Chapter 3

As he and his team were escorted to the brig, Jim felt like lead. He couldn't bring his feet up to take one step in front of the other, to do so would take energy that he didn't have, and so the two men who had taken hold of him had to drag him stumbling down the corridor. Their hands and his own dead weight tugged painfully at the phaser burn on his left bicep, but he didn't care enough to pick his feet up. In fact, he wanted it, he deserved the pain for getting them into this mess, deserved the devastation that had been wrecked upon his friend. It wasn't fair, Kirk had been prepared to go down with his ship, as every good captain should, as his father had done, but he hadn't been prepared for his crew to do it for him. And these people were more than just his 'crew', they were his closest friends, his only friends and they meant the whole universe to him.

They were all herded into the well-lit brig, which consisted of one large force-field-fronted room with staggered benches along the sides. Kirk hadn't been down to the room since they'd captured Khan. It had looked big when he'd been in it but now that the six of them were all huddled in together it was kind of cramped. They were ushered in and then left there as the pirates stepped back and activated the force field. As the hold they had on Sulu was released, he staggered, unable to put any weight on his injured leg. Spock and Uhura rushed to his side as he wobbled and managed to stop him from falling. Safe in the arms of his crewmates he looked up and locked eyes with Kirk, his face was pale and drawn but he had a grim determination that Kirk found hard to look at.

Spock and Uhura slipped their arms around his waist and with him gripping their shoulders they eased him to the ground at the back of the room, his head lolled back against the cold steel, legs splayed out in front of him. He'd left a blood trail across the floor but no one but Kirk seemed to notice.

"You're gonna be okay." Uhura was saying to him softly, "We'll get you fixed up." She tore at the leg of his pants a little to expose the thigh would so they could see it. Kirk didn't want to look at it, he knew it had to be deep, had seen how much blood his helmsman had lost. Sulu gasped in barely restrained pain as Uhura put pressure on the wound. Spock ripped off his uniform shirt, leaving him in his thin black undershirt as he ripped the sleeves off and tore them into bandages. Together, the science officer and the communications officer bound the strips of uniform tightly round their friend's thigh until their makeshift bandage was sufficient enough to slow the bleeding. He still looked a little groggy so Uhura sat beside him and pulled him in close so that his head rested on her shoulder. If Spock was jealous he didn't say anything, Kirk wasn't sure whether it would even occur to Spock to be jealous or if that was even something that Vulcans could comprehend.

Scotty had entered the brig ranting, his accent getting thicker with each threat he spat at their captors but when the force field came up and they were left alone he ran his hands over his face and began to pace. He did two laps of the cell before realising that Chekov hadn't moved, the younger man was stood stock still, staring straight ahead at nothing, his face still splattered with McCoy's blood. "It's okay laddie." Scotty soothed, pulling him into an uncharacteristic hug and wrapping his arms around the Russian tightly. Chekov leaned into the hug and then his knees seemed to give and the pair of them sank to the floor where they stayed, Chekov whimpering inaudible things into Scotty's shoulder and Scotty running a hand through the young ensign's hair.

Kirk just stared at his crew in awe, wondering how he got to be so lucky to work with these people. To have found a group who were all so different, and yet were brave and compassionate, as close to each other as any family that Kirk could imagine. He was privileged to be a part of this, he realised and with the next thought he realised that he didn't deserve to be. It had been his job to protect them and he had failed. He should have made them all evacuate, what was he thinking, taking on ruthless thugs like he had, and for what? To save his captaincy? Because the thought of having to tell Starfleet he'd lost his ship filled him with embarrassment? Because his father had gone down with his ship and so to do anything less was, what, cowardly? How could he have put his own ambitions and insecurities above these people? He wanted to crumble to the ground and beg for forgiveness, but he couldn't because the person who he needed it from most was no longer there to give it. He wanted to be angry with Bones for being the self-sacrificing idiot that he always accused the captain of being, but how could he? His young navigator was alive and physically unharmed because Bones had chosen to put others before himself, again.

Spock stood from where he was knelt beside Sulu and approached Kirk. "Captain, you are injured. Sit." He said calmly but firmly, indicating the bench seat nearest to them. For once, Kirk did as he was told with no argument. Spock sat beside him and began to inspect the phaser burn on his arm.

"It appears superficial." He noted, having inspected it thoroughly, "however, your nose appears to be broken. You would do well to let me set it."

Kirk just shrugged.

"I have been informed that your looks are pleasing to females, do you not wish to keep them?"

Kirk looked up at Spock and realised that the Vulcan was attempting a joke, but he couldn't bring himself to laugh, he settled for a half-hearted smile instead and a nod.

Spock took hold of Kirk's nose gently but firmly and then asked, "Captain, what is your favourite colour?"

Kirk gave him a quizzical look but before he could query it Spock gave a sharp tug and pulled Kirk's nose into alignment. "Oww." Kirk gasped and brought his hands up to his nose, the pain of it causing his eyes to water. "My favourite colour?" He asked.

"Doctor McCoy was of the belief that the pain is less if you distract the patient."

"Well I'm not sure he's right." Kirk said glumly.

"That was my conclusion also."

They fell into an awkward silence at the mention of the doctor.

"It is how he would have wanted it." Spock said after a moment.

"What?" Kirk said, in disbelief. It was not often that the Vulcan was so attuned to human thoughts and emotions.

"Doctor McCoy was never comfortable with harming another being, but saving a life, especially one of the crew, that would be what he would have wanted for his last act."

Kirk barked out a harsh laugh and furiously wiped a stray tear from his eye. "You getting all sentimental on me Spock?"

Spock just gave him a look, his usual inscrutable expression. "I grieve with thee Captain."

McCoy wasn't sure how much time had passed before further pain brought him to his senses. Pain flared in his back and radiated all through his body, taking his breath away but jolting him back out of unconsciousness. It took him a moment to get his thoughts together enough to realise what was happening, although something in his subconscious told him he would do well to be quiet about it. He opened his eyes to harsh lighting and the floor whirling back and forth in front of his vision. It was enough of an assault on the senses to make him want to throw up, but he fought the feeling back down and tried to make sense of it. He was on someone's back, he realised, slung over some giant's shoulder and carried down the corridor. The man's shoulder dug painfully into his stomach, his upper body draped down the pirate's back, arms swinging limply towards the floor.

He had no idea where he was being taken but he doubted it was anywhere good. He couldn't see much beyond the swinging floor and this man's rather muscled backside but listening a moment told him that there did not appear to be anyone else there. His gaze drifted to his captor's hip and noticed the large serrated blade that was attached to his right hip. It was a nasty barbed thing, designed to cause maximum damage going in and on its way back out, McCoy recognised it immediately as being a Klingon design. McCoy took a deep breath as his shaking fingers reached for the blade. He felt for sure that the pirate would notice the move but something must have been distracting him and the doctor was able to steady his hand long enough to slip the knife from its sheath without being seen.

Stealing the blade had been the easy bit, the next went against everything he believed in. He tried not to think about it as he moved the blade into his right hand. He knew from his old xenobiology classes exactly where he needed to strike and brought the knife up to hover in the exact place to drive the blade through the Klingon's ribs and into his heart. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. His palms began to sweat and he tightened his grip on the blade but still couldn't. But then they stopped. McCoy left his heart skip a beat, tried to work out where they were but suddenly he was shoved off the Klingon's shoulder and he was falling. He landed hard on his back and the pain exploded. He heard a scream but didn't register at first that it was coming from himself. The Klingon, realising he wasn't as dead as he thought, snarled and went to grab for his knife but came up empty. Despite the pain that McCoy was in he had held onto the blade and now held it out in front of him, keeping the Klingon at arms length.

The Klingon chuckled at him, "You are tougher than you look human. But I can see the fear in your eyes. Let me put you out of your misery." He reached forward and his fist closed round McCoy's on the handle of the blade, straddling the doctor and forcing it down. Despite the way it pulled on the wound on his back, McCoy put both hands on the knife and wrestled for control of the blade. The Klingon was stronger, would have been stronger even without McCoy's wound, but Klingons always had overestimated human strength. As they fought for the blade it edged closer to McCoy's neck, pinned to the floor, he couldn't see a way out. He drew a leg up and kicked sharply out, catching the Klingon between his legs. The dirty trick worked on most humanoids and it appeared Klingons were no exception. He recovered quickly but not quick enough. McCoy used the distraction to twist to the side, out of the way of the blade, and let go. The sudden movement caused the Klingon to fall down hard towards the ground. The double edged-blade was so sharp it dug straight into the floor. McCoy grabbed the Klingon's head with both hands and with a strength he didn't know he possessed, he drove the Klingon's head down onto the blade. The knife tore into the male's skull, the pressure on all its sharp serrations cracked through tough bone and soft eye tissue. The Klingon let out a roar. McCoy wasn't done, smashing the Klingon's head into the blade over and over until he was still and the doctor was covered in blood and brain matter.

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