McCoy awoke, overcome with dread even before he took in his stark surroundings. He squinted against the searing bright light, his skin prickling upon seeing the bleak cell holding Spock and himself. The Vulcan officer hovered over him as he lay on some sort of flat surface. It took McCoy by surprise to be the recipient of such concern, as Spock hovered much like he would hover over an injured Jim. Also disconcerting were the tattered uniform of the Vulcan and green blood and lacerations primarily covering his torso. Unable to make sense of anything, he fell back into old patterns, avoiding any thought of the one person who was not with them.
"Let me guess," McCoy muttered. "I'm not Dorothy, you're not Toto, and I'm not wearing a pair of sparkling ruby slippers."
Spock's eyebrows raised to his hairline.
"The Wizard of Oz?" McCoy groaned, rubbing his injured hand lightly. It was bandaged and still sore. He reached for his backside next, noting the cold, hard surface of the bench underneath him and every single aching muscle of his body - but at least he was no longer wheezing. He reasoned that somehow, Spock had reversed the poison's effects.
Spock leaned forward even more in his chair and peered at McCoy.
"The Emerald City?" McCoy tried again. Maybe the whole green thing would ring a bell.
"Doctor, the antidote has alleviated many of your symptoms, including your elevated body temperature. If I had no insight into your thought processes during stressful situations and was unaware that you are, indeed, concerned about Jim, I would think you to be speaking most incoherently. However, I believe you are making light of our dire situation to avoid discussion of the captain."
"Yeah, you're right." McCoy scowled. "I'm perfectly sane. Oz is a Terran classic. I was merely commenting that we're not on the Enterprise, and you look like you fought a Gorn. Let me see-" McCoy attempted to sit up but Spock's steady hand forced him down.
"Doctor, my wounds are superficial. The poison is being reversed in your system and you are no longer in danger of dying. However, I advise you not to attempt to stand yet. The more pressing matter is this: they preferred to keep us here to administer the antidote and ensure Jim's cooperation."
McCoy clenched his fists at his side. "Spock, please tell me he hasn't..."
"I have not heard, doctor, although they mentioned they were preparing him."
"If they lay a hand on him," McCoy threatened.
"Dr. McCoy, you have received two doses of the antidote but you must remain calm in order for them to finish the process," Spock paused. "I have also pleaded our case, and I expect them to heed some of my logic."
"Your logic?" McCoy rubbed his forehead, which continued to ache as before.
"I wish for us to remain here and extract Jim from their hands before any damage is done. I suspect the captain will not cooperate willingly, despite the pull of the snakes. I offered to assist if Jim requires...calming." Spock paused. "As you know, doctor, a meld performed incorrectly can cause significant damage, and I have reminded them of this repeatedly. They will be returning shortly. We must devise a way to convince them to allow me to see Jim before they meld with him. I now think that I may be able to at least ward off irreparable damage."
Spock's use of the phrase "pull of the snakes" horrified McCoy. "Pull of the snakes? Are you saying that he felt some kind of connection to them?" He choked back on vomit, the thought of snakes dangling off Jim nauseating to him. "I know I was a little out of it, but I thought he was scared out of his wits, like the rest of...wait...he wasn't, was he? The damn snakes were calming him!"
McCoy's doctor instincts kicked in, searching his memory for other signs he might have missed besides Jim's eerily relaxed state around the snakes. He cursed himself and his distractions, wondering if he could have prevented any or all of their current predicament.
"I was aware but did not completely comprehend what was happening. Lieutenant Uhura observed Jim with the first snake. She also was made aware through that incident that the captain had suffered another tragedy in his childhood."
"Dammit," McCoy hissed quietly. That was what provoked or even enhanced Jim's symptoms. "Do you think they knew? That he's currently vulnerable to whatever powers they have?"
"I do not know. I believe the captain's ability to charm the snake was an indicator, but perhaps..." Spock quietly continued. "Prince Lequa's son touched Jim when he gave him the snake, and then again after the staged rescue in the garden."
The silence thickened as Spock added no further clarification.
"Wait. Oh, no," McCoy widened his eyes. "You're not telling me that a damn kid is this one they're talking about, the one who has touch telepathic abilities with other species? The one who can meld with Jim?
Spock leaned forward once again, hands clasped on his knees. "Doctor, indeed, I am."
"He will fight with his last breath." McCoy said, knowing Jim would rather die than expose all of Tarsus to a child. "He will never let a child experience his memories. Dammit, Spock, Jim was a kid himself! What he went through was atrocious. You can't even imagine. You wouldn't want to. Hell, even I had a difficult time even functioning..."
McCoy's voice faded. Although with a quick glance one would safely assume the Vulcan was unflappable as always, McCoy checked twice. Spock's eyes showed the slightest hint of tension.
"Spock, although it was horrible, Jim survived. He persevered. But now this...a kid? He'll fight. Again, just like he always has."
"I appreciate your sentiments, doctor," Spock said slowly. "However, in regards to the meld, I fear that Jim will have no choice in the matter."
They placed him on a large, hinged chair made of steel in the middle of a white room roughly the size of his quarters. Jim slumped awkwardly, somewhat mortified by the way he couldn't control his unfeeling body. They manipulated his arms while removing his command shirt and black shirt underneath. His socks and boots were next. Though both the metal of the chair and the air temperature in the room were chilling, Jim could not perceive those sensations even with his bare skin exposed.
Without the sense of touch, Jim could not understand how to operate himself in something as elementary as a chair. He would have simply continued to slide off the chair if not for the two Re'an guards who swiftly took charge. They secured him with a variety of metal cuffs and straps, beginning with his thighs and chest.
Jim felt nothing, save his own mouth and eyes. With the sense of touch lost, it would be next to impossible to fight let alone walk. The lack of feeling was altogether too horrific, and Jim was only slightly aware that his eyes had grown wet since his arrival into the white room.
He wiggled his fingers for awhile, for they had only clamped his wrists down but not his fingers. He stared at them, fixated on flexing his fingers for fear of losing motor control. Soon, the surrounding lights intensified. He squeezed his eyes shut against the unwelcome brightness but his attempt to move his head to one side failed. He clenched his teeth, realizing that beyond an estimated centimeter, his head was immovable.
"Are you comfortable, Captain?"
He made some noncommittal grunt in his throat, unwilling to relax his mouth but he did open his eyes. Emotion swelled within him and being one of the only things he could feel, he welcomed it. Especially the contempt he felt for the prince standing before him.
"It is time to continue. Your doctor is well on his way to recovery. I hope this puts you at ease."
Jim refused to admit that it did.
"You will not be alone here. Despite your differences, you are welcomed, Young Kirk. We are pleased with the ease at which you handle our sacred creatures, as that is usually the last step our new members take. To help you feel like one of us, we must continue to adjust your appearance."
"I thought I was here to be mentally manipulated, not become a poor replica of your mind-sucking species," Jim scoffed. "Like Soona."
"Oh, I am not referring to drastic changes such as those," Lequa stated. "The meld is necessary for all of us to survive, and eventually, those melds will be the only thing barring you yourself from acting out in violence. The drug we administered to you will help us strip away your identity, beginning with your ability and desire to fight, which I sense is an attribute that runs strongly through your veins. The unfortunate lack of sensation you have now will eventually subside. As your commander has warned us, a meld with an unwilling subject is a dangerous thing."
"Then why not use it on yourselves?" He sneered.
"Too much will leave we indigenous Re'an in a vegetative state." Lequa stated. "And that is unacceptable. You were given the smallest dosage and yet you will endure this new lack of feeling for a little while, perhaps even days."
Jim was too shocked to react. Days?
"Even a little more than what we gave you would be detrimental to your human body and you, my son, are too much a prize to lay waste."
"I am not your son," he spat. "I am the son of George Kirk."
"True, but he is dead, is he not?"
"He is my father," he said through clenched teeth.
"He is not here, and you will need one to guide you. I will fulfill that necessary role, and all my sons are distinct from the other Re'an. You will eventually realize that I treat my adoptive sons of mine reverently. I do not unnecessarily harm them." Lequa flicked his fingers. Two Re'an adult females entered, one with a handheld device, the other with a large, wide mirror which was placed in directly in front of Kirk.
The female beings came beside him, and as he tried to observe what they were doing, they moved to his side beyond his peripheral vision. Hands manipulated his eyes, and soon they were forced open so he could no longer close them.
"What is this?" Jim strained, unnerved that he could only stare at his reflection. The mirror extended beyond his peripheral vision as well, repeating his reflection. He peered at his eyes in the image, noting his eyes were now held open by tape and his head was in a slender brace, much as he had feared it to be.
"I want you to watch," Lequa said in a low voice, stroking a young snake in his arms.
The female beings patted his head and ruffled his hair much like Bones used to do when Jim was hurt and in sickbay. The thought of Bones utterly too painful, he watched the Re'an at work, still in disbelief that he couldn't feel the touch of their hands. One being took a cloth along his face and squeezed it above his eyes, allowing water to drip. The water dribbled into his eyes and eased the burning sensation tormenting him. Frustrated he could feel the pain but nothing more, he could only surmise that the excess slid onto his cheek and down his face.
Desperation welled up within him as the other Re'an female took the device and slowly and deliberately removed a narrow strip of Jim's hair.
Then he knew. They intended to shave his hair - all of Lequa's sons were bald. An adopted son would be no different.
His eyes stung. He'd been bald only once before. At age thirteen Kodos' guards had shaved his lice-filled hair, and Jim had never allowed his head to be shaven ever again. The Tarsus reminder would be too brutal. He wasn't called Captain Perfect Hair by Scotty for nothing.
Jim had no choice but to observe his nightmare re-lived. The longer he watched, the harder it was for him to breathe. They would take away more than just his hair, but Jim would not give in. He would find a way to return to his crew, with or without his hair, and with or without some of his memories.
"You are distressed." Lequa held out the snake to him. "I would allow you to touch this, but knowing that you are unable to feel this sacred creature I will set him close against your chest, Young Kirk. Then, you will see him and be comforted as I know you are comforted by them."
"Get it away from me." He sent the prince a withering glance.
Lequa tsked. Before Jim saw the snake resting on his heaving chest, he smelled its scent.
"Don't fight it. The process has already begun and you cannot stop it. This will be only one of several things we must do to prepare you," Lequa said with a nod. "When the time comes that you are unable to fight the change, I will help you through your guilt and your sadness. It's only natural you feel this way but we will all help you. It has already begun but soon, perhaps even this very hour, you will welcome these changes whole-heartedly."
"I will never give in," Jim said, but his eyes trailed to the snake in the mirror and his mind ascended in a soft haze that he could not define to be anything else but peaceful.
"Tell me, what distresses you."
Jim clenched his jaw. James T. Kirk. Captain. SC937-017...
Lequa gazed at him with pity. "You feel peace but something at the back of your mind is upsetting you. We can rid you of this pain, if you only answer my questions."
Jim's gaze flickered to Lequa.
"Ah, you must sense the comfort we can give you."
"I will not give in," Jim said, but as he feared, his words lacked the previous passion. Terrified at his internal conflict, his chest tightened and he began a mental rant to contradict the prince's words.
He didn't want this. That was insane. He wouldn't want this. He would defy the hold they have on him and curse those snakes with every last breath. Lequa said he had a few hours before the drug took full effect? He would find a way and be off this planet long before then.
"I see." Lequa promptly scooped up the snake, Jim in torment as the Prince took away what had soothed his mind a moment before.
His reflection was empty without the snake, and the loss cut so deep that Jim didn't understand it himself. He wanted the snake back, but could not bear to hear himself say the words. So he buried the cry deep within the already broken creviced places. By now, the Re'an had almost completed the hair-shaving process. Each time that a strip of hair disappeared, he was back on Tarsus.
"What is distressing you?" Lequa asked again. "The next step after this will be even more challenging, Young Kirk. It may be beneficial for you to-"
"James T. Kirk. Captain. SC937-0176CEC," Jim muttered, reaching for the fight he felt waning within him and grasping a corner of it with all that he had and dragging it to the surface. If he lost that part of himself, the rest was sure to falter and break at an unthinkable pace.
The three Re'an beings in the room stood perfectly still, waiting. Waiting for what, Jim did not know. For him to break down in this very chair? Reveal what was 'distressing' him? He mused bitterly, keeping his thoughts inward where he could ignore the questions and presence of the Re'an. James T. Kirk. Captain. SC937-0176CEC. Jim Kirk did not give in. He did not give in. James T. Kirk. Captain-
The snake appeared at his chest in the reflection once again, and both Jim's attention and breaths returned to the addictive haze the snake provided before he could even think of protesting. The beings returned to their work. When he tried to form the words to express his displeasure with them, the inside of his mouth grew heavy and thick just as it had when Bones disappeared from sight. Jim could only sit in silence, regretting that he'd ever touched a Re'an snake in the first place, and Lequa remained strangely quiet.
A female being gave one final sweep of the device and it was done. They tore the tape off of his eyes without ceremony, the stinging of the sensitive skin around his eyes never registering. He squinted and blinked to clear his vision, the image before him shocking to the Star Fleet captain.
A bare-headed stranger stared back. If not for the apparent age of the human in the mirror, Jim could have sworn it was a reflection of himself on Tarsus. He made a pitiful, helpless sound in the back of his throat. His signature golden locks were gone, leaving only a faint shadowing of fuzz. Unwittingly, now also a mere shadow was his resistance.
A/N: This was one of my favorite chapters to write. I hope you enjoyed it! I found Kirk's serial number online for TOS and assumed it would be the same for the reboot. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!