm sounded, deafening, reverberating around the room—he jumped, impulsively dropping the scalpel to the floor.

His eyes darted around the room, trying to find where it was coming from.

When he looked back, the man had gone.

He spun in a circle; where had the man gone?

Then the alarm came to an abrupt halt.

"It's alright," the voice of the man said again, Jim instantly spinning round to face its location—he was standing next to the experimentation equipment, "I've silenced the alarm, it's alright, Jim."

He shook his head.

No.

This man was not his friend.

He was not trying to help him.

His body shivered, arms trembling, legs wobbling—he was sure he was going to collapse, so instinctively he stepped backwards towards the solid object that his legs knocked into earlier, to help keep him upright.

But instead he found himself sliding onto it, sitting on it, as if he were a willing participant of his own torture.

At least now, he was slightly safer, sitting on the table, rather than lying on the floor.

Clearly, he was still at an advantage, as the cult leader; at least that's who he assumed the man was, still didn't jump on him.

For a while, Jim and the other man just stared at each other, for what felt like minutes. Neither man would dare to look away from each other.

Until finally, the other man spoke up, taking a step forward, "I want you to do something for me, alright?"

Jim remained frozen to the spot, unable to move, only glaring at the man, trembling growing intense as the man stepped closer to the table he was sitting on.

"You wonderin' why you feelin' so dizzy? You feel how fast you're breathin'?"

The captor's accent was becoming more pronounced now, Jim nervously shuffled further and further back onto the table as the man stepped closer.

After a moment…he realised that was what he wanted.

He was now sitting upright in the middle of the experimentation table, his legs laying awkwardly in front of him nonetheless, but he was still right where they wanted him.

No doubt, they will try to get him to lie down on it next.

Suddenly—his breath hitched in his throat.

His eyes grew wide, startled, instantly he began flailing, legs kicking around the table, hands grasping at his throat.

At that moment, he didn't care about his captor anymore; he just noticed how he couldn't get any air in his lungs. He sucked in air as fast as he could, but nothing seemed to be working.

It took mere seconds for his vision to fade into white, while he continued to choke and gag with his fingers clawing at his neck, begging his lungs to actually do something.

Vaguely, he felt a hand press firmly on his chest—and he was lying down now—on the table, right where they wanted him.

It was a trap. The whole thing was a trap. Now they could do whatever they wanted to him.

But that was at the back of his mind, he was still suffocating, and he was terrified.

He was Jim Kirk, and he was terrified.

Seconds later, he vaguely felt the touch of a hand at his chin, then something shoved onto his face, covering his mouth and nose, that was clearly there to make things worse, to make him pass out.

He struggled, trying desperately to get the man's hand off of him, all while being suffocated by his own body. His own body hated him; was rebelling against him.

He was so weak…

So tired…

It didn't matter anymore.

Jim shut his eyes.

Everything was okay.

He was so weak.

His arms and legs became limp, sprawled out on the table loosely.

Nothing felt real.

The world became a dream, and he lost all his energy.

His captor had won, but that was okay.

McCoy stood protectively over Jim, glaring worriedly over at the biobed monitors, hoping that the new medication introduced through the mask would bring back up the O2 stats and lower his rapid heartrate.

He knew Jim was going to pass out soon from the second his legs had collided with the biobed, triggering a connection with technology that alerted the whole room of his failing stats as the monitors came to life.

Understandably it had scared the kid though, so he had silenced it and tried to get Jim to slow his breathing down.

Regardless, whether for good or for bad, his body had caught up with him, finding it difficult to continue until he finally began to pass out.

And now McCoy was left standing here, at Jim's bedside, tipping his chin up and pressing a mask over his face. It was a sedative, above all things. He didn't need more O2; he needed to calm down.

McCoy let out a quiet sigh of relief when the flashing red numbers turned orange, and then quickly to green.

He would have to avoid hyposprays for a while, the kid seemed absolutely terrified of them. Using masks for anything other than anaesthesia was extremely old-school…but he was willing to compromise to keep Jim happy.

Or, as happy as was possible in his state.

What the hell had happened down there?

Why wouldn't Jim say anything?

Beep-beep-beep….beep-beep-beep…..beep-beep-beep…..

The rhythm of three was the entirety of Jim's world for a few minutes.

His whole body was weighed down, his arms limp and unmoving by his sides, as if they were not really attached to his body.

Beep-beep-beep….beep-beep-beep…..beep-beep-beep…..

He cracked open an eye, struggling to do so.

Everything was still black.

For a second, he panicked.

Then he remembered.

I'm blind in one eye.

With a stressed sigh, he shut the offending eye and grimaced, hating how tired and weak he felt.

What happened?

"Hey, kid."

After a moment, Jim opened the other eye, frowning as confusion filled his gut when he saw that Bones was leaning over him.

"How you feelin'?"

He dropped his head to the side, trying to locate his unattached arms.

They were there, just didn't seem to want to move. An IV tube was taped down to the back of his hand, but mercifully he had not been restrained.

"You gonna talk to me today?"

His head swung back to the centre again, eyes glazing over as fatigue hit him hard.

Bones was worlds away.

When it was clear that Jim still wasn't talking, Bones gave a half-hearted sigh and stood back, allowing him the view of the ceiling.

"Give him one mg of epinephrine," Jim heard from behind him, as he shut his eyes to go back to sleep.

Or that was his plan, anyway.

Snapping open his eyes, Jim inhaled deeply as a burst of adrenaline flooded through his veins.

A hand grasped his wrist, "It's alright, it's alright," Bones soothed, grip unrelenting, "Don't you go crazy on me again, you hear?"

Jim frowned, glancing up at McCoy questionably.

The older man's frown lines became deeper than his, "You don't remember? Well of course you won't, you don't tell me anything," he sighed, releasing his grip on Jim's wrist and stalking away.

Jim was left eying the tube in his hand, blinking rapidly to wake himself up a bit more.

Perhaps if he could take it out…

Slap!

"Hey, no touching," McCoy grasped both his wrists and pried them away from each other, "You're keepin' that in or you go to sleep again. Your choice."

Jim automatically put on his best pouting face, despite the fact he wasn't feeling playful at all; just miserable and confused.

McCoy smiled slightly, before moving away again to do something else.

Watching Bones do whatever it was he was doing with his PADD at the foot of his bed, Jim couldn't help but wonder what was going on with Ruri and Cadel back down on the planet?

Were they still in orbit?

Was Starfleet getting involved?

Well…they couldn't get involved, because they didn't know what had happened. Only that Jim had turned up on the transporter pad littered with scars.

"I know talkin' to you is like talkin' to a damned brick wall, but I'm gonna tête-à-tête anyway," Bones announced, tossing the PADD onto Jim's biobed and striding over to his side, "Pike came to see you while you were sleeping, heard the news of your outburst and all."

Outburst?

"Stayed with you, for like, an hour, before I managed to chase him back off to his quarters again."

Jim still refused to make eye-contact.

"Spock asked for an update, then offered to be like, a body guard. So that was weird."

Jim snorted despite himself, slightly annoyed that he'd broken his cold-shoulder profile.

Bones grinned widely at him, "Aha. So you do still have a sense of humour, huh? God help me."

Jim shrugged, rubbing his hands over his eyes and sighing in fatigue. He abruptly stopped when he felt Bones' finger tapping on his arm.

He peeked through his fingers and scowled.

"So?" he teased, tapping on Jim's forearm, right over the scars, "You gonna tell me how you got these?"

With another exasperated sigh, Jim shut his eyes again, willing for the man to go away.

Equally, he heard Bones sigh in frustration as well, before the tapping stopped and felt his presence leave.

His eyes flew open;

"Wait," he groused out before he could stop himself, voice raw from not being used for so long.

Bones spun back around, facing him with wide surprised eyes.

"I uh...I need to tell you something."

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