Kirk/Spock FIC - "Endure"
Title: Endure
Rating: A very hard R
Summary: Kirk and Spock are tortured while in the same room.
Universe: TOS
Warnings: Heavy, pretty graphic torture (both physical and psychological).
Word Count: 6,413
Beta: anoncomment7
Special Note: It's not all darkness and torture, I promise.
*Be sure to check out the vid bigmamag to go with this fic. It is nothing short of BAMF. Find it over here.
“As I have stated on previous occasions, Vulcans do not find a substantial amount of appeal in the concept of shore leave. However, even if this were not the case I would still fail to understand why anyone, human or otherwise, would desire a period of relaxation on a planet with the landscape that Mizar Alpha possesses.”
Kirk only let a hint of a grin show on his lips as he made his way down one of the many halls on the Enterprise, Spock at his side. “We’ve only had an alliance with the Mizarians for a couple of years. We’re scouting out this planet for a possible vacation in the future as a sign of good will.”
“Surely,” Spock reasoned, “the Mizarians are aware that most of their planet is covered with uninhabitable swamps, and would therefore comprehend that very few species would voluntarily spend their shore leave amidst such surroundings.”
The transporter room came into view, and they stopped in front of the door.
Kirk took a second to rub his jaw as he faced the Vulcan. “Let me put it this way: New alliances are generally treated like new relationships. You know how men are always doing crazy things to show the new woman in their life that they care?”
“Vulcans practice no such habit, but I am aware that human males display this irrational tendency.”
“Same thing here,” Kirk said with a smile. “Like the time you pushed me out of the way so those poison needles would hit you instead of me.”
The corners of Spock’s mouth twitched downward. “I do not believe that your comparison is entirely valid, Captain.”
“Oh, no?” Kirk asked, cocking his head to the side slightly. His expression was nothing short of angelic.
Spock crossed his arms. “Given the evident fact that we have no such relationship, my behavior in regards to your well-being would not be suitable material for a correlation like the one you have just presented.”
“It wouldn’t?”
“Not by any stretch of the logical mind,” Spock insisted, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “and I must point out, once again, that I did not intend to step into the flower’s path. I merely lacked the time-”
Kirk reached forward and gently touched Spock’s elbow. “Relax,” he soothed. “I was kidding.”
A jolt of heat from the first officer’s body jumped through the fabric of his uniform and warmed Kirk’s fingertips. Chest tightening at the unexpected sensation, Kirk’s eyes were drawn to the source of the warmth. When his gaze returned to Spock’s face, the piercing regard he found there pinned him in his place. Neither man moved.
This kind of moment, common as it was, would also find its common end.
The door to the transporter room whooshed open as someone made a brisk exit.
“What the-” McCoy exclaimed, narrowly avoiding a collision with Kirk and staggering to an abrupt halt in the doorway.
Kirk snatched his hand back from Spock’s elbow. Naturally, the Vulcan’s floundering was considerably less detectable than the human’s, so the latter was the one to draw McCoy’s attention.
“Good god, Jim, you look like you need a tranquilizer.”
Clearly amused, Kirk tilted his head up at the doctor. “Is sedation your cure for everything, Bones?”
“I believe so,” Spock interjected. “It would not astound me to enter the transporter room and discover the crewmen to be slumped over the console.”
The captain coughed to cover his laughter as McCoy shot a glare in the first officer’s direction. Spock raised both eyebrows, silently and innocently asking if anything he said had been incorrect.
Kirk decided to break it up before things got nasty. “Let us in,” he ordered lightly. “The Mizarians are waiting.”
McCoy stood aside and Kirk entered the room, Spock following close behind. They went up to the transporter pad and Kirk sort of hopped while Spock calmly stepped into their proper places.
“Ready to go, Mr. Reed?” Kirk asked the crewman manning the controls.
“It’ll be just a moment, sir,” Reed replied, “I’m almost through double-checking the coordinates.”
Kirk nodded, and there was a second or two of silence as the crewman worked. He could feel the lingering warmth on his fingertips from where he had touched Spock a minute ago, and his brow furrowed in thought. In all the times he’d happened to come in contact with Spock, a sharp stab of heat had never been a result. Kirk rubbed his hands together to disperse the effect. This was definitely worth investigating.
“I thought Vulcans were cold-blooded,” he said with a sideways glance in Spock’s direction.
The first officer shifted his stance slightly, eyes flickering to Kirk’s hands.
“It’s all right, Spock, you don’t have to answer,” Kirk relented, opting for mercy, “I’m sure it’s just another mystery of Vulcan biology.”
“Everything is set in place, Captain,” Reed informed dutifully.
A self-satisfied grin tugged at the corner of Kirk’s mouth. “Energize.”
They dissolved as per usual, and found themselves in the capital city of Mizar Alpha’s central region only a few moments later. The walls of a Great Hall towered around them, white, curved outward, and windowless. However, the high ceiling of the building appeared to be nonexistent. Kirk wasn’t thrown by the detail, he knew that force-field roofs were commonplace on the planet. The Mizarians took pride in their sky, as it was the only trace of natural beauty on their otherwise repulsive world, and as a result every building was equipped with force field roof so that the interior remained protected while providing a gorgeous view. Emerald green and almost hypnotic, the sky was pierced with various colors throughout the day by two suns, both of which were constantly changing from one vibrant hue to the next, depending on their location.
The building and sky’s appearance was expected, the looks on the welcome party’s faces were not.
Mizarians stood all around them- humanoid, tall, extremely lean, and clearly furious. Kirk’s shoulders tightened as the tension in the room gripped his muscles. He traded looks with Spock to make sure the hostility wasn’t all in his head, and their eyes met in a confirming stare. The entire room was dead quiet.
“I know my fair share about Mizar Alpha,” Kirk said to Spock in a hushed tone, “but how is it I can almost feel the negativity in the room?”
Spock matched his captain’s volume. “Mizarians have the peculiar ability to cause an animal or person to physically register any strong emotion they experience.”
“Can it kill us?”
“Only in the most extreme circumstances.”
Kirk quickly scanned the room once more. “Like if there’s a room full of them and they’re all concentrating on the same two people…” He stepped forward, raising his voice to address the crowd in a calm, smooth tone. “My name is Captain James Kirk of the starship Enterprise, and this is my First Officer, Spock. We were scheduled to take a tour of your planet to consider it as a future shore leave location. Our purpose here is entirely peaceful.”
Nobody moved, breathed, or blinked.
Kirk tried again. “We were told that your High Chancellor would be greeting us upon our arrival.”
“And I am here, Captain.”
Kirk and Spock turned towards the voice to find one Mizarian emerging from the crowd. He looked no different than his subjects, wearing not only the same cream colored robes, but also the same hard expression.
“I am High Chancellor Marteling,” the leader intoned, “and both of you are under arrest.”
Hands twitching towards their sides, the wide mouths of laser rifles were pressed to the back of Kirk and Spock’s necks, rendering them helplessly still before they could draw their weapons. Two guards had crept up behind them so silently that their presence had escaped both a Vulcan’s keen senses and a captain’s exceptional experience. They swiftly relieved their captives of any and all weapons and communicating equipment.
Kirk clenched his jaw as his mind reeled. There had been no quarrel between the Federation and Mizar Alpha since the treaty, and there was zero cause for one now. They also seemed to have no qualms about taking the commanding officer and the second-in-command of a Starfleet vessel into custody. Kirk’s stomach began to burn with an indignant heat.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Kirk demanded sharply. “We’ve done nothing against your race or your planet.”
There was no actual vocal outburst from the crowd, but Kirk could feel the air begin to practically throb from the focused animosity. The weight on his shoulders doubled, as his entire body was suddenly under a strange sort of stress.
Marteling’s eyes narrowed slightly, his voice steady and penetrating. “We are aware of your dealings with one called Dieb.”
“Never heard of him,” Kirk replied in a clipped tone, unable to mask his distaste of the current events.
Kirk flinched as the Mizarians’ emotions jumped in intensity. He looked over at Spock, who was utterly stone faced, and knew that he didn’t have to worry. The Vulcan mind was masterful when it came to suppressing pain.
The Chancellor’s voice remained steady, undisturbed. “My planet’s treasury has been stolen, Captain, and I do not have the patience to entertain your lies.”
Kirk’s brow furrowed with confused amazement. “When did this happen?”
A small, bitter laugh escaped Marteling. “I’m sure you’re aware.”
“Nobody in my crew, including myself, knew about anything being stolen. And you think we did it.”
“No,” Marteling corrected, “One of our own named Dieb is the culprit, but both of you were his accomplices.”
Spock clasped his hands behind his back. “What evidence do you have of this?”
“Thirteen of your Earth hours ago, our treasury vanished,” Marteling began, looking at Spock. “The building’s visual records show that it was Dieb who executed the crime, and our transport sensors show that he boarded almost immediately after we had discovered what had been done.”
“May I ask how an entire treasury is pilfered by one Mizarian?”
“You noticed how my guards were able to get close to you without being detected? Mizarians are an exceptionally stealthy race; Dieb simply put his natural gift to cunning use. And, given the compact storage of our currency, an incredible majority of our funds could be carried in the palm of your hand.” The Chancellor refocused his gaze on Kirk. “If the treasury is not recovered immediately, Mizar Alpha will fall into chaos.”
“You can search the Enterprise yourself,” Kirk insisted, “I have no one named Dieb aboard.”
“I hardly expect him to still be on your ship, your transporter is highly advanced and capable of covering great distances. All our information tells us is that he has escaped, and that he specifically had the help of both you and your First Officer to do it.” Marteling straightened his spine to his full, commanding height. “Where is Dieb?”
Kirk was nearly choking on the oppressing weight of the group’s mindset, but he kept his head high and his voice clear. “We had no involvement in this incident.”
Marteling’s thin body went rigid. “Once again, I have no patience for lies.”
“Neither I or my First Officer had any knowledge of Dieb or his crime before we were beamed down here,” Kirk replied evenly. “Release us and we can help track him down and anyone else responsible. Keep us here against our will, and you will be inviting Starfleet to take action.”
Marteling observed the men before him, a long silence settling in around them. The incredible pressure on Kirk’s body threatened to send him to the floor in a crumpled heap, but he refused to show any sign that the force of the Mizarians’ violent emotions was affecting him. Legs trembling slightly from the strain, he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer.
Then, in a whisper so faint it was almost inaudible, Spock let a single syllable escape from his throat.
“Jim.”
The sound of his own name from Spock’s lips resonated deep in Kirk’s chest. A gentle surge of strength instantly coursed through him and he held his stance with renewed vigor.
At least for the time being, the captain’s legs were still.
Marteling moved forward, his steps echoing off the walls. Kirk felt the laser rifle dig a little deeper into the flesh of his neck as the leader of the Mizarians leaned in so close their noses threatened to touch.
“Our information is sound,” Marteling stated flatly. “I will ask you this only once: Where is Dieb?”
Kirk remained firm. “You’re asking the wrong people.”
Marteling’s eyes flared with mounting frustration as he backed away. “Take them to Blackling.
Kirk and Spock were pushed forward and past the Chancellor so fast they could barely keep their feet under themselves. The crushing weight of the Mizarians emotional assault lifted from Kirk’s shoulders and body, but he only had a second to realize as much before he was shoved again. The crowd parted to reveal a turbo lift of sorts, simple in structure and able to hold at least a dozen people. Kirk collided with the wall of the lift, his shoulder taking most of the impact. Spock soon followed, crashing to the floor beside his captain as he was knocked completely off balance. The guards joined them, with their weapons trained on each prisoner, and the lift began a swift descent.
Kirk rolled his shoulder to assess the damage, offered his hand to Spock. “Any idea who Blackling is?”
“The Mizarians are an exceptionally peaceful race,” Spock answered, carefully taking Kirk by the forearm and pulling himself up into a stance. “However, their methods of extracting information are wholly contrary to their usual behavior.”
Kirk cast a hard glare at the guards. “I can handle torture.”
Spock tightened his grip on Kirk’s forearm, drawing the captain’s attention back to him. “No, Captain. You cannot.”
Spock may not be a religious creature, but he had endless faith in his captain. The kind of faith that never wavered regardless of what challenge lay before them, what adversary blocked their path, but in that moment Kirk saw Spock’s faith waver, shake.
If Spock’s certainty could be covered by the shadow of doubt, then this much was certain: They were descending into Hell itself.
Kirk’s heart dropped into his stomach.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The lift came to a smooth stop and the doors slid open to reveal a crude cave cut into the dirt and rock. Filthy light panels lined the path, giving off a meager glow.
Kirk looked down the makeshift corridor and, when he saw that no one was there, readied himself to attack the ever-quiet guards. His plans were quickly dashed when three more Mizarians rounded the corner, all armed.
Kirk turned to Spock, who only gave a slight nod of the head to communicate that their luck had turned from bad to worse. The guards that accompanied them down motioned for them to get off the lift. They obliged, albeit begrudgingly, and their one escape to safety closed its doors and shot up towards the surface of the planet.
The only difference between new trio of guards from the previous duo was the set of metal shackles dangling from their belts. While two of the guards slapped cuffs on the prisoners, one kept a laser rifle at the ready.
Kirk turned the situation over in his head for the third time that minute. They had no communicators, no weapons, and were so far beneath the surface of the planet that there was no chance of their screams being heard. Their only chance now was to be rescued, but the Mizarians could be feeding the Enterprise all sorts of lies to keep them off track, so even that sliver of hope had slim odds.
The guards escorted the pair of prisoners through a series of twisting and turning tunnels until they came upon the first, and only, door they saw.
When the guards knocked on the plain, metal door, it slid into the ground, they shoved Kirk and Spock inside, swiftly slamming it shut behind them. Almost like the wind had been let out of their sails, both men instantly collapsed to the ground. Landing side by side on the hard floor, Kirk shot a stunned look in Spock’s direction. Before the captain’s mouth could form words, a voice drew their attention to the left side of the room.
“Ah, the order of the day.”
A human looking young man was sitting on a mid-size metal table with a bright smile on his face. Beside him was a large cloth covering what appeared to be several different items of interest, none of which could be identified by outline alone.
Kirk nodded his head as he tried to push himself up. “You’re Blackling?”
“Please, call me Blackie. Sounds so much more human.” He watched with a tilted head as Kirk fell to the ground once again. “Yeah, I always wondered what that felt like. It’s all right, they built some kind of natural material into this room that saps most of the strength right out of your muscles. Can’t afford for people to have people fight back, am I right? I’d be right there with you, but the counteragent they give me, well…counteracts it, obviously.”
Spock managed to roll himself onto his back as he spoke. “Such material cannot be found on this planet.”
“That’s probably why we stole it from a nearby planet,” Blackie chirped. “We’re terrific thieves.”
“You are a Mizarian? You appear to be human.”
“I’m a half-breed not unlike yourself, Mr. Spock, which has many pros and cons. But I’m more interested in your commanding officer.” Clapping his hands together, Blackie blew a short breath through his lips. “So, a starship captain. Never had one of those before. Vulcans I get all the time, but captains? Not a one.”
“The torture of Vulcans is a nearly impossible feat,” Spock informed him with an inflection of determination so subtle that only Kirk could pick up on it.
“Why do you think I got the job?” Blackie quipped proudly. “And you’re only half Vulcan- even easier. But don’t use the word ‘torture,’ I hate that word.”
“I agree,” Kirk chimed in. “That gives you too much credit.”
Blackie’s lively expression drained from his face. His sparkling eyes were still, his voice a deadly monotone.
“You shouldn’t judge an artist before you experience his work.”
Pushing himself off the table, Blackie grabbed the chain of Kirk’s shackles and dragged him across the room. As his back roughly met with the wall, forcing him into a sitting position, Kirk couldn’t help but be impressed by his captor’s strength.
Blackie stood in front of him, a little life having returned to his swagger. “Here’s how it goes: I keep hurting you until you tell me where Dieb is. Standard procedure in this kind of situation. Sound good?”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” Kirk answered steadily.
Struck by honest amusement, Blackie laughed softly to himself as he turned and strolled over to Spock. “In all my studies of Vulcans, there’s one aspect I find particularly fascinating.”
“He doesn’t know anything,” Kirk snapped. “You’re better off dealing with me, not him.”
Blackie put one foot on either side of Spock’s waist, straddling him, and knelt down as he spoke to Kirk. “Now, see, you just gave yourself away. First the little insult, now the blatant offer…focusing on you is clearly not the most effective way to make you talk. I’m sure the same can be said for Spock here, but I’ve been looking forward to starting things off this way.” His gaze drifted downward to meet Spock’s. “Can you give me your hands or am I gonna have to get them myself?”
Kirk’s eyes went wide, and wider still when Blackie picked up Spock’s hands by the chain of his shackles. Drawing a key out from his back pocket, Blackie unlocked the cuffs and tossed them aside, holding the Vulcan’s left hand by the wrist. Kirk bit back a response and bowed his head, shutting his eyes to keep from making the situation worse.
“Sure you don’t want to say anything?” Blackie asked Spock in a lilting, simple tone. “I know exactly where to touch. Suppression isn’t really an option for you while I’m in the room.”
Spock stared straight up at the ceiling. “I have no information as to the whereabouts of Dieb.”
“How about you, cap’n?” Blackie called from across the room.
“It’s impossible for him to lie,” Kirk argued, unmoving.
“His Vulcan half, yeah. Can’t say much for the human part, though.”
Kirk’s eyes slid open and locked onto Blackie. “You won’t leave here alive.”
Blackie held Kirk’s stare and smiled, digging his fingertips into Spock’s palm.
“No,” Kirk choked out, mouth quivering.
Spock’s back arched off the floor as a strangled moan was ripped from his body. Blackie concentrated on his task and massaged upward, entwining their fingers as Spock panted and writhed beneath him. He gripped and released in a rhythm that assaulted the Vulcan’s senses, but ultimately forced back release, giving him a great deal more time to work with.
Kirk had no choice but to sit and listen as Blackie forced sounds out of Spock that turned his stomach into a cold, wrenching knot of nausea. Bombarded by Spock’s gasps, moans, grunts of ecstasy as they sliced through the air, his body’s natural response sent repulsion coursing through his veins. To even think that he could feel…
This had to stop.
Throwing himself forward with the little strength he had, Kirk pushed and dragged himself over the ground as fast as he could manage. Spock’s cries turned desperate, ragged, and Kirk gritted his teeth to hold back the tears that burned his eyes.
Noticing the captain’s movement, Blackie casually dropped Spock’s hand. “You’re definitely the foolish hero type. I should probably fix your shackles to the wall, but you’re nothing if not entertaining, so…”
Crossing to the table, he whipped off the large cloth, revealing instruments of various sizes, shapes and uses. Kirk refused to be distracted, instead focusing on moving, reaching Spock. He was only halfway to his goal when Blackie pushed him onto his back with a hard kick to his shoulder.
Looming over his target, Blackie held up a long instrument in his right hand. “I know you care more about his well being than yours, but this is a great chance to punish you and let you in on what he’ll be feeling here in a few minutes. Now, this thing is about an inch thick, but if I insert it into your body at just the right angle I can minimize damage, so you don’t die, and maximize the pain. Thankfully,” he started with a grin, pulling a bright white stone from his front pocket, “I nabbed this from a planet on the edge of our system. No idea how it works; I just know that this thing will keep your heart beating and brain fully conscious as long as you’re in range. What does that mean for you?” He tossed the stone onto the table. “It means I can do whatever I want.”
Without delay, Blackie dropped to his knees and lifted Kirk’s shirt, inserting the tip of the instrument just below the ribcage at an upward angle. Agony pierced through his chest and body as metal tore through Kirk’s right lung. He could barely find the breath to scream, blood pooling in his throat and robbing him of any air.
A voice came from what seemed so far away.
“Jim!”
Kirk struggled to respond, yearned to call out and let Spock know that he was still there, but when he felt the sickening puncture of the tool pushing through the other side of his lung, words and breath became impossible.
Death should have claimed him.
Slowly, very slowly, Kirk felt the instrument withdraw from his flesh. When Blackie finally stood up, he didn’t bother to wipe the dripping apparatus clean. Kirk’s vision blurred as he fought to turn on his side.
“Good idea,” Blackie encouraged, “First you die by drowning, then you die of blood loss. Since you can’t actually die right now, you’ll get to experience both. I’ll leave you to it.”
Fingers digging into the ground with a grip that was flimsy at best, Kirk twisted his body until he rolled onto his stomach. A wave of crimson poured out of his mouth and he was finally able to take in short, raspy breaths. All he could do was lie there, coughing and hacking to clear his airway only to have it overwhelmed again, a moment later.
Weakness should have claimed him.
His scattered mind raced, clambering to grasp anything that wasn't in this room. Missions, mistakes, missed chances- it didn't matter what flew through his head as long as he could hold onto it long enough to find one second of grace. He bombarded himself with dozens, hundreds, thousands of images until he realized that they were all the same. The same figure, the same person, the same man.
A horrific scream broke into Kirk's thoughts, and it took him a second to realize that it hadn't come from his mouth. Raising his head for the briefest of moments, he saw Blackie bent over and pumping the instrument stained with red blood deep into one place on Spock's stomach again, and again, and again.
Grief should have claimed him.
His head dropping to the ground, a thought flickered through Kirk's mind. He almost laughed at the concept, the three words that were now burning themselves into his skull. He couldn't forget them now and, because of that, the inspiration to act seized every inch of his tired, weary body.
Inevitability grants freedom.
With shaking, blood-stained, shackled hands, Kirk reached forward and clawed the floor. The crawl was slow, meek, but motivated by a singular purpose. He didn't notice when Blackie stopped his work to watch the events unfold.
Spock's pain echoed off the walls as Kirk made gradual progress, extending his limbs as far as they would allow. The sputtering and difficulty in breathing was second nature by now, and barely registered as torment as long as he kept his eyes fixed on his destination.
Kirk’s fingertips grazed Spock’s side and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Blackie move to the far side of the room. He didn’t care. One more feeble drag and Kirk was close enough. He clutched a fistful of Spock’s uniform and brought their foreheads together, skin slick with sweat and blood. Kirk regained control over his breathing, if only for a few seconds.
“I love you,” he gasped. “I love you so much.”
Strong hands seized Kirk and dragged him backwards. Roughly shoved against a wall, he only had enough time to figure out that he was next to the table before his right arm was wrenched upward and slammed onto the cold metal.
He wouldn’t see the single-handed sledgehammer crash down on his elbow, but he would feel it.
Kirk’s violent, guttural shriek sprayed blood into the air. He fell over to the side, wasted and useless.
Pain should have claimed him.
Unable to pass out, Kirk lay panting in a crumpled heap as the seconds crawled by. He didn’t dare move and risk disturbing his arm, but he was sure to keep his eyes open at all times. From his place on the floor he could see Spock’s legs and Blackie’s feet off to the right, with the latter being in the foreground.
It occurred to Kirk that Blackie seemed to be talking, but even though he was fully concentrating he could only take in a few words at a time.
“Before I…Spock’s knee……grab…stone…out of here……real introduction. Greetings…Kirk and First…my name……Dieb.”
Deep in the back of Kirk’s mind, something crackled to life. The sound of a door whooshing open wrecked his thoughts, the yelling and cursing that followed only adding to the confusion. The table suddenly shook as if something had been thrown into it with terrific strength. Startled, Kirk managed to lift his head long enough to get a glimpse of two men, one in red and one in blue, standing over him.
He was too far gone to do anything but laugh.
* * * * Seven days later * * * * *
It was deathly quiet in sickbay when Kirk drifted into consciousness. His right arm was hindered by a cast and his bare chest was wrapped in bandages, but the first thing he really noticed, as he blinked away his blurry vision, was McCoy standing over him with a datapad, punching information into it like his mother had just been insulted.
“Bones?” Kirk croaked.
McCoy jumped at his name, relaxing when he saw the captain was awake. “You’re lucky it’s the 23rd century, Jim, or you’d be dead as a doornail up a creek wearing cement shoes.”
“What?”
“Maybe I should wait to give you the report until you’re able to understand references to 20th century jargon again.”
Kirk cleared his throat. “Give it to me now and if I have to read it later I will.”
“Alright,” McCoy agreed, making no effort to hide the skepticism in his voice. “After interrogating Dieb, his overall plan was as follows: Steal the currency in Mizar Alpha’s treasury when the Enterprise was in orbit, plant a false transport order so that you and Spock wind up getting sent down to Blackling, pose as Blackling and torture you both so the guards outside hear your screams, then leave, taking the healing stone from Kinetta III with him. This would leave the only people suspected of knowing his whereabouts to die while he buys a ride from the next vessel to come to the planet.”
“You seem awfully okay with that plan,” Kirk commented in a suspicious tone.
“I was present at Dieb’s execution earlier today. My catharsis has been completed.”
“Why am I happy about that?”
“Because I have you on enough morphine to keep you upbeat for a decade. You couldn’t process what happened even if you wanted to.”
“Remind me to double your pay.”
“Yes, sir.” McCoy put his hands behind his back. “When High Chancellor Marteling told us what they were planning to do to you and why, Scotty set to work on proving the transport order had been falsified. It took him a while, too; that Dieb was one smart sonofagun. Once we had proof, he and I beamed down and stormed the Bastille. It was very dramatic.”
“Sorry I missed it.”
“So am I,” McCoy agreed, clearing his throat. “Now, before you realize that you haven’t asked about Spock-”
Panic flashed through Kirk’s body. “How is he? Is he all right?”
McCoy let out a hefty sigh. “Leave it to the Vulcan to counteract gallons of narcotics.”
“That’s not an answer,” Kirk barked.
“You can post-pone the heart attack, he’s in his quarters. We woke him up before you because he had less damage to recover from. I had to threaten him with the brig so he would leave sickbay.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “Between the two of you it’s like trying split up Romeo and Juliet.”
“Noted. How long will it take for the happy pill to wear off?”
“Normally it takes a few hours, but seeing the way your scowling at me right now I’d say it’ll only take you half that.”
“Get Spock in here when it’s out of my system.”
McCoy’s eyebrows went up. “You’re not gonna try to walk out of here?”
“How far do you think I’d get?”
“Well, you’re pretty strong, so I bet you’d make it all the way to me before passing out from the pain.”
Kirk eyed the foot and a half of distance between his bed and the doctor. “Dismissed, Bones.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Some hours later, Kirk lay in the dark sickbay, staring up at the smooth ceiling. He was supposed to be sleeping, but for the past thirty minutes he had been fully concentrating on controlling his air intake so that the burning in his ribs was staved off for at least a few seconds at a time. Breathing was uncomfortable, to put it mildly, without as much morphine pumping through his system as there had been earlier, but not impossible. Actually, if he just made sure to inhale at a steady pace, he’d be relatively pain free.
He wasn’t about to admit that to himself, though, not when he was trying so hard to keep his mind off other things.
Bringing his left hand to his forehead, he rubbed his brow gently. The events on Mizar Alpha flashed through his mind, but his thoughts didn’t dwell on the suffering he had endured, not for a second. If there was an image, a scent, a sensation that haunted him, it was something not nearly as brutal, but infinitely more vital. Regardless of how many times he tried to shake it off, the feel of Spock’s uniform crumpled in his grasp lingered on his fingertips.
There was no easy way out of this.
The door to sickbay slid open. Kirk’s eyes shot over to the entry, his hand coming to a rest at his side. The figure that stepped into the room was instantly recognizable. His pulse quickened, though he had no trouble appearing perfectly calm on the outside.
Spock arched an eyebrow as he noticed the low lighting. “If you are resting, Captain, I can return at a more suitable time.”
“McCoy told me to sleep, so I’m awake,” Kirk replied, forcing a grin. “Come in.”
Spock took a stance beside the captain’s bed, making eye contact with perfectly normal ease. Kirk held the gaze, ignoring the twinge of discomfort in his chest when he stopped regulating his breathing pattern.
“Captain,” Spock began in an official tone, “it occurred to me that you have a need as commanding officer to dissect the events that took place on Mizar Alpha so as to derive information that could be utilized in the future. Therefore, I have composed a full report on the incident and delivered it to your quarters.”
“You came here to tell me you filed a report?” Kirk asked, more curious than upset.
“It was necessary for you to be informed that further discussion of Mizar Alpha was not essential, Captain.”
Kirk knew that an escape route was being offered, but he refused to take it. “You can just say you’d rather not talk about it. Dieb, I mean.”
“I possess no emotional need to avoid the subject, Captain. It is merely my point that such discussion would be futile considering that all pertinent facts and information have already been disclosed.”
“Why are you calling me ‘Captain’ every time you say something?”
Spock crossed his arms in front of his chest. “My form of addressing you has no relevance to the topic at hand, sir.”
“The topic you refuse to talk about?”
“As I stated a moment ago, I possess no emotional-”
“I heard you,” Kirk interrupted gently.
He heaved a sigh, and the agony from the movement was immediate. Kirk grabbed his side and stifled a groan of discomfort, squeezing his eyes shut.
Spock leaned over him, arms braced on the side of the bed. “Captain, are you all right? Jim?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth, “I won’t breathe and I’ll be fine.”
Kirk opened his eyes to find the Vulcan hovering above him, gaze dark with concern. Without a thought, he grabbed the collar of the blue uniform and yanked Spock’s mouth down onto his. The contact only lasted a second as Spock ripped himself away, backing into the bed behind him. They gaped at each other, too stunned to speak.
Before Spock could move, Kirk did.
Jaw tight, he slowly began to push himself into a sitting position, his insides screaming with torment.
“Captain,” Spock protested.
Kirk swung his legs over the side of the bed, using his good arm to stay balanced. “I’m fine,” he winced. “Besides, it worked.”
Spock tilted his head slightly. “Worked?”
“You’re still here, aren’t you?” he answered with a small laugh.
A sting of pain shot through his side, and Kirk looked down to gather his composure. His good arm began to shake with stress, too weak to hold up his weight for long.
None of it mattered when he heard Spock take a soft step forward.
Kirk couldn’t find the strength to lift his head until Spock was directly in front of him, so close that he had to tilt his head back to see the Vulcan’s face. He watched with wide, glistening eyes as Spock bent down and pressed their lips together.
The collision was deeper, more penetrative than Kirk was expecting, causing him to sway backward from the pressure. His balance was saved by Spock’s hand finding its way to the back of his head. Kirk moaned in his throat and straightened his spine to return the kiss with equal fervor, eagerness drowning out any pain he might have felt.
Guided by Spock’s hand, their mouths mingled decadently as Kirk was carefully laid back down on the bed. He flinched from the movement, but it was forgotten an instant later as he felt Spock’s chest slide against his own.
Spock pulled back just enough to break contact, and the sudden room to breathe made Kirk’s chest hitch with a very familiar, unpleasant sensation. Nonetheless, his mind was still entirely focused on the moment at hand.
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it?” Kirk asked in the most genuinely inquisitive tone he could muster.
Spock’s pointed look bore down onto the captain. “I had originally planned to avoid such a topic until the Enterprise’s mission was complete.”
“It’s all right, Spock, I won’t mention your failure in any official paperwork.”
The Vulcan stood up, clearing his throat softly. “Thank you, sir. I would, however, like to request that a specific success be logged appropriately.”
“Success?”
Spock’s voice was perfectly serious. “You are lying down, are you not?”
Kirk could feel Spock’s smug smile as the first officer made a swift and simple exit.
He didn't mind.
Rating: A very hard R
Summary: Kirk and Spock are tortured while in the same room.
Universe: TOS
Warnings: Heavy, pretty graphic torture (both physical and psychological).
Word Count: 6,413
Beta: anoncomment7
Special Note: It's not all darkness and torture, I promise.
*Be sure to check out the vid bigmamag to go with this fic. It is nothing short of BAMF. Find it over here.
“As I have stated on previous occasions, Vulcans do not find a substantial amount of appeal in the concept of shore leave. However, even if this were not the case I would still fail to understand why anyone, human or otherwise, would desire a period of relaxation on a planet with the landscape that Mizar Alpha possesses.”
Kirk only let a hint of a grin show on his lips as he made his way down one of the many halls on the Enterprise, Spock at his side. “We’ve only had an alliance with the Mizarians for a couple of years. We’re scouting out this planet for a possible vacation in the future as a sign of good will.”
“Surely,” Spock reasoned, “the Mizarians are aware that most of their planet is covered with uninhabitable swamps, and would therefore comprehend that very few species would voluntarily spend their shore leave amidst such surroundings.”
The transporter room came into view, and they stopped in front of the door.
Kirk took a second to rub his jaw as he faced the Vulcan. “Let me put it this way: New alliances are generally treated like new relationships. You know how men are always doing crazy things to show the new woman in their life that they care?”
“Vulcans practice no such habit, but I am aware that human males display this irrational tendency.”
“Same thing here,” Kirk said with a smile. “Like the time you pushed me out of the way so those poison needles would hit you instead of me.”
The corners of Spock’s mouth twitched downward. “I do not believe that your comparison is entirely valid, Captain.”
“Oh, no?” Kirk asked, cocking his head to the side slightly. His expression was nothing short of angelic.
Spock crossed his arms. “Given the evident fact that we have no such relationship, my behavior in regards to your well-being would not be suitable material for a correlation like the one you have just presented.”
“It wouldn’t?”
“Not by any stretch of the logical mind,” Spock insisted, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “and I must point out, once again, that I did not intend to step into the flower’s path. I merely lacked the time-”
Kirk reached forward and gently touched Spock’s elbow. “Relax,” he soothed. “I was kidding.”
A jolt of heat from the first officer’s body jumped through the fabric of his uniform and warmed Kirk’s fingertips. Chest tightening at the unexpected sensation, Kirk’s eyes were drawn to the source of the warmth. When his gaze returned to Spock’s face, the piercing regard he found there pinned him in his place. Neither man moved.
This kind of moment, common as it was, would also find its common end.
The door to the transporter room whooshed open as someone made a brisk exit.
“What the-” McCoy exclaimed, narrowly avoiding a collision with Kirk and staggering to an abrupt halt in the doorway.
Kirk snatched his hand back from Spock’s elbow. Naturally, the Vulcan’s floundering was considerably less detectable than the human’s, so the latter was the one to draw McCoy’s attention.
“Good god, Jim, you look like you need a tranquilizer.”
Clearly amused, Kirk tilted his head up at the doctor. “Is sedation your cure for everything, Bones?”
“I believe so,” Spock interjected. “It would not astound me to enter the transporter room and discover the crewmen to be slumped over the console.”
The captain coughed to cover his laughter as McCoy shot a glare in the first officer’s direction. Spock raised both eyebrows, silently and innocently asking if anything he said had been incorrect.
Kirk decided to break it up before things got nasty. “Let us in,” he ordered lightly. “The Mizarians are waiting.”
McCoy stood aside and Kirk entered the room, Spock following close behind. They went up to the transporter pad and Kirk sort of hopped while Spock calmly stepped into their proper places.
“Ready to go, Mr. Reed?” Kirk asked the crewman manning the controls.
“It’ll be just a moment, sir,” Reed replied, “I’m almost through double-checking the coordinates.”
Kirk nodded, and there was a second or two of silence as the crewman worked. He could feel the lingering warmth on his fingertips from where he had touched Spock a minute ago, and his brow furrowed in thought. In all the times he’d happened to come in contact with Spock, a sharp stab of heat had never been a result. Kirk rubbed his hands together to disperse the effect. This was definitely worth investigating.
“I thought Vulcans were cold-blooded,” he said with a sideways glance in Spock’s direction.
The first officer shifted his stance slightly, eyes flickering to Kirk’s hands.
“It’s all right, Spock, you don’t have to answer,” Kirk relented, opting for mercy, “I’m sure it’s just another mystery of Vulcan biology.”
“Everything is set in place, Captain,” Reed informed dutifully.
A self-satisfied grin tugged at the corner of Kirk’s mouth. “Energize.”
They dissolved as per usual, and found themselves in the capital city of Mizar Alpha’s central region only a few moments later. The walls of a Great Hall towered around them, white, curved outward, and windowless. However, the high ceiling of the building appeared to be nonexistent. Kirk wasn’t thrown by the detail, he knew that force-field roofs were commonplace on the planet. The Mizarians took pride in their sky, as it was the only trace of natural beauty on their otherwise repulsive world, and as a result every building was equipped with force field roof so that the interior remained protected while providing a gorgeous view. Emerald green and almost hypnotic, the sky was pierced with various colors throughout the day by two suns, both of which were constantly changing from one vibrant hue to the next, depending on their location.
The building and sky’s appearance was expected, the looks on the welcome party’s faces were not.
Mizarians stood all around them- humanoid, tall, extremely lean, and clearly furious. Kirk’s shoulders tightened as the tension in the room gripped his muscles. He traded looks with Spock to make sure the hostility wasn’t all in his head, and their eyes met in a confirming stare. The entire room was dead quiet.
“I know my fair share about Mizar Alpha,” Kirk said to Spock in a hushed tone, “but how is it I can almost feel the negativity in the room?”
Spock matched his captain’s volume. “Mizarians have the peculiar ability to cause an animal or person to physically register any strong emotion they experience.”
“Can it kill us?”
“Only in the most extreme circumstances.”
Kirk quickly scanned the room once more. “Like if there’s a room full of them and they’re all concentrating on the same two people…” He stepped forward, raising his voice to address the crowd in a calm, smooth tone. “My name is Captain James Kirk of the starship Enterprise, and this is my First Officer, Spock. We were scheduled to take a tour of your planet to consider it as a future shore leave location. Our purpose here is entirely peaceful.”
Nobody moved, breathed, or blinked.
Kirk tried again. “We were told that your High Chancellor would be greeting us upon our arrival.”
“And I am here, Captain.”
Kirk and Spock turned towards the voice to find one Mizarian emerging from the crowd. He looked no different than his subjects, wearing not only the same cream colored robes, but also the same hard expression.
“I am High Chancellor Marteling,” the leader intoned, “and both of you are under arrest.”
Hands twitching towards their sides, the wide mouths of laser rifles were pressed to the back of Kirk and Spock’s necks, rendering them helplessly still before they could draw their weapons. Two guards had crept up behind them so silently that their presence had escaped both a Vulcan’s keen senses and a captain’s exceptional experience. They swiftly relieved their captives of any and all weapons and communicating equipment.
Kirk clenched his jaw as his mind reeled. There had been no quarrel between the Federation and Mizar Alpha since the treaty, and there was zero cause for one now. They also seemed to have no qualms about taking the commanding officer and the second-in-command of a Starfleet vessel into custody. Kirk’s stomach began to burn with an indignant heat.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Kirk demanded sharply. “We’ve done nothing against your race or your planet.”
There was no actual vocal outburst from the crowd, but Kirk could feel the air begin to practically throb from the focused animosity. The weight on his shoulders doubled, as his entire body was suddenly under a strange sort of stress.
Marteling’s eyes narrowed slightly, his voice steady and penetrating. “We are aware of your dealings with one called Dieb.”
“Never heard of him,” Kirk replied in a clipped tone, unable to mask his distaste of the current events.
Kirk flinched as the Mizarians’ emotions jumped in intensity. He looked over at Spock, who was utterly stone faced, and knew that he didn’t have to worry. The Vulcan mind was masterful when it came to suppressing pain.
The Chancellor’s voice remained steady, undisturbed. “My planet’s treasury has been stolen, Captain, and I do not have the patience to entertain your lies.”
Kirk’s brow furrowed with confused amazement. “When did this happen?”
A small, bitter laugh escaped Marteling. “I’m sure you’re aware.”
“Nobody in my crew, including myself, knew about anything being stolen. And you think we did it.”
“No,” Marteling corrected, “One of our own named Dieb is the culprit, but both of you were his accomplices.”
Spock clasped his hands behind his back. “What evidence do you have of this?”
“Thirteen of your Earth hours ago, our treasury vanished,” Marteling began, looking at Spock. “The building’s visual records show that it was Dieb who executed the crime, and our transport sensors show that he boarded almost immediately after we had discovered what had been done.”
“May I ask how an entire treasury is pilfered by one Mizarian?”
“You noticed how my guards were able to get close to you without being detected? Mizarians are an exceptionally stealthy race; Dieb simply put his natural gift to cunning use. And, given the compact storage of our currency, an incredible majority of our funds could be carried in the palm of your hand.” The Chancellor refocused his gaze on Kirk. “If the treasury is not recovered immediately, Mizar Alpha will fall into chaos.”
“You can search the Enterprise yourself,” Kirk insisted, “I have no one named Dieb aboard.”
“I hardly expect him to still be on your ship, your transporter is highly advanced and capable of covering great distances. All our information tells us is that he has escaped, and that he specifically had the help of both you and your First Officer to do it.” Marteling straightened his spine to his full, commanding height. “Where is Dieb?”
Kirk was nearly choking on the oppressing weight of the group’s mindset, but he kept his head high and his voice clear. “We had no involvement in this incident.”
Marteling’s thin body went rigid. “Once again, I have no patience for lies.”
“Neither I or my First Officer had any knowledge of Dieb or his crime before we were beamed down here,” Kirk replied evenly. “Release us and we can help track him down and anyone else responsible. Keep us here against our will, and you will be inviting Starfleet to take action.”
Marteling observed the men before him, a long silence settling in around them. The incredible pressure on Kirk’s body threatened to send him to the floor in a crumpled heap, but he refused to show any sign that the force of the Mizarians’ violent emotions was affecting him. Legs trembling slightly from the strain, he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer.
Then, in a whisper so faint it was almost inaudible, Spock let a single syllable escape from his throat.
“Jim.”
The sound of his own name from Spock’s lips resonated deep in Kirk’s chest. A gentle surge of strength instantly coursed through him and he held his stance with renewed vigor.
At least for the time being, the captain’s legs were still.
Marteling moved forward, his steps echoing off the walls. Kirk felt the laser rifle dig a little deeper into the flesh of his neck as the leader of the Mizarians leaned in so close their noses threatened to touch.
“Our information is sound,” Marteling stated flatly. “I will ask you this only once: Where is Dieb?”
Kirk remained firm. “You’re asking the wrong people.”
Marteling’s eyes flared with mounting frustration as he backed away. “Take them to Blackling.
Kirk and Spock were pushed forward and past the Chancellor so fast they could barely keep their feet under themselves. The crushing weight of the Mizarians emotional assault lifted from Kirk’s shoulders and body, but he only had a second to realize as much before he was shoved again. The crowd parted to reveal a turbo lift of sorts, simple in structure and able to hold at least a dozen people. Kirk collided with the wall of the lift, his shoulder taking most of the impact. Spock soon followed, crashing to the floor beside his captain as he was knocked completely off balance. The guards joined them, with their weapons trained on each prisoner, and the lift began a swift descent.
Kirk rolled his shoulder to assess the damage, offered his hand to Spock. “Any idea who Blackling is?”
“The Mizarians are an exceptionally peaceful race,” Spock answered, carefully taking Kirk by the forearm and pulling himself up into a stance. “However, their methods of extracting information are wholly contrary to their usual behavior.”
Kirk cast a hard glare at the guards. “I can handle torture.”
Spock tightened his grip on Kirk’s forearm, drawing the captain’s attention back to him. “No, Captain. You cannot.”
Spock may not be a religious creature, but he had endless faith in his captain. The kind of faith that never wavered regardless of what challenge lay before them, what adversary blocked their path, but in that moment Kirk saw Spock’s faith waver, shake.
If Spock’s certainty could be covered by the shadow of doubt, then this much was certain: They were descending into Hell itself.
Kirk’s heart dropped into his stomach.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The lift came to a smooth stop and the doors slid open to reveal a crude cave cut into the dirt and rock. Filthy light panels lined the path, giving off a meager glow.
Kirk looked down the makeshift corridor and, when he saw that no one was there, readied himself to attack the ever-quiet guards. His plans were quickly dashed when three more Mizarians rounded the corner, all armed.
Kirk turned to Spock, who only gave a slight nod of the head to communicate that their luck had turned from bad to worse. The guards that accompanied them down motioned for them to get off the lift. They obliged, albeit begrudgingly, and their one escape to safety closed its doors and shot up towards the surface of the planet.
The only difference between new trio of guards from the previous duo was the set of metal shackles dangling from their belts. While two of the guards slapped cuffs on the prisoners, one kept a laser rifle at the ready.
Kirk turned the situation over in his head for the third time that minute. They had no communicators, no weapons, and were so far beneath the surface of the planet that there was no chance of their screams being heard. Their only chance now was to be rescued, but the Mizarians could be feeding the Enterprise all sorts of lies to keep them off track, so even that sliver of hope had slim odds.
The guards escorted the pair of prisoners through a series of twisting and turning tunnels until they came upon the first, and only, door they saw.
When the guards knocked on the plain, metal door, it slid into the ground, they shoved Kirk and Spock inside, swiftly slamming it shut behind them. Almost like the wind had been let out of their sails, both men instantly collapsed to the ground. Landing side by side on the hard floor, Kirk shot a stunned look in Spock’s direction. Before the captain’s mouth could form words, a voice drew their attention to the left side of the room.
“Ah, the order of the day.”
A human looking young man was sitting on a mid-size metal table with a bright smile on his face. Beside him was a large cloth covering what appeared to be several different items of interest, none of which could be identified by outline alone.
Kirk nodded his head as he tried to push himself up. “You’re Blackling?”
“Please, call me Blackie. Sounds so much more human.” He watched with a tilted head as Kirk fell to the ground once again. “Yeah, I always wondered what that felt like. It’s all right, they built some kind of natural material into this room that saps most of the strength right out of your muscles. Can’t afford for people to have people fight back, am I right? I’d be right there with you, but the counteragent they give me, well…counteracts it, obviously.”
Spock managed to roll himself onto his back as he spoke. “Such material cannot be found on this planet.”
“That’s probably why we stole it from a nearby planet,” Blackie chirped. “We’re terrific thieves.”
“You are a Mizarian? You appear to be human.”
“I’m a half-breed not unlike yourself, Mr. Spock, which has many pros and cons. But I’m more interested in your commanding officer.” Clapping his hands together, Blackie blew a short breath through his lips. “So, a starship captain. Never had one of those before. Vulcans I get all the time, but captains? Not a one.”
“The torture of Vulcans is a nearly impossible feat,” Spock informed him with an inflection of determination so subtle that only Kirk could pick up on it.
“Why do you think I got the job?” Blackie quipped proudly. “And you’re only half Vulcan- even easier. But don’t use the word ‘torture,’ I hate that word.”
“I agree,” Kirk chimed in. “That gives you too much credit.”
Blackie’s lively expression drained from his face. His sparkling eyes were still, his voice a deadly monotone.
“You shouldn’t judge an artist before you experience his work.”
Pushing himself off the table, Blackie grabbed the chain of Kirk’s shackles and dragged him across the room. As his back roughly met with the wall, forcing him into a sitting position, Kirk couldn’t help but be impressed by his captor’s strength.
Blackie stood in front of him, a little life having returned to his swagger. “Here’s how it goes: I keep hurting you until you tell me where Dieb is. Standard procedure in this kind of situation. Sound good?”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” Kirk answered steadily.
Struck by honest amusement, Blackie laughed softly to himself as he turned and strolled over to Spock. “In all my studies of Vulcans, there’s one aspect I find particularly fascinating.”
“He doesn’t know anything,” Kirk snapped. “You’re better off dealing with me, not him.”
Blackie put one foot on either side of Spock’s waist, straddling him, and knelt down as he spoke to Kirk. “Now, see, you just gave yourself away. First the little insult, now the blatant offer…focusing on you is clearly not the most effective way to make you talk. I’m sure the same can be said for Spock here, but I’ve been looking forward to starting things off this way.” His gaze drifted downward to meet Spock’s. “Can you give me your hands or am I gonna have to get them myself?”
Kirk’s eyes went wide, and wider still when Blackie picked up Spock’s hands by the chain of his shackles. Drawing a key out from his back pocket, Blackie unlocked the cuffs and tossed them aside, holding the Vulcan’s left hand by the wrist. Kirk bit back a response and bowed his head, shutting his eyes to keep from making the situation worse.
“Sure you don’t want to say anything?” Blackie asked Spock in a lilting, simple tone. “I know exactly where to touch. Suppression isn’t really an option for you while I’m in the room.”
Spock stared straight up at the ceiling. “I have no information as to the whereabouts of Dieb.”
“How about you, cap’n?” Blackie called from across the room.
“It’s impossible for him to lie,” Kirk argued, unmoving.
“His Vulcan half, yeah. Can’t say much for the human part, though.”
Kirk’s eyes slid open and locked onto Blackie. “You won’t leave here alive.”
Blackie held Kirk’s stare and smiled, digging his fingertips into Spock’s palm.
“No,” Kirk choked out, mouth quivering.
Spock’s back arched off the floor as a strangled moan was ripped from his body. Blackie concentrated on his task and massaged upward, entwining their fingers as Spock panted and writhed beneath him. He gripped and released in a rhythm that assaulted the Vulcan’s senses, but ultimately forced back release, giving him a great deal more time to work with.
Kirk had no choice but to sit and listen as Blackie forced sounds out of Spock that turned his stomach into a cold, wrenching knot of nausea. Bombarded by Spock’s gasps, moans, grunts of ecstasy as they sliced through the air, his body’s natural response sent repulsion coursing through his veins. To even think that he could feel…
This had to stop.
Throwing himself forward with the little strength he had, Kirk pushed and dragged himself over the ground as fast as he could manage. Spock’s cries turned desperate, ragged, and Kirk gritted his teeth to hold back the tears that burned his eyes.
Noticing the captain’s movement, Blackie casually dropped Spock’s hand. “You’re definitely the foolish hero type. I should probably fix your shackles to the wall, but you’re nothing if not entertaining, so…”
Crossing to the table, he whipped off the large cloth, revealing instruments of various sizes, shapes and uses. Kirk refused to be distracted, instead focusing on moving, reaching Spock. He was only halfway to his goal when Blackie pushed him onto his back with a hard kick to his shoulder.
Looming over his target, Blackie held up a long instrument in his right hand. “I know you care more about his well being than yours, but this is a great chance to punish you and let you in on what he’ll be feeling here in a few minutes. Now, this thing is about an inch thick, but if I insert it into your body at just the right angle I can minimize damage, so you don’t die, and maximize the pain. Thankfully,” he started with a grin, pulling a bright white stone from his front pocket, “I nabbed this from a planet on the edge of our system. No idea how it works; I just know that this thing will keep your heart beating and brain fully conscious as long as you’re in range. What does that mean for you?” He tossed the stone onto the table. “It means I can do whatever I want.”
Without delay, Blackie dropped to his knees and lifted Kirk’s shirt, inserting the tip of the instrument just below the ribcage at an upward angle. Agony pierced through his chest and body as metal tore through Kirk’s right lung. He could barely find the breath to scream, blood pooling in his throat and robbing him of any air.
A voice came from what seemed so far away.
“Jim!”
Kirk struggled to respond, yearned to call out and let Spock know that he was still there, but when he felt the sickening puncture of the tool pushing through the other side of his lung, words and breath became impossible.
Death should have claimed him.
Slowly, very slowly, Kirk felt the instrument withdraw from his flesh. When Blackie finally stood up, he didn’t bother to wipe the dripping apparatus clean. Kirk’s vision blurred as he fought to turn on his side.
“Good idea,” Blackie encouraged, “First you die by drowning, then you die of blood loss. Since you can’t actually die right now, you’ll get to experience both. I’ll leave you to it.”
Fingers digging into the ground with a grip that was flimsy at best, Kirk twisted his body until he rolled onto his stomach. A wave of crimson poured out of his mouth and he was finally able to take in short, raspy breaths. All he could do was lie there, coughing and hacking to clear his airway only to have it overwhelmed again, a moment later.
Weakness should have claimed him.
His scattered mind raced, clambering to grasp anything that wasn't in this room. Missions, mistakes, missed chances- it didn't matter what flew through his head as long as he could hold onto it long enough to find one second of grace. He bombarded himself with dozens, hundreds, thousands of images until he realized that they were all the same. The same figure, the same person, the same man.
A horrific scream broke into Kirk's thoughts, and it took him a second to realize that it hadn't come from his mouth. Raising his head for the briefest of moments, he saw Blackie bent over and pumping the instrument stained with red blood deep into one place on Spock's stomach again, and again, and again.
Grief should have claimed him.
His head dropping to the ground, a thought flickered through Kirk's mind. He almost laughed at the concept, the three words that were now burning themselves into his skull. He couldn't forget them now and, because of that, the inspiration to act seized every inch of his tired, weary body.
Inevitability grants freedom.
With shaking, blood-stained, shackled hands, Kirk reached forward and clawed the floor. The crawl was slow, meek, but motivated by a singular purpose. He didn't notice when Blackie stopped his work to watch the events unfold.
Spock's pain echoed off the walls as Kirk made gradual progress, extending his limbs as far as they would allow. The sputtering and difficulty in breathing was second nature by now, and barely registered as torment as long as he kept his eyes fixed on his destination.
Kirk’s fingertips grazed Spock’s side and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Blackie move to the far side of the room. He didn’t care. One more feeble drag and Kirk was close enough. He clutched a fistful of Spock’s uniform and brought their foreheads together, skin slick with sweat and blood. Kirk regained control over his breathing, if only for a few seconds.
“I love you,” he gasped. “I love you so much.”
Strong hands seized Kirk and dragged him backwards. Roughly shoved against a wall, he only had enough time to figure out that he was next to the table before his right arm was wrenched upward and slammed onto the cold metal.
He wouldn’t see the single-handed sledgehammer crash down on his elbow, but he would feel it.
Kirk’s violent, guttural shriek sprayed blood into the air. He fell over to the side, wasted and useless.
Pain should have claimed him.
Unable to pass out, Kirk lay panting in a crumpled heap as the seconds crawled by. He didn’t dare move and risk disturbing his arm, but he was sure to keep his eyes open at all times. From his place on the floor he could see Spock’s legs and Blackie’s feet off to the right, with the latter being in the foreground.
It occurred to Kirk that Blackie seemed to be talking, but even though he was fully concentrating he could only take in a few words at a time.
“Before I…Spock’s knee……grab…stone…out of here……real introduction. Greetings…Kirk and First…my name……Dieb.”
Deep in the back of Kirk’s mind, something crackled to life. The sound of a door whooshing open wrecked his thoughts, the yelling and cursing that followed only adding to the confusion. The table suddenly shook as if something had been thrown into it with terrific strength. Startled, Kirk managed to lift his head long enough to get a glimpse of two men, one in red and one in blue, standing over him.
He was too far gone to do anything but laugh.
* * * * Seven days later * * * * *
It was deathly quiet in sickbay when Kirk drifted into consciousness. His right arm was hindered by a cast and his bare chest was wrapped in bandages, but the first thing he really noticed, as he blinked away his blurry vision, was McCoy standing over him with a datapad, punching information into it like his mother had just been insulted.
“Bones?” Kirk croaked.
McCoy jumped at his name, relaxing when he saw the captain was awake. “You’re lucky it’s the 23rd century, Jim, or you’d be dead as a doornail up a creek wearing cement shoes.”
“What?”
“Maybe I should wait to give you the report until you’re able to understand references to 20th century jargon again.”
Kirk cleared his throat. “Give it to me now and if I have to read it later I will.”
“Alright,” McCoy agreed, making no effort to hide the skepticism in his voice. “After interrogating Dieb, his overall plan was as follows: Steal the currency in Mizar Alpha’s treasury when the Enterprise was in orbit, plant a false transport order so that you and Spock wind up getting sent down to Blackling, pose as Blackling and torture you both so the guards outside hear your screams, then leave, taking the healing stone from Kinetta III with him. This would leave the only people suspected of knowing his whereabouts to die while he buys a ride from the next vessel to come to the planet.”
“You seem awfully okay with that plan,” Kirk commented in a suspicious tone.
“I was present at Dieb’s execution earlier today. My catharsis has been completed.”
“Why am I happy about that?”
“Because I have you on enough morphine to keep you upbeat for a decade. You couldn’t process what happened even if you wanted to.”
“Remind me to double your pay.”
“Yes, sir.” McCoy put his hands behind his back. “When High Chancellor Marteling told us what they were planning to do to you and why, Scotty set to work on proving the transport order had been falsified. It took him a while, too; that Dieb was one smart sonofagun. Once we had proof, he and I beamed down and stormed the Bastille. It was very dramatic.”
“Sorry I missed it.”
“So am I,” McCoy agreed, clearing his throat. “Now, before you realize that you haven’t asked about Spock-”
Panic flashed through Kirk’s body. “How is he? Is he all right?”
McCoy let out a hefty sigh. “Leave it to the Vulcan to counteract gallons of narcotics.”
“That’s not an answer,” Kirk barked.
“You can post-pone the heart attack, he’s in his quarters. We woke him up before you because he had less damage to recover from. I had to threaten him with the brig so he would leave sickbay.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “Between the two of you it’s like trying split up Romeo and Juliet.”
“Noted. How long will it take for the happy pill to wear off?”
“Normally it takes a few hours, but seeing the way your scowling at me right now I’d say it’ll only take you half that.”
“Get Spock in here when it’s out of my system.”
McCoy’s eyebrows went up. “You’re not gonna try to walk out of here?”
“How far do you think I’d get?”
“Well, you’re pretty strong, so I bet you’d make it all the way to me before passing out from the pain.”
Kirk eyed the foot and a half of distance between his bed and the doctor. “Dismissed, Bones.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Some hours later, Kirk lay in the dark sickbay, staring up at the smooth ceiling. He was supposed to be sleeping, but for the past thirty minutes he had been fully concentrating on controlling his air intake so that the burning in his ribs was staved off for at least a few seconds at a time. Breathing was uncomfortable, to put it mildly, without as much morphine pumping through his system as there had been earlier, but not impossible. Actually, if he just made sure to inhale at a steady pace, he’d be relatively pain free.
He wasn’t about to admit that to himself, though, not when he was trying so hard to keep his mind off other things.
Bringing his left hand to his forehead, he rubbed his brow gently. The events on Mizar Alpha flashed through his mind, but his thoughts didn’t dwell on the suffering he had endured, not for a second. If there was an image, a scent, a sensation that haunted him, it was something not nearly as brutal, but infinitely more vital. Regardless of how many times he tried to shake it off, the feel of Spock’s uniform crumpled in his grasp lingered on his fingertips.
There was no easy way out of this.
The door to sickbay slid open. Kirk’s eyes shot over to the entry, his hand coming to a rest at his side. The figure that stepped into the room was instantly recognizable. His pulse quickened, though he had no trouble appearing perfectly calm on the outside.
Spock arched an eyebrow as he noticed the low lighting. “If you are resting, Captain, I can return at a more suitable time.”
“McCoy told me to sleep, so I’m awake,” Kirk replied, forcing a grin. “Come in.”
Spock took a stance beside the captain’s bed, making eye contact with perfectly normal ease. Kirk held the gaze, ignoring the twinge of discomfort in his chest when he stopped regulating his breathing pattern.
“Captain,” Spock began in an official tone, “it occurred to me that you have a need as commanding officer to dissect the events that took place on Mizar Alpha so as to derive information that could be utilized in the future. Therefore, I have composed a full report on the incident and delivered it to your quarters.”
“You came here to tell me you filed a report?” Kirk asked, more curious than upset.
“It was necessary for you to be informed that further discussion of Mizar Alpha was not essential, Captain.”
Kirk knew that an escape route was being offered, but he refused to take it. “You can just say you’d rather not talk about it. Dieb, I mean.”
“I possess no emotional need to avoid the subject, Captain. It is merely my point that such discussion would be futile considering that all pertinent facts and information have already been disclosed.”
“Why are you calling me ‘Captain’ every time you say something?”
Spock crossed his arms in front of his chest. “My form of addressing you has no relevance to the topic at hand, sir.”
“The topic you refuse to talk about?”
“As I stated a moment ago, I possess no emotional-”
“I heard you,” Kirk interrupted gently.
He heaved a sigh, and the agony from the movement was immediate. Kirk grabbed his side and stifled a groan of discomfort, squeezing his eyes shut.
Spock leaned over him, arms braced on the side of the bed. “Captain, are you all right? Jim?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth, “I won’t breathe and I’ll be fine.”
Kirk opened his eyes to find the Vulcan hovering above him, gaze dark with concern. Without a thought, he grabbed the collar of the blue uniform and yanked Spock’s mouth down onto his. The contact only lasted a second as Spock ripped himself away, backing into the bed behind him. They gaped at each other, too stunned to speak.
Before Spock could move, Kirk did.
Jaw tight, he slowly began to push himself into a sitting position, his insides screaming with torment.
“Captain,” Spock protested.
Kirk swung his legs over the side of the bed, using his good arm to stay balanced. “I’m fine,” he winced. “Besides, it worked.”
Spock tilted his head slightly. “Worked?”
“You’re still here, aren’t you?” he answered with a small laugh.
A sting of pain shot through his side, and Kirk looked down to gather his composure. His good arm began to shake with stress, too weak to hold up his weight for long.
None of it mattered when he heard Spock take a soft step forward.
Kirk couldn’t find the strength to lift his head until Spock was directly in front of him, so close that he had to tilt his head back to see the Vulcan’s face. He watched with wide, glistening eyes as Spock bent down and pressed their lips together.
The collision was deeper, more penetrative than Kirk was expecting, causing him to sway backward from the pressure. His balance was saved by Spock’s hand finding its way to the back of his head. Kirk moaned in his throat and straightened his spine to return the kiss with equal fervor, eagerness drowning out any pain he might have felt.
Guided by Spock’s hand, their mouths mingled decadently as Kirk was carefully laid back down on the bed. He flinched from the movement, but it was forgotten an instant later as he felt Spock’s chest slide against his own.
Spock pulled back just enough to break contact, and the sudden room to breathe made Kirk’s chest hitch with a very familiar, unpleasant sensation. Nonetheless, his mind was still entirely focused on the moment at hand.
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it?” Kirk asked in the most genuinely inquisitive tone he could muster.
Spock’s pointed look bore down onto the captain. “I had originally planned to avoid such a topic until the Enterprise’s mission was complete.”
“It’s all right, Spock, I won’t mention your failure in any official paperwork.”
The Vulcan stood up, clearing his throat softly. “Thank you, sir. I would, however, like to request that a specific success be logged appropriately.”
“Success?”
Spock’s voice was perfectly serious. “You are lying down, are you not?”
Kirk could feel Spock’s smug smile as the first officer made a swift and simple exit.
He didn't mind.