Chapter 1: Bones
Notes:
This is for you, Toinette, and your immense ability at writing Star Trek - I know I can only make a poor attempt to measure up to your Bones, but this episode was on television last night and it caught my imagination, so I wanted to write this and gift it to you :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It's not a tough gig, on the surface. Not the one McCoy expects at first, either, but when has he ever gotten what he expected on this voyage? Can't be sure whether or not a species is gonna respond well to his treatment, though, or in the same way as a human, even if they look human.
He sees this all anew in his Platonian patient, whose wife begs for his aid. There's a low immune system response, that much is clear soon as he drops his bag and pulls out his scanner beside the gasping flushed individual. An infection has set in, one that would be minor to someone such as his Captain, perhaps - Jim's gotten enough nicks and cuts and scratches in time off the Enterprise and even when aboard the ship if he rushes too quickly past his chair and runs into the console next to Spock. Ol' pointy ears of course doesn't respond so drastically to anything as a human would - Jim has little bruises under his uniform often, but in this instance the doctor would be glad of that, because this Platonian man has not responded to the shot of medication Bones gave him except to fling stone and clay, to clench an unseen but no less dangerous for all that - in fact, perhaps more dangerous in being so unseen - power round living things... gathered his mental abilities for a psychic assault.
It isn't even deliberate, that the doctor can tell. At least, he doesn't believe so. Initially chunks of busts and stone from the furniture fly. Spock covers both him and Kirk with long arms - it's a good thing the hobgoblin finds this logical, the doctor inwardly grouses. There is a little fellow, a dwarf by the looks of him - head and torso typical size but limbs far too short for him - he expels a shout and staggers around the space, an atrium of the sort in ancient books about the humans on Earth called Greeks. These people are emulating aspects of their world, despite being light-years and so many eons from that time upon Earth. The doctor isn't much for philosophy; he is here to serve under his oath, and finds he cannot do that when the little fellow screams and goes flinging his limbs around the area, away from them.
Jim, of course, goes after the fellow, only to be hit by flailing limbs. "Bones, break the - link!" He grunts, running for the fellow and trying to catch hold without causing or receiving harm. The captain nods furiously at the feverish leader, who is groaning and thrashing. His wife calls to him and dammit, Jim - why had they come here, how is he going to do this? He's a medical professional, not a witch doctor! But with a heavy sigh McCoy nods to Spock before he goes to and takes hold of his patient, shaking the man's shoulders firmly and slapping to wake him from delirium. Barbaric practice, but in this moment it cannot be helped.
Anguish tapers off to the sound of choking, and of Jim's voice sounding as though his friend is begging...
Abruptly, the psychic onslaught stops, ceasing surefire as his patient goes limp on his lounging place. McCoy hangs his head with a gasp, clutching the sedative he had used, and then looks to the lady of the place "... I'll need clean cloths and cool water, thank you ma'am," the warm steadiness of his voice is belied by the slight tremor of his hands as he straightens to survey the rest of the room. "...Jim?"
Cradling the man who'd only just been choking himself, arm strength now not locked and eyes wide in relief leeching away terror, the captain looks up with a shallow nod. "He's all right, Bones. We're all right."
A twist of his head shows Spock, those pointed brows knitted in a look of what on any feeling face might be one of concern as he strides swiftly over to Jim. Checking the captain and stooping to the other man who rubs frantically at his throat, but whose skin is a healthy color now; his eyes aren't bulging. Good. McCoy will need to check on him after he stabilizes his current patient.
As the wife returns with a cloth and water pail, her movements are tracked by the sharp gaze of the doctor as she speaks. "Take our guests to guest chambers, Alexander. Thank you," she says to them all, her eyes linger on him the longest, McCoy finds, as he still kneels beside her husband's prone form. At least he seems to be breathing normally; his body has accepted the sedative. Now all that is needed is an understanding of the lack of immune response and thus a preventative measure for the future after the doctor treats this ill.
But as Alexander, still rubbing at his throat as he leads the captain and first officer to their room, passes through the atrium's doorway, fear and fury mingle in his eyes and McCoy wonders precisely what in the Sam Hill is going on here.
Notes:
I hope readers will enjoy, I'm taking the gist of the Star Trek episode "Plato's Stepchildren" and working with it.
Comments appreciated <3
Chapter Text
A sumptuous room they're brought to, he and Spock - and the doctor jogs after providing more brief ministrations to his patient. High-ceilinged, stone walled rooms with the decorations of a bygone age are contrasted to the living form of Alexander, who has a brightness and warmth about him antithetical to the cool distance of the other Platonian people. As is showcased not only by his open and expressive facial features but by his instant turn to Jim, to thank the captain for helping him as the doctor halted the psychic onslaught. He takes hold of the captain's hand and urges "If there is anything I might do for you, anything at all, I will." He looks on Kirk with such thankfulness. The captain sits so as to face the other man head-on, gripping his hand in response with a nod.
"Thank you. I'm happy to have helped you, Alexander. Are there any others like you on this planet?"
Jim sees and practically feels Bones inhale, the sharpness of his blue eyes looking on with warning as Alexander's body stiffens, as he sways back and gestures to himself with a look of hurt, but also resignation. It's like to break Kirk's heart that he would so instantly be put upon his guard. "Others like me, you mean -"
Gently, without any plans to speak otherwise, Jim says "...those who don't have psychic powers."
"Oh." His gaze on Kirk seems even warmer now than before, as the captain does his best to show care with his encouraging smile. He had felt how terrified Alexander was, had seen only in brief moments the manner in which he was forced to move, act and react without the ability to exert his own will; and Kirk hears screaming in his head, recalls moments of his past he'd thought were buried. He shakes himself free from them now by listening to Alexander explain how he is used, called and pulled back and forth by powers, and Jim shuts his eyes in a long blink, swallowing the sick fury that rises in him as Alexander is tugged away then. "I'll return, but - somebody wants me!"
His stocky form skips and spins out of the room, in a grotesquely comical fashion that makes fury burn in Kirk's heart. He knows they must ready their ship to leave as soon as possible. "We've got to do something about this, Bones," he hisses at McCoy, who lets out a sigh, light eyes rolling slightly as he seems resigned to the fact that the captain is going to stick his nose into others' business, as always.
"I concur, Doctor," Spock's measured tone rumbles over the captain's head as the Vulcan steps close - he keeps hands behind his back still, but Jim is overjoyed to see his own proclivity to be part of others' space as a comfort and to provide strength seems to have affected his friend. Spock stands near to he and Bones as the tall Vulcan adds "It is illogical for a power such as this sort to have appeared without cause, and only for certain Platonians. There is something ...amiss." His brows draw together and he settles his shoulders. Jim can sense the slightest concern in his first officer's manner, and can hardly keep himself from a smile, because attaboy, Spock is concerned. With a nod, the Vulcan continues "I should like to know more."
Jim claps a hand on the other's back and does smile, even as Bones sighs heavily again in response to both of them. He knows the doctor worries, but there does seem to be something amiss on this planet, and he intends to speak up about it. If for nothing else, for Alexander's sake.
Notes:
Kirk recalls troubles from his own past briefly, I think he wouldn't be able to help himself due to the particular sort of violence going on
Comments appreciated :)
Chapter Text
Spinning and juddering as he is sent down the hallway, Alexander is thrown into the main atrium again, coming before the author of his sorrows, who he had hoped would be unconscious for some time more. Clearly he had hoped for too much, and is taken away from the first respite to safety he can remember knowing on this planet. The calm and collected physician, the stoic fellow with strong brows and pointed ears - and the gold one, the captain. Jim, he had been called. Who had not only allowed the blows - unstoppable and unceasing - to fall upon his body from Alexander's, but held him and worked to free his own throat from his hands, to reassure Alexander, to tell him that he had him, that he would be all right.
And Alexander was. For once, in this horrible existence where he has no command over what he does or if he hurts. And the questions this man began asking, the words he and his two companions spoke; those give Alexander the tiniest spark of hope. They care, they want to understand the horrible psychokinetic power and how it occurs.
And he thinks on what was said before he was forced to come, to enact his buffoonery; how he had been asked about the power, after mistaking the captain's question about others like him. How he'd defended, jumped to anger, but Jim had only asked about the ability. "Um, to answer your question, I'm the only one who doesn't have it. I was brought here as the court buffoon. That's why I'm everybody's slave, and I have to be ten places at once, and I never do anything right."
The one with pointed ears asked how power was obtained, and he racked his brain, but all he knows, has ever known, is that the power comes after birth. That he is a throwback, and so are they. A clenching in his chest as he thought of every time he was spoken ill of, told he wasn't good enough for the power - the derision in the word "throwback" tells Alexander enough of that.
So he expects fury, scorn. Expects these visitors to be enraged, and to cause him pain as a result. But all the captain said, with a slight chuckle, as if to put Alexander at ease, he's never been thought of enough to be put at ease - "Don't worry about it. We're happy without it."
And gazing up into the open face of the man, Alexander had believed his words. "You know, I believe you are! Listen, where you come from, are there a lot of people without the power, and... who are my size?"
"Alexander, where I come from, size, shape or color makes no difference. And nobody has the power."
Nobody has the power. Alexander keeps that in his mind as he is ordered to sing and play on the lyre, his voice ringing out about the plan, the great plan the Platonians have created -
And then as if continued thoughts could conjure him, the golden captain strides into the atrium from the antechamber. Alexander feels his voice croak, and he sings in gibberish, fingers slowing their plucking of the strings as mind power descends upon him like the heaviest weight imaginable. He wants to shake his head at the captain, to warn him not to speak to their philosophical leader harshly, or in a way insubordinate.
But he can't, he is unable to warn him, and watches helplessly as this brave person is denied the ability to leave. Even his body is turned into a weapon with which to hurt himself - Parmen uses his power to strike Jim's face repeatedly with the flat of his own hand.
In his mind, still rooted to the spot due to Parmen's power, Alexander expels a scream; the only outlet for said emotion, in his eyes.
Notes:
Some episode quotes in this chapter. Poor Kirk and poor Alexander - he looked so pained in the scene wherein Kirk initially asks (or demands) to return to the Enterprise
Comments appreciated <3
Chapter 4: Spock
Summary:
After Kirk talks to Parmen. A missing scene
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It is fascinating, the expression of psychokinetic power on this planet. The fact that it somehow occurred because of this planet, except in the mind of Alexander, is a riddle of a thought that can surely be parsed out to discover a logical answer. Until then, Spock plans for at least a day of studying these Platonians, perhaps encouraging them not to treat Alexander as harshly as they do. He had not missed the sound of ... desperation in tone that had been answered with warm surety by his captain. Spock finds it a useful boon that his captain is so willing to use emotion to comfort and assist. Far from a discomfiting puzzle as it had been when they initially came into contact with one another, such displays are now to be expected from the man and as such, are a routine that could be described as comforting.
That feeling is dispelled on the instant Kirk returns from his excursion to speak to Parmen.
His steps are halting, stilted as he comes into view from the hallway. Movements are slow, and even that would have alerted Spock were he not to catch a glimpse of the state and expression on his captain's face. As it is, he looks up and is instantly on his feet, looking to Kirk with "Are you all right, Captain?"
Leaning heavily into the doorframe with a small smile that looks... tired, and speaking in a tone rougher than his usual, Kirk says "We aren't allowed to depart on the Enterprise, but I've never been refused - quite like this." Spock is alert at those words, and he nods. Perhaps they ought to prepare... But his train of thought is paused. There is something else in the man's eyes. One appears almost bloodshot, and the skin of his cheeks is flushed. Could he have somehow contracted Parmen's fever? No, that is not logical; yet something untoward had doubtless occurred. He notes something beneath the captain's nostrils, a dark substance. It's the dripping of
"Blood," Doctor McCoy is suddenly in the captain's space, cupping his face in both hands. "By god, Jim, you're bleeding! Here, sit down." Automatically wrapping an arm around the captain, McCoy helps him to their lounging place and then gathers up his bag of medical tools, one hand latched firmly onto the other's shoulder.
"Did they use force upon you, Captain?" Spock asks, feeling a lurching sensation within his chest, which he attributes to perhaps the atmosphere of this planet or the reaction to what had transpired earlier catching up with him. But he does close the space between them, reaching out slightly with one hand.
Kirk's quirking mouth belies his facial expression that appears drawn, now, to the Vulcan's sharp eyes. "Psychic force, yes, Spock." He leans his head into the palm of McCoy's hand as the doctor mutters for him to tilt back a mite. McCoy presses a cloth to blot up the drops of blood and scans Kirk, peering into his nostrils for the source of the gore. "...they had me do the hitting myself, though." He lets out a broken chuckle. "Should be used to that, with all the fights I've gotten in, except it's... something else entirely not to be in charge of my own hand." He lifts his right one and flexes it, slowly, eyes canting over the muscles beneath skin, the bones. As if he is seeing his hand for the first time, or in a much more human fashion, striving to assure himself. Spock nods as the doctor inhales a sharp breath.
"They got in your head," the doctor's warm tone and the expression in his eyes intrigues Spock as the doctor lowers the bit of sterile cloth he'd used along with his scanner, wrapping both arms around the captain's shoulders. What is even more interesting is the way the captain almost seems to collapse into the doctor's embrace. "Oh, Jim."
"I'll be all right, Bones." The captain looks into the doctor's face with another smile that wobbles as does his hand on the doctor's arm. McCoy continues holding on. The captain blinks and appears to slacken before burying his head against the physician. "Parmen is powerful," his voice is a low growl against McCoy's side and shoulder, as the doctor kneels now whilst administering to him. "But now we're aware, and I'm going to focus on keeping my head." He lifts his face out of the doctor's shoulder at that with a nod.
McCoy expels what seems like a fond snort, though his sharp light eyes remain concerned as he glances up at Spock. "Yes, and we must conclude that the Platonians will not allow us to leave for a reason," pressing his lips together, the first officer racks his brain to understand. He can come up with nothing certain, and so tries for reassurance, as he knows he shall need to feel once the Platonians' wishes are expressed with certainty "We must prepare ourselves for the possibility of another mental onslaught, Captain." Something flashes across Kirk's face at that, and the doctor glowers at him, but Spock steps forward and after a beat puts his hand on the top of Kirk's nearest shoulder. "For in future, we shall face it together." His eyes travel from Kirk's to McCoy's and back to Kirk's as the grasp of his fingers upon the captain's shoulder tighten, McCoy running his own hand up and down Kirk's broad back.
Spock makes the next statement both a proclamation and a promise, his voice ringing throughout their room. "...You shall not be in the company of Parmen any more alone."
"Amen," the doctor's quiet rejoinder precedes him leaning lightly against Spock as to Kirk he still holds on. There is a soft expression in his eyes as he adds "Well said, pointy-ears."
Kirk looks to both of them with a more genuine smile and a nod. "Thank you both," he says.
"'Course, Jim," the doctor responds gruffly with a light slap on the captain's back. "We're here."
Spock inclines his head in nonverbal agreement, registering the significance of that phrase as being meant as more than the fact they are here in a manner that is physical. They are here for the captain in every possible capacity, and shall be for as long as they can.
Notes:
I think a comforting scene after the whole Kirk-slapping-himself was necessary (though humorous in aspect, it had to be terrifying and exhausting to him to lose control over his own body because someone else had influence over his mind)
Bless McCoy - and Spock, because he certainly cares. And it seems to me, showing that kind of resolve would allow Kirk to handle the mind control a little better in the subsequent scene from the episode. These three fellows are such dear friends, in their particular way.
Comments appreciated <3
Chapter Text
The doctor wishes he could talk to his captain about what happened to him. Not that he doesn't think Jim would tell him the way he's feeling, because he is an open book that way. But McCoy will be damned if it doesn't tear into him, the look in Jim's eyes; the way in which his friend had practically slumped against his side when McCoy could not stop himself from reaching out to Jim after administering to his bloody nose.
Because he knows him. He knows how deeply abhorrent any lack of control over himself is to Jim, because he has been the person privy to knowledge of Jim's past that still sickens him and causes a few more drinks of an evening that he recalls knowledge of. If he wasn't trained, he might curl into a ball and cry everything out. He thinks Jim would also do something of the sort, his friend has always been expressive, the precise opposite of their resident stoic Spock, which causes some expressions of amusement from the doctor.
But such bouts of amusement occur on occasions far more tenable than this one; Jim is handling himself at the moment, but so clearly showed the exhaustion in his features and the trembling in his aspect after dealing with direct application of Parmen's powers upon him that the doctor is incredibly worried. About both of his comrades, honestly; though he hopes that Spock can center himself, use that Vulcan meditation practice. Where he stands on Jim's other side, seems as collected and emotionless as ever, though he does send glances towards Jim as they three of the Enterprise are tugged into the main receiving room together once again. They had been asked - in the Platonian manner, by use of the tug of psychic energy, a sort of itch at the back of McCoy's mind - to attend to the leaders.
McCoy stands close to Jim as Parmen offers a conciliatory expression and words in his own defense. Registering the stiff aspect of Jim's demeanor, the doctor trains his eyes steadily on the Platonian leader as he explains that his sickness had so disturbed - frightened him in a profound way - that he had lashed out. He appeals to Kirk even as McCoy feels his own body tense. He strives to tamp down the automatic emotional impulse he feels, that causes his eyes to flash. "I am sure, Captain, that you, too, have been out of sorts and have been driven to fits of temper and rage. Unlike you, however, what I think and feel, whether for good or ill, is instantly translated into reality. So please, find it in your heart to forgive me."
The captain inclines his head, offering a close-lipped smile, familiar to the doctor in application as an expression without any real forgiveness as a part. He can tell that his captain remains wary. "Certainly."
"And we wish to thank you, for what you have done for me. For all of us. The gifts, my love."
Parmen gestures almost lazily, with a smile touching his lips that indicates his own satisfaction with himself. Smug, too big for his britches, McCoy thinks instantly as his wife nods graciously and steps forward. "To our noble captain: the shield carried by Pericles, as a symbol of gallant leadership." She gestures to a large circular, made of bronze, shield that floats to the captain with the application of her power. He takes hold of it (with a reluctance in his stature that the doctor hopes only he - and perhaps Spock - is able to see) as she continues, explaining the second gift. "To our silent and cerebral Mr. Spock, this kithara to pluck music to sooth his ever-active brow." An instrument, not too unlike the lyre Alexander previously held (and played, quite well as Jim had stated) - travels to Spock.
The Vulcan accepts the instrument, but Bones feels in his heart the surety that something is wrong. Good faith is being bought with these presents. He is absolutely certain of this when Philana intones "... And lastly, to the physician Dr. McCoy who saved Platonius and my spouse, this ancient collection of Greek cures penned by Hippocrates himself." She bows as the scrolls fly upwards towards McCoy, and he automatically starts to unroll and look at them upon accepting. He cannot help himself, the very creator of his profession, somehow close - but his hands freeze as the lead Platonian verbalizes their underlying goal, the reason they have thus far remained here:
"After my nearly fatal infection, it has become obvious to us all that we cannot afford to be without a skilled physician. Therefore we should like you, Doctor McCoy, to remain."
McCoy lifts his brows, corded hands stilling upon his gift as he rolls it back into a tight scroll. He feels the defensive stiff stance that Jim takes beside him without watching, and prepares himself for whatever might happen after he voices a refusal.
Oh, hell.
Notes:
Well. I'm preparing to discuss the first application of psychic powers on Kirk and Spock... McCoy doubtlessly, even as a man of the written word and research, automatically excited by the work of Hippocrates, is worried both about Kirk and about the Platonian reasoning. And he had a right to be.
Comments appreciated <3
Chapter 6: Kirk
Summary:
Mind control begins. First person POV and discussion of mental pain
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Bones is gentle in his first refusal to stay. Kind, even. I'm always impressed by his humanitarian ways, and especially his restraint this time because my blood is boiling. Parmen tries to persuade him in an oily manner, with a supercilious tone. "The answer is no," the doctor speaks evenly.
Parmen matches Bones tone for tone, and I clench both of my fists, unable to stop myself from blurting "Doctor McCoy saved your life!" And this, this is how you seek to repay him?
That cool civility ebbs, and the chief Platonian's eyes are as cold as they were when he forced me to strike myself. So much for that rage being an effect of his illness. I can't stop myself from goading, demanding. Perhaps he can see the lack of reason in their actions, if - I shift slightly towards Spock, and he understands what I'm doing. Comes into the conversation smoothly, with his impeccable logic. I could kiss him for how quickly he knows what I've asked without needing words. Instead he asks with logical queries whose harmony these beings live in. Plato wanted truth, putting all the questions of his mentor Socrates to the Grecian people. He wanted to showcase beauty, and above everything else, to have justice.
"My dear Mister Spock, I admit that circumstances have forced us to make a few adaptations of Plato, but ours is the most democratic society conceivable. Anyone can, at any moment, be or do anything he wishes, even up to becoming ruler of Platonius if his mind is strong enough." Parmen speaks as if this is totally reasonable. Does he not hear himself?!
I feel sick, and spit out "And if his mind isn't strong enough, he gets torn apart like Alexander."
With a wave of the hand, a gentle scoff, as if Alexander means nothing, his life and will as much cobwebs as playthings. "Oh, come now. We are not children. In your culture, justice is the will of the stronger. It is forced upon people by means of weapons and fleets of spaceships. Our justice is the will of the stronger mind, and I for one, consider it a vast improvement."
Now I feel a sinking chill in my gut, even as I have to protest, because this is a truly horrific space; I think on my hand and its uncontrollable actions before, how satisfied, downright gleeful Parmen had looked as he bent my body to his will. "We don't use our weapons for the kind of brutality you practice," I tell him, and his eyes harden.
"Farewell, Captain," he says, voice a challenge that I rise to. I jerk my chin and turn on my heel, hand clapping Bones on the shoulder. "Come on, Doctor," I say, but he doesn't move. No. I make to tug at him, to take his arm and link it with mine. I will my voice not to tremble. Had hoped all they could do was affect a single limb, a useless, fruitless hope, but illogically, as Spock would probably tell me, I'd prayed these people might see reason. "McCoy." My voice is harsher than I mean it to be, and there is anguish in Bones' bright gaze as he looks into mine.
His mouth wrinkles as a pulse pounds in his neck, his forehead. He tries to follow but cannot, and my chest clenches at the ache, almost a tremor in his warm drawl "I can't move, Jim. They're going to keep me here no matter what. Leave, please."
What is he saying? I shake my head vehemently. Trying not to show my frustration at his decency, or the panic that begins to churn in my stomach. "No. You're the doctor. They don't want to force you. They need your goodwill. They're trying to force it, but -" my voice croaks off as I feel a sensation like a fist closing round my vocal cords. I glare.
"Captain, go while you still can," Parmen says, and God help me I'm as stubborn and bullheaded as Bones always says.
I shake my head, standing tall, hand on my friend's arm. "We're not leaving until McCoy is released." I put in my tone steel even as I'm starting to feel the beginnings of honest panic that morph to fury as that bastard tells me I am not on the Enterprise and do not give orders here. And oh, how his wife tells him to get rid of us, like we're some garbage to be tossed away so easy. Parmen refuses, acting as though he cares what would offend Bones, and speaks lightly of the anniversary of this little utopia of theirs.
Chin rising, my brave doctor says they won't persuade him, only to be dragged to Parmen's side and forced to watch as a weight descends so forcibly upon my back that I drop to my knees. Agony in a driving spike shoots through my kneecaps, and I hear an exhalation from Spock who's stood silently beside me and now is kneeling too. This proud Vulcan. My lips nearly tremble as I glance at him and then into McCoy's sharp eyes, worry telegraphing from them across the room. I hear the swish of leaves before I feel them, a thick circlet heavy with sap and prickling at my skin as my arms, feeling wooden, are forced to bend and catch up the wreath Parmen has sent across the stones to me. Out of the corner of my eye I see Spock being forced too, placing the leaves upon his forehead as if moving through mud. His brow is pinched as he catches my eye, and I feel his helplessness as sharply as I do mine. As one we unbend our legs and rise to our feet again before opening our mouths
To what, to beg? Plead for forgiveness, swear our undying loyalty to Plato and this planet's ways? My mind tumbles through multiple possibilities even as my jaw jumps in my attempt to keep it closed; to fight this mental onslaught crashing through my head like a rusty pick or enormous nail driving into my skull, shifting past my thoughts and wishes to stab into actions, forcing me, forcing both of us
To sing.
Notes:
What do you think of this point of view switch? Was it jarring? Let me know if you'd like to see more first-person. :)
Kirk's actions and thoughts came to me with his voice so I felt I should honor that inspiration by writing this chapter the way it came. Ugh, Parmen gives me chills of disgust, honestly. As does his wife.
Comments appreciated
Chapter 7: Spock
Summary:
Continuation of mind control - and of this story, after more than a year!
Chapter Text
The captain is not one to often sing, though I've heard him hum snatches of tunes on the bridge from time to time - and I myself have not done so since ...my mother did so with me, at home. She had a pleasing voice, and said mine was too, though I never could be sure if her human senses were fallible. Yet the captain does sing well, even as it is abundantly clear the words and tune are being coerced from him. His vocal cords are straining, there is a tense aspect as he vocalizes
"I'm Tweedledee, he's Tweedledum."
"Two spacemen marching to a drum," I add. Or, my voice does. We sing together then, words I vaguely recognize, even nonsense, as something - something the doctor remembers, or recognizes as I see the spark of recognition as much as that emotion of dismay, of sorrow in his face.
"We slith among the mimsey toves, and gyre among the borogroves."
We are on our knees, crawling, and I find myself in full command of the awe I feel as spat coldly, firm from the captain are his next words: "You're not staying, McCoy. No matter what he tries to -" and yet then his body buckles, freezes. His jaw locks, back bows and he is prostrate upon the floor, speaking in a strangled gasp about slavery, tending to every desire of these Platonians, in every hour. He has no time, no precious time...
Not a one of us does, surely; I hear the good doctor's desperate rage as his eyes blaze at the leader of these beings "Stop it! Don't do this to him, Parmen!"
...and yet our captain is resistant and resolute, still.
"McCoy. No matter what he makes me say or do, the answer's no." He snarls as his eyes close, as he writhes in what I can only conclude is pinpointed psychic pain.
The doctor's voice is desperate as he cries out
"No, Parmen! Stop it!"
And all of my training is nearly overrun when my friend rolls in agony. As this being lights up in pride at causing pain, as he asks if McCoy will stay. And I find it in myself to admire him, too; the good doctor - for in this moment, as shining are his eyes with unshed tears, a human weakness I can only feel my own chest clench in brief response to. And yet his voice is steady, as calm and sure as he is with patients, never mind the pain behind his light eyes.
"I have my orders," the doctor says.
Parmen responds as if his actions are logical, as if he is attuned to the doctor's wish. Yet the captain does not stay silent, as soon as Parmen's psychic hold is even slightly released. Which yet causes -
As much as I have learned my people's ways, as much as they scorned me for my human half, I cannot stop the feeling inside that, as the doctor would say, 'is knotted and wells up' when my captain, my friend, screams.
In complete and utter agony, he screams.
Chapter 8: Alexander
Summary:
Psychic pain and mind control described
Chapter Text
I have never hated Parmen and Philana so very much.
...That is not wholly true; perhaps it is only that as their injustice spreads, I feel it so much more.
They force the captain now into feeling so much pain it makes him scream. I close my eyes in horror, as I know ...at least something of how he feels. The helplessness, a weight and stabbing, white-hot agony and fury and fear of your mind not being your own for as long as they control it, and bursts or continuous waves of pain strike deep, over and over.
And then, yet, for him this is not the end of it. For me, they laugh and watch as my shaking peters out.
But the captain lies frozen on the floor and is danced over, in strange jerking thudding style, by the tall and serious Spock. Who they call Vulcan, and whose feet rise and fall and crash before all trembling, one boot ends hanging over Captain Kirk's face. I breathe a little easier once again when his foot doesn't come down, and it's all-too clear Parmen has either ceased the stomp for his own amusement or that this fellow just...won't complete his limb's descent; but in a minute he sways and drops next to me, laughing; and in relief I laugh too.
Yet the doctor sees this as if the laughter is worse.
"He's a Vulcan. You can't force emotion out of him," it's a desperate crawl of tone as he begs. And Philana, delicate and beautiful but with not an ounce of empathy in her, scoffs.
"You must be joking, Doctor."
And as my fists clench and my skin feels like it's burning, I realize it is not just her or Parmen that I hate; no. I have never hated all my people, hated calling these my people, or this place my home. Not when this kind man calls out, begging, desperate
"You'll destroy him!"
And all there is in Parmen is to say, "We can't let him die laughing, can we?"
And slumping next to, into me, long fingers shaking and features screwed up, this Mister Spock begins to sob, a wracking, helpless sound.
And the doctor begs.
Even as the golden captain inhales, opens eyes in sweat-streaked face, skin flushed where before it had been pale. He still speaks fiercely, nothing in him dwindling for a moment, and I'm amazed at his strength, even as his need for it, swallowing and croaking on words as trembling overtakes his Vulcan comrade "Spock. Spock. Don't let them break you. Hold on. Don't...,"
I must do something. I have to help. This mustn't go on!
"Parmen," I cry, standing and moving fast as my legs will carry me. Can't he remember? Find a shred of what used to be humanity? "... they saved your life." I try. I appeal, however, to nothing, as I see in his cold dead eyes. "I'm ashamed to be a Platonian," I blurt loud as I can. "Ashamed!"
He looks at me, head turning slowly on his neck, and I thrill with satisfaction mixed with fear. He has heard the truth ripped from within my heart. Take it or leave it. I am ashamed to be Platonian. I shall never live it down.
I freeze, and feel a spark of hope, yet it is dashed as Captain Kirk is forced to crawl towards me, in some sick approximation of a creature meant for riding. I feel cold and dead as I'm forced to ride him, to climb aboard his back as he claws at the air, whimpers and rears, muscles of his back tense and jerking under my legs. I am cold with shame as he moves and neighs, a high shrill sound that seems to break something within Spock, as he slumps and curls down, in upon himself after crying.
It is into this strange whimpering almost silence that Parmen says, as if he cares, as if it causes him more than glee or enjoyment, but guilt and pain to have to ask Doctor McCoy
"How can you let this go on?"
Chapter 9: Bones
Summary:
More first person. Content warning for strong emotions, talks of death and remembered trauma from the past
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
I hate all of this, in the deepest parts of myself, the parts I thought I could handle, after...what I've had to do. In my life and my profession. But after that psychic hell the hobgoblin is withdrawn.
No.
Spock, my friend, for all of that - his damned logic and focus and everything I've thought humanity with feeling balanced out naturally...
He stands in our sumptuous quarters, a prison-house of pain, and is still. Says even less than he does normally, which I'll be hornswoggled if that doesn't make me worry for a second that he's licked.
That thought flares a burst of rage within me as Alexander watches, moving on his waddling gait, and beckons to speak. I dip my head to him as his eyes go to Spock and back.
Can you do anything, he asks me. And I want to roar out, honestly. Want to shake him. Grab old pointy-ears and tell him he's supposed to be the strongest! Where's that Vulcan strength now when we need it, and more than that, can use it, damnit?! Why can't I - and I know I can't help - not unless I stay.
I'll have to stay with them.
"There is no medicine that can help him. He'll have to come through this himself." I tell Alexander in such a flat tone that even as I speak I taste bile and hate it. My gaze bores into Spock as his head rises, gaze passing over me and resting on Jim before he says, subdued
"I trust they did not injure you too much, Captain."
Jim is sitting, elbow bent, with one hand on his knee. I feel his eyes shift to the Vulcan from where they'd been on me, and I inhale hard. Balling my fists to stop them shaking.
"My muscles are sore, that's all," he says in an easy way. Trying to soothe Spock, as if that's something needed.
"The humiliation must have been most difficult for you to bear. I can understand." He says it so low and ... worriedly, and I almost snarl subsequent words.
My jaw clenches.
I should be the one soothing them all, I'm the DOCTOR and yet even my usual retort about "The release of emotions, Mister Spock, is what keeps us healthy. Emotionally healthy, that is," is flat and most certainly useless. 'S clear with the way pointy-ears responds.
"That may be, Doctor. However, I have noted that the healthy release of emotion is frequently very unhealthy for those closest to you."
"...Which just goes to prove that there's no such thing as a perfect solution," Jim says with an attempted smile in his eyes, the gentle but firm tone of his voice soothing us. Another thing I should be doing, damn.
"So it would seem," the Vulcan says. And then he squares his shoulders, lifts his head. Firm features, calm mien. Composed again, willya lookit that, I think. "Captain."
"Yes, Spock," Jim replies, his own features smoothing as his eyes lock on his first officer's. Mirroring the resolve. My chest aches as I listen to their exchange.
"Do you still feel anger toward Parmen?"
"Great anger."
"And you, Doctor?" The Vulcan looks at me, and I see for once no judgement, no censure in his gaze. If I didn't know better he'd look... it's a difference fine as frog hair, but it's different enough I can tell he is the Vulcan equivalent of feeling sorry for me. Perhaps for all of us.
My voice is low, and it grates from my throat. "Yes, Spock. And hatred."
His whole body tightens. "Then you must release it, gentlemen, as I must master mine. I might have seriously injured you, Captain, even killed you. They have evoked such great hatred in me, I cannot allow it to go further. I must master it. I must control." He'd grabbed up a goblet and I jump, closing my eyes as it breaks in his hand.
I know what I gotta do, for his sake. For Jim's, and Alexander's. And for mine, to know I can still do what I'm meant to do, as a doctor. Take care. "Jim. This is senseless. I've thought it over. I'm staying."
Jim whips his head around and rises to come over to me. "You can't." He says it like it's an order as much as he's telling me as a friend.
Voice as level as I can make it, I stand my ground. "Parmen has promised me you'll be safe."
"Promised? Parmen? He'd let us beam up to the Enterprise, and plunge the ship back into the atmosphere!" His voice is getting louder now, skin around his eyes grows red.
"Why? Why trick me?" I'm petulant. I know I sound that way, and am opening myself for a dissertation from the Vulcan on the uselessness of such an emotion, but hang it all, I need to know! I need to understand, why I'm being tricked. Why do the strings on this soft old heart get pulled in the worst of circumstances?
"Because, if he killed us outright in front of you, you'd retaliate. You're a doctor. You have the means. Bones, I know you're trying to do the right thing, but if any one of us escaped, Parmen knows Starfleet would never let this planet go unpunished. Sacrifice yourself by agreeing to stay, and you sign our death warrant."
"He's right," Alexander says. He speaks up again with head held low and lips a-trembling. "I should have warned you. They were treating you the same way they treat me. Just like me, only you fight them. All the time, I thought it was me, my mind that couldn't move a pebble. They even told me I was lucky they bothered to keep me around at all, and I believed them. The arms and legs of everybody's whim. Look down, don't meet their eyes. Smile. Smile. These great people, they were gods to me. But you showed me what they really are. And now I know, don't you see. It's not me, it's not my size, it's them! It's them! It's them!"
He is shrieking.
It's Alexander who's now boiling with the rage Spock feels. He runs over and breaks a...what would be called a pithos, in Greek. An urn. He snatches a giant jagged shard of the pottery. He's up and moving, but here comes Jim.
"Put it down."
"No. This is the best thing for them."
"Put it down. Do what I say." He's being the captain, giving an order. My hands are shaking, my ears starting to roar. Alexander is gibbering in rage, and I understand.
"I'm going to cut their - I'm going to cut them! Parmen first, and they'll all get infected. But this time, listen, whatever they say," he looks at me, eyes large and dark, voice hissing "don't save them. Let them die."
I'm willing to nod to him. My hatred burns as black as his. But Jim is glowing bright and fierce and firm as ever. "Give it to me, Alexander!"
"At least let me give them a taste of what they gave me. Please, they're going to kill you anyway. You know that."
I go cold. I hear that desperate voice in the back of my head, pleading for me to end it. Leonard, please! Spock stands motionless, still striving to master himself and his emotions. But Jim, as desperate as he seems in the stance of his body, speaks firm and gentle and measured.
"In that case, what's the point in you dying too, Alexander? Give it to me."
And Alexander breathes. He stops and breathes and looks up at Jim with an expression that hits me. Something he hasn't shown so clearly before.
Hope. Alexander is hopeful.
His voice grows desperate as he babbles out "...That's the first time anybody ever thought of my life before his own. I should have told you when you first came here that they were going to kill you. Because I knew, but I was afraid. I was afraid."
"That's all right. It's all right, Alexander. Listen, we haven't given up, and there may be something you can do to help." He says it to him, but also to me, and Spock as well. With his gaze if not his words. Our captain looks at us and offers something so we won't give up. We can and must do this. There is a plan. By God we can do this, get ourselves off of this planet and free.
We've got to.
Notes:
The voice in Bones ' head is his father's. I think of the flashback shown in one episode about him
Chapter 10: Distances
Summary:
POV third person for exposition and psychokinesis explanation
Chapter Text
Kirk and Spock immediately, it seems, become focused as Alexander swears "Anything I can do to help, you just tell me."
And they are off with questions.
"All right. Did the Platonians always have this power?" Kirk asks.
"No, not until we came to this planet," Alexander replies.
"Alexander, is it possible for you to recall how long after you arrived here that that power began to develop?" It seems that Spock has handled and mastered his feelings enough to focus at present.
"How could I forget that? It was exactly six months and fourteen days after we got here that they started pushing me around."
"And would you know how many months' supplies you brought with you?" The Vulcan continues.
"Well, four, I think. Or three."
"That's close enough, Alexander. Fascinating. Their power developed two or three months after they started eating the native foods."
"That's right," the little man nods.
"Then it is logical to assume that there is a connection between the psychokinetic power and the eating of the native foods."
"Then why wouldn't Alexander have the same power as the others?" McCoy asks.
Touching his chin before folding arms in thought, "Perhaps his system cannot absorb the crucial element." Spock speaks with his usual level of logical detachment.
The captain nods, snapping fingers and striding over to the doctor. "Bones, I think it'd be a good idea if you took a reading of Alexander's blood."
"Not that I'm afraid or anything, but will it hurt much?" Alexander asks.
"You won't even know it happened," the doctor assures. He is more than pleased to do something of his job again. And Spock with his logic does actually have valid hypotheses in this case. Kirk asks about Parmen's blood reading on Bones's tricorder, and not only does the doctor have it, but since Parmen has the highest amount of psychokinetic ability and Alexander has the lowest in same environmental and atmospheric conditions...
"The probabilities are that Alexander was born with some biochemical deficiency relative to Platonius." Spock says in his straightforward way.
McCoy runs both samples to do a comparative test, and Kirk says they will have a weapon if the theory works out.
And it does, of a fashion.
The doctor finds out the one big difference is a concentration of something called kironide, broken down by hormones from the pituitary gland. Kironide is a high-energy source, and said pituitary hormones regulate body growth, confirming the hypothesis according to Spock.
The same thing that kept Alexander from having the power made him a dwarf, and explains the choice by Parmen, if it was solely his, to keep this little utopia secret. Anyone coming down to the planet and remaining long enough would acquire the power.
Exactly, and there must be a quick way of building up concentration of kironide.
The doctor will not say that it'll be easy, but it's possible. He hesitates, however, because even if the kironide produces the desired effect for and within each of them, it may not help them depart. There are thirty eight members of Platonius, and yet the powers aren't additive, because if so, a group of Platonians could have combined psychokinetic energies and overthrown Parmen. Deposed him.
Alexander agrees with that, and mentions Parmen saying each Platonian has their own 'power frequency' because when trying to combine powers, it has not worked.
They must not waste time; the captain directs double the concentration of kironide for them than that which is in Parmen's bloodstream and the doctor injects it.
Spock is concerned about time nonetheless; "It may take days or even weeks before there's enough build up from the kironide to be of any benefit to us."
"Yes. And what about Alexander?" Kirk, since the start of their sojourn upon this planet, is always thinking of their new friend.
"Since the kironide's broken down and injected directly into his bloodstream, it should work on him as well as us. Better in fact, because he's acclimated." The doctor offers an open hand with a syringe.
Alexander backs away. "Oh, no. Not after what they've done to me."
"Why not? You could conceivably take Parmen's place and run the whole planet." The captain asks this genuinely, but Alexander is undeterred from refusing.
"You think that's what I want? Become one of them? Become my own enemy? Just lie around like a big blob of nothing and have things done for me? I want to move around for myself. If I'm going to laugh or cry, I want to do it for myself. They can keep their precious power. All I ask is one thing. If you do make it out of here, take me with you. Just drop me any place they've never heard of kironide or Platonius." He swallows, emotion writ large upon his face.
"Alexander," Kirk begins when in a shivering beam of light and the sound of the transporter, two figures beam into the room, down from the Enterprise. "Nurse Chapel, Lieutenant Uhura." He is surprised into saying their names, yet inclines his head respectfully (as Spock also does, McCoy making a sharp movement towards Nurse Chapel in attempt to assist her as she strains to speak).
Uhura stands still but her eyes flicker sharp and swift around the room before both women are drawn up rigid and, as the captain sees their bodies tensed in the way his and Spock's had been under mental control, not to mention what occured to Alexander, they turn and depart from the room.
Breathing heavily through his mouth and raising eyebrows with a tight and mirthless smile, the captain of the Enterprise smacks his lips. "I guess we weren't sufficiently entertaining," he offers.
Chapter 11: Uhura
Summary:
First person. Psychic onslaught description at end of chapter
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It has been three days and counting since the away team's communicators stopped sending regular live or recorded updates, and say what you will about the unorthodox ways of our captain, this isn't like him. It's certainly not like Spock, which according to Christine, makes this situation even stranger. I've been monitoring from the bridge with Chekov and Sulu - more helping Sulu and encouraging our young Master Pavel not to come storming down to the planet, because we don't know what's going on down there.
"Could be anything, ma'am," is what Scott says when I go to the transporter room to see him. "Dunno if any'a us are needin' ta go down or nae. I still get good life readings from the team from the transporter, and I check it every two hours or so."
"Have there been any fluctuations, Mister Scott?" I ask, and he hesitates. His hand, the one that tends to shake and clench more in times of stress, with the scarred and shortened fingers he doesn't like the rest of us to see...well that hand jerks. I'm standing on the other side of his console in the transporter room for his report, and rest my hand over his, nails scraping gently with a clicking sound. "Scotty," I lower my voice, knowing if I lean closely I can talk and also cut off the radio so none of this is on the record. Not if it worries him. "What's going on? Should I let Nurse Chapel know?"
He gulps, that warm ruddy skin of his blanching. His craggy face gets more creased. I'm known for not showing feeling, and he for much. "Well, it's - I wanna say it's nothin'," his brogue is trembling. "But I'll tell ya, ma'am, the chemical levels are changin'. Physically, seems the fellows are fine, apart from a couple'a blood pressure spikes. Nae, but this..." He taps his thumb and then inputs the code to bring up the Captain's vitals. "Look at his brain." Scotty taps the dark screen showing an outline of a humanoid body underneath which is the captain's name, rank, and number with his fingernail. "The chemical waves in the brain, from what I'm supposed to check and know from Doc McCoy, they're meant to be evenly spaced, not all clumped and showing...but lookit here," he brings Spock's vitals up next. "There are swirls of orange and yallow coverin' his brain. Now, I've seen that when the captain gets a bee in his bonnet. But Spock? He and the captain are chalk and cheese, Ms Uhura. Their brainwaves are never both like this at any given time on a planet. Except -"
"... except when there's danger," I say quietly. "That's a visual representation of extreme mental stress. O.K." I make a split-second decision and press the button on my communicator. "Lieutenant Uhura to Nurse Chapel. Come in."
"This is Chapel, over."
"Christine, I need you in the transporter room right away. Bring -" I pause. Anything she might need sounds scary, or at least cryptic. "I need your help on an assignment." That should do it. Comming immediately thereafter to Sulu, I explain to him that myself and Nurse Chapel will be beaming down to the planet due to some findings from Mister Scott. "You can keep Pavel in line up there, can't you?"
Hikaru's tone has always been a mix of dry and gentle. "But of course, lieutenant Uhura. Observing ...and assisting - Chekov is, as always, a pleasure."
"I'd wish you luck," I say with a slow smile "but I've every confidence you can handle the bridge, Mister Sulu." Pulling my finger free from the communicator, I nod to Scotty. "Thanks for telling me this. Keep watch so we can bring back our boys." All in one piece, I add to myself.
Christine comes through the door as Scotty draws himself up and nods smartly. "Aye!" He goes so far as to flip a salute as I offer a hand to help the nurse onto the transporter bay.
"Scotty showed me the vitals," I say to her. "I've already been checking on the time, but now there's issues with brainwaves?"
She nods. "I know, we have to get down there. I promised Doctor McCoy - well, what he said to me was that if he was in danger of being anyplace for longer than a week with Officer Spock there would be a distinct possibility of him running mad." I can't help covering my mouth to stop a laugh. The incendiary verbal interactions of our good doctor with Mister Spock are well-known. We all figure there's no real dislike behind them, but accept whatever our doctor has to say. Spock doesn't speak on the matter, but his brain function is of interest and concern to Chapel when I tell her his mental stress is elevated. "We've got to get down there. I'm ready," she says to Scotty and to me.
I nod at her, standing with feet together and arms pulled in. "All right. Beam us down, Mister Scott," and in a blink the tingling of transport energizes and descends into something I haven't felt before. A howling dearth of control, as if I've been slammed full-force into a concrete wall and cannot move my body or use my voice for anything.
I hear the Captain's voice say my name, and Christine's. We turn, catching sight of him and the other men, but it's too quick to take in anything else before we both are dragged by this ... invisible concrete force out of the room in which we've materialized.
Notes:
Nyota is a calm force and a badass whose way of interacting with Scotty was always super sweet in my opinion
I've included Scotty's hand with shorter fingers as a nod to his actor who was in the service in war and had his hand disfigured. I think it should be a source of pride and not embarrassment for a man to have sustained an injury protecting his countrymen in the hell that is battle
***I do not think Parmen's influence could reach all the way into the entirety of the Enterprise and send Uhura and Chapel into the transporter room. Never mind forcibly beam them down. They'd risk being spliced into atoms or something. No. So I've changed enough that it was these women's choice to come and find their captain and crew, they were simply coerced with mind power once they'd beamed down.
Please let me know if you'd like to hear from nurse Chapel - I'm not as familiar with/sure about doing first person for her character, but am willing to try if readers are interested
Comments appreciated
Chapter 12: Chapel
Summary:
POV First Person, another missing scene
CW for nonconsensual actions and some references to exoticism
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
We - Nyota and I - are whisked into the presences of two people wearing funny old robes like the ancients wore once earthside. I feel as though I should be able to place them, and feel stupid as I'm forced first to stand and then to bow my head as the man, with a grand sweep of arm and smile, says "Welcome, dear ladies, to Platonius, land of the academicians. You two are guests of myself and my wife for a festive occasion, as are the men of your ship already here - delightful trio of fellows."
it seems then that his eyes brighten, almost blaze and his teeth bare in some conspiratorial smile with his wife. She is so poised and beautiful; I feel dowdy in my simple blue medical shift.
There are few things that bid us stand on such high ceremony aboard the Enterprise - though Uhura shifts, her heels click-clacking. They, and the length of her skirt, are a small luxury (you're lucky, Christine, she's told me. People come to see you, along with Doctor McCoy, as a medical professional. The new crew members, particularly the young boys...they still look on me as perhaps an oddity. Or a prize. So I let them look, but never touch.) She can smile a one like that of the man before us now; and more than that, her heavy eyelids beget such a glare as I have seen the doctor use upon his most stubborn patients.
She levels it on these people, now, and I can tell within the smooth skin of her forehead, her mind is working. She is not to be mentally controlled, and I see her work her lips and spit "will we - then - be leaving after your - festivities? Ourselves and the men?" Somehow able to echo their lofty tones, though the quirk of her lips and spark in her eyes lets me know her word choice is facetious.
She knows what she's doing. I admire her, and it seems perhaps this man does too, for he raises his brows and almost seems to slip into a warmer smile. "Hm, a strong one like the captain is," he half-murmurs to the woman beside him. And then, to Uhura "sweet lady -"
She is not having that. "Lieutenant." Her voice is clipped, whether or not from the force that crawls up and down our backs and keeps us standing still, or otherwise. "Please call me lieutenant, as it's - my rank."
"Oho," the lady responds. "Her rank." There are titters, and Nyota's nostrils flare. I feel awful for her, but she still stands strong.
The man of this planet isn't deterred. "We call all women sweet ladies here. It's a custom -"
"I don't - require such a custom," Teeth clenched as she shakes her head, it seems to take every ounce of energy for Uhura to smile. Her voice is the soft drawl she reserves for situations where she's being polite but is seconds away from using her phaser. "I'm not from here."
The man replies with an ugly look, as if her pulling rank has displeased him, and says something that makes my blood run cold. "Well we shall see if you shall stay." He sweeps his arms and calls for us to be dressed. I've no clue what he means, but suddenly several other women have appeared on all sides. They bring long almost-dresses in pastel shades for us, and run their fingers through our hair as the man says he will soon see us at the festivities.
As he disappears, I flinch, like I've been doused in icy water. I stagger and reach for Nyota's hand. She takes mine in both of hers, covering with one.
"I'm frightened," I whisper, a lump rising in my throat. She squeezes my hand as her eyes track the room around us.
"I'm uneasy too," she dips her head to speak in as low a murmur as possible. "But we can get through this, whatever this is." She jerks her head in a sharp nod before looking at me. "We'll get through it together, won't we, Christine?"
For a second I see a flash of fear cross her face as the ladies close in. I hear them talking about freezing us up to clothe us, and my body is once again rendered immobile.
But I hold onto her hand for as long as I can. "Yes, Nyota," I'm almost whimpering, the sound torn from my throat before our voices are shushed up. It's like some heavy stone has pressed my tongue flat. Acidic fear floods through my body, mixed with adrenaline, surely. The lieutenant has stiffened, muscles jerking under her smooth brown skin that these ladies appear to be admiring. I send a hope that they won't offend her as I stare straight ahead.
She can't move, and neither can I, but we can keep our feet as well as our dignity. Surely.
And we'll be back aboard the Enterprise soon.
Notes:
Poor Chapel doesn't know what's coming next, neither of them do :(
I hope I captured her - I still don't feel certain about it, but took a shot. I also did not see any Platonians of ethnicities other than -apparently- Caucasian, and so figure there's some conversing about the color of Uhura's skin. Honestly the thought of them oohing and stroking her arms or something makes my skin crawl, yeesh
**A question for readers: as the next chapter details the 'festivities', whose points of view would you most like to read of the ones I've used? Please let me know.
Comments appreciated :)
Chapter 13: Spock
Summary:
First Person POV continues. Another missing scene, this one takes place primarily between Kirk and Spock
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
We have no sooner executed the beginnings of our plan than Parmen deals another blow of a hand in this game he is playing. As based on feeling power, I surmise; on proving he can so simply control each of us. I feel a growing heat, a rage that builds within despite all my attempts to master it as myself and the captain are frozen up stiff and spun; I see Jim's eyes widen and I know the feeling of fear that rips through him as he is practically dragged from the room.
I look to the doctor and Alexander as I am forced to follow him.
"Release," I nod to McCoy, as best I can. Hoping he understands what I mean, that he must use his human emotion in whatever greets us next. We are thrust into a room the size of one of the ship's equipment closets and some invisible force divests the pair of us of our uniforms. Instead we are forced into wearing short tunics; I feel a chill against my skin and it crawls along my back as surely as does this oozing sort of feeling... "Captain," I say, hardly able to recognize my own voice as it croaks and I feel my limbs shaking as my body falls forward. He turns, eyes widening, and his arms - they are strong, I think, illogically; and warm - almost in an embrace catch me.
"Whoa, steady there, Mister Spock," he says. It's an expression of jocularity, his tone of voice. Even forced as it very likely is. He squeezes my upper arms and I am able to straighten and look at him. I wonder, then, at the usefulness of human connection and the physical forms of it which the captain so consistently manifests along with his sharp nods and quick-to-appear smiles. His eyes spark with feelings, and this time it seems with so much concern for me as he asks "Are you all right?"
I hesitate a moment, wondering how much it is apparent in my features or movement that I very much have not mastered my continued swellings of emotion. "Physically, of course, captain," I manage, yet find that my hand is shaking as I raise it without thought to cover one of his. It is a gesture I've witnessed more often from women, pressing another's hand; Nurse Chapel, for one, has done thus to me. I am unclear on the logic of this movement but the captain says nothing about it. "Mentally...is another matter entire, and. Emotionally, I believe you are aware."
The Captain lifts eyebrows and presses his lips together on a smile "As much as I know my head is also whirling, yes, Spock, I get it." A tug at my middle occurs and his jaw jumps, head shooting up. His hands tighten around my shoulders. "Damn it, can't they give us another minute?!" He hisses, and his fury snaps like a stinging whip to add a burning stripe upon my own. He seems to look almost pleading. "Can you exert any psychokinetic force, Spock? I haven't yet, though I've tried."
And this is why he is the captain. I feel a burst of fondness, and then shame. These emotions may be if not the death, the ruin of me, for I nearly drop my face into his neck in utter desperate neediness. For what, I cannot tell; the feelings are not so specific at all times, they ebb and flow in levels of specificity, but remain potent.
Always potent.
But I cannot let him down. I must try to use the psychic force, and so settle my shoulders and try to lift the crumpled cloth of our discarded uniforms, feeling a pang of white-hot fury that they should be divested of our persons and dropped to the floor like this. I tense, fists clenching, both arms dropped and chin tipped low.
There is nothing.
And as I shake my head, the captain spins. His kindly focus leaves as his eyes are, seem somehow forcibly - dragged forward, away from mine as we exit the space.
Within the Platonians ' entertainment chamber we come to stand. I feel a sort of jump within my chest as the two female members of our crew appear. They are dressed in long flowing robes. I certainly do not imagine the manner in which the nurse's light eyes linger upon me, even as I find myself hoping she and the lieutenant were afforded some small amount of privacy in which to change clothes. "Are we ever glad to see you," she enthuses with a flush in her cheeks. I incline my head as the captain smiles. Lieutenant Uhura clears her throat, head up, eyes level. She handles herself with poise, even here and now, as is evident in the measured manner that she now speaks as well.
"I'm glad we found you all. I asked Mister Scott to beam us down, but once we got down here, it was like ...becoming someone's puppet," the lieutenant speaks this last portion in a halting tone. My eyes shift to hers, rich with resolve as such that she shows upon the bridge. I am glad to see it, and find myself grateful for it. I do not make any attempt to master those feelings, but nevertheless they are replaced by colder, shrinking ones when the nurse as if unable to stop herself, asks
"I thought I was sleepwalking. I couldn't stop myself. Captain, what is it? What's going on?"
Opening his mouth, the captain hesitates for the briefest moment before murmuring to me "Spock, do you feel any effect of the kironide shot?"
"I have experienced a slight flush, Captain." And I had. The onslaught of feeling made me believe initially that my physiology had been compromised, but the more logical conclusion in this instance is that such a response came from the shot the doctor has given us.
This is confirmed further by a nod from the captain and his own experience. "So did l. Let's try a simple test. Concentrate on raising this plate of fruit." There is one before us on a low table. I turn and train my eyes upon it, as I see him also do. The two women appear confused, and understandably so. I stare, narrowing my eyes and reaching in every way I know. Emptying my mind of all but the fruit and activity I wish to perform. I wait, and strain.
Kirk strains too, as I see by the reddening of skin and the throbbing vein in his forehead. Even more by the frustration of him swearing "Nothing. Damn!" He slaps his hand against his own thigh. Disappointment, a cold curdling feeling, washes over me. As acute as when I was a child and had not learned to handle my father's disappointment in me. I feel a prickle in my eyes and close them briefly.
There is a sound then of a swish and clatter. Some distance to one side, shutters draw back to reveal a curved span of seats behind a brace of poles or columns. The Platonian people sit watching us, as does - in his own way straining as mightily as are we - Doctor McCoy.
Parmen extends his arm in an extravagant gesture and begins to speak.
Notes:
Comments appreciated
Chapter 14: Chapel
Summary:
Content warning for forced physical intimacy by the Platonians upon, specifically, Spock and Chapel
Along with discussion (and fear) of death
Chapter Text
The man in charge is speaking of the occasion twenty-five hundred years ago, when he and these others arrived on this planet. How? How is that possible? They were but "a band of hearty vagabonds". He speaks with dramatized, flowery words, speaking of desperate hardships and backbreaking toils, and then about genius and dedication. Nyota flutters her lashes and lifts eyes in a slow rolling motion as l look sideways at her, and I find that I must bite the interior of my cheek in order to stop a - partly nervous - giggle.
And yet, I am still a medical professional above everything. All else is subjugate to that facet of my life, my very being.
Even my place as a crew member on the Enterprise.
And so, after looking over Officer Spock as well as the captain, my eyes are drawn to scrutinize Doctor McCoy.
Upon focusing on him, I'm driven to take stock. He holds himself with a stiffness, although there are no visible signs of injury upon his person. The stiffness I recognize as being similar to his way on previous occasions when fighting with or restraining volatile patients - both of which tax him extremely and cut him deeply in an emotional sense. And such things happen more frequently - or have over the course of this mission - than either one of us would like.
The doctor also appears stoic overall, and yet from his eyes shines a pointed dread and at once a blazing...hatred. His veins stand out in hands clenched at his sides, the only other physical abnormality I can see besides his stiffness. Yet all these signs are directed towards a single being, the same who had spoken in such supercilious manner to myself and Uhura. She told me that she's experienced such talk before. It only serves to make her gain focus and fight harder, a facet I've got to emulate as this - man speaking now says "This night is indeed a festive occasion, for tonight, we welcome into that brotherhood its first new member."
I gasp as Uhura looks from Kirk to Spock to the man, and the captain lifts his chin, eyes blazing as cords stand visible in his neck, jugular vein and carotid artery bulged. "Not yet, Parmen. You have to convince the doctor first."
What?!? I feel my eyes go wide, and am sure I make some sort of sound. The stiffness is understandable now to me - all of this has been in some strange effort to convince him to stay. And I see the depth of his resolve, as I know he would do whatever he could to keep those innocent free from harm. Yet surely these people, at least this man is not so innocent. I am caught by the framing of our Hippocratic oath as the doctor speaks grimly, as if the sentiment as much as truth yet causes him pain.
"They'll never do it, Jim."
The man sighs, clicking his tongue with a shaking head as he steps closer to McCoy. "Doctor, please. You have destroyed the festive mood of the ladies. We must recapture it at once. I know. What would be better than a serenade from the laughing spaceman?" He claps his hands and smiles as if this truly is something joyful, and I am confused as to who he means. Kirk shifts, and I feel I understand; but of course they would see how prone he is to jokes and laughing, and so... surely they mean to ask -?
With a clench in my abdomen and hips I am shoved, by the slightest noise from her I see the lieutenant is too. We are being dragged to a couch, and with halting steps beside us comes ...not Kirk but Spock! His brows seem pinched, and there is so much more than I am used to seeing on his face and in his eyes. I collapse, am almost thrown, onto this sort of chaise in a lounging position. Nyota is next to me, I feel her warmth and yet I am so cold as a little man, the size of a child, waddles out with some sort of instrument. He plucks it, and I feel a shock as Spock with his elegant fingers tilts up my face and starts to sing.
His voice is deep and rich and lovely, and yet I feel sick with something like dread, for Spock doesn't sing. He does not emote, not like this, in a way so fiercely desperate yet somehow wistful.
"Take care, young ladies, and value your wine. Be watchful of young men in their velvet prime.
Deeply they'll swallow from your finest kegs. Then swiftly be gone leaving bitter dregs. Ah, bitter dregs.
With smiling words and tender touch, man offers little and asks for so much
He loves in the breathless excitement of night, then leaves with your treasure in cold morning light. Ah, in cold morning light"
It makes me want to cry, seeing his vulnerability, yet I feel no joy for him. Just a deep sadness, almost horror, because I know - I know this is not natural. His gazes into my face and Nyota's are lingering and yet his muscles twitch, his pupils are shrinking in terror.
I realize Spock is afraid. And that, more than anything yet, seizes my chest and squeezes my heart.
I would jump, if I could, or scream as that horrible man Parmen lets the revels begin, as if this has only just started for us, and there is so much more.
I stand and totter, am dragged fully onto the couch and into Spock's space as he sits as though his limbs are the heaviest in the world. His face spasms as I'm shoved, and his arms are strong yet not sure as they wrap around me. He is almost squeezing and his head shoots up as a sound precedes the Captain holding Uhura in some similar embrace on another couch.
My heart beats wildly as I swallow and force myself to look into Spock's eyes. My heart twists and my face heats as it looks to me as if he's in some pain. If not physical, it's emotional pain. Of course, he is a Vulcan; he is not meant to so violently feel. I want to comfort him, to touch his cheek, or move away if he'd prefer it, but my body will not move. Nothing but my thoughts obey me.
And then I'm dropped down, and Spock is moving. I shut my eyes a moment and then feel the weight of someone, the soft strength of another pair of arms. The Captain's. "Hang on, nurse," he murmurs in my ear. His voice and touch are gentle. He puts his lips just by my hair, to hide from these people and their horrible sight, I'm sure. "Just hold tight. I - promise - we'll get you out - of here."
And then he's gone, and I gasp, tears starting. I'm unable to respond.
But here is Spock, lovely straight brows and solemn face swim into view for me as he takes me in his arms again, holding me. Cradling me.
Yet this choice is not his own.
"I'm so ashamed," I tell him. "Please make them stop."
His voice is a low, seemingly anguished rumble. "We have tried."
"Please, please make them stop." I know I sound so much like a needy little girl as I cry out, tears pouring down my cheeks. Spock's features screw up as though he is close to crying himself.
"I haven't the power. I'm deeply sorry. We've failed you," he says.
My breath hitches as I tell him. I don't know why, but I tell him. Maybe it's an attempt to lessen his shame, because he feels so badly, as though he's failing, that he has failed. But he is not alone, so I tell him "For so long I've wanted to be close to you. Now all I want to do is crawl away and die." I'm trembling, nearly sobbing. His hands and face are wracked with tremors too, and our bodies move like wooden staves, or something dead.
I cannot watch his face any longer, my heart is breaking for both of us, but for him this ordeal must be so much stranger on top of anything, from the feelings that are forced. We are made to kiss - our lips touch, but it feels like naught but water, rock, and icy cold; and the words of people ringing out to us send jabbing bolts of fear through me.
"Careful, Mister Spock. Too much love is dangerous."
"Remember, Cupid's arrow kills Vulcans."
Yes, it's a metaphor, but is it also real? Do they mean to destroy Spock with all this feeling? Would they truly kill him? Kill all of us?
At once I cannot ponder anymore and only hold myself as still as possible in Spock's arms.
Chapter 15: Kirk
Chapter Text
I take stock, and every moment try to use the effects of the shot of kironide. But nothing, as of yet, occurs.
Nothing but affection and worry for my wonderfully brave crew, for my dear lieutenant Uhura, in my arms shaking yet trying to remain calm, as poised as she is whilst working on the bridge. But her eyes are shiny as she whispers "I'm so frightened, Captain. I'm so very frightened."
And I understand the doctor's hatred, now. I do, because this staunch and incredible woman should never feel such helpless fear. "That's the way they want you to feel," I tell her. "It makes them think that they're alive."
Slowly, she nods. "I know it, but I wish I could stop trembling."
I can feel her body shake against mine as she nearly crumples in my arms. I swallow, saying now to her probably fiercer, sharper than I mean: "Try not to think of them. Try."
My eyes are flickering over the group of Platonians. I see Alexander, his features screwed up with anguish that continues to tear into my heart. I can't stop feeling the most on account of him, this terrified being who has such a sense of self, so strong when given the slightest validation.
Anyone could have come and assisted him, but it was us. It was me, my ship, my crew. My dear good compassionate doctor and first officer with logic and understanding enough to instantly assist.
For them, and these two brave members of my crew, taking medical care and leadership beyond the ship to bring us back - my transportation engineering officer who doubtlessly stands at the ready to beam us all shipside again.
Though we are kept in this mental onslaught, this stranglehold now, there are people to help us.
We aren't alone.
I screw my courage to the sticking place, because I cannot fail my people. And then Uhura says something else to me.
"I'm thinking. I'm thinking of all the times on the Enterprise when I was scared to death and I would see you so busy at your commands. And I would hear your voice from all the parts of the ship and my fears would fade. And now they are making me tremble. But I'm not afraid. I am not afraid." She settles her body and I see resolve as well as affection in her eyes. And I feel such warmth and joyful appreciation for her, for the fact that I've done my job so well that just my voice can help conquer her fear.
My dear Uhura.
I don't know if I speak aloud, yet it's as if my mind opens and when we move in, I shift my head - hers blocks the sight of the Platonians - and my lips graze the corner of her mouth, press gently to her cheek. I squeeze her arms in thanks of my own accord, and lift my eyes to stare, defiant.
I will try myself at whatever else they force us to do; I will master mind-driven fear and protect my crew.
Chapter 16: Uhura
Chapter Text
I think I've mastered the fear, this crawling feeling that I hoped not to feel anywhere outside of my childhood, before going to the Academy and being assigned to the Enterprise... I pull myself back, try to think of the bridge, and of what I told the captain, of his voice throughout the entirety of the ship -
His gaze is warm and I feel a surging affection; how he must be working so hard to fight against this mental stress that grows as that woman, wanting to see agony, whose features are icy cold, she speaks now.
She says to the man "Parmen, let's get on with it."
And he, as though simply indulging her wish for a different cocktail with dinner, clicks his tongue as he responds "You are so impatient, my wife. Observe the doctor and learn. He's quite content to wait for the piece de resistance."
My eyes pull to Doctor McCoy, who sits rigid in place. I see his fingers clutch at his own knees, the tips and knuckles stark white, as if devoid of blood from the tightness of the grip. And then a clattering alerts me, all of us, to the sight of a table that holds weapons, a whip, balls and chains. Medieval flails, some strange curved blades, and even a poker for a fire that blazes cherry-red as though it has just been extricated from one. As if choosing, Spock rises, dropping Christine supine to the couch. I feel terrible for her as she has a stricken look on her face. It almost seems as though she freezes, and I move back upon my elbows as the captain smoothly slides to stand and steps up to the table.
He holds hand over several weapons, a pulsing vein in the side of his forehead bulges, but eventually his fingers close around the braided handle of this whip - leather, barbaric fashion with metal tips upon sewn straps. The symbolism of it, whether or not intentional, isn't lost upon me.
Mister Spock has whipped the poker up as though it is an ancient sword and he the knight to stab and twist it. I hear a strangled sound stop up the nurse's throat as swaying, lifting long arms over his head, a sheen of sweat the only thing to let us or anyone know how inwardly Spock strives to struggle, to freeze in place. Muscles shake with onslaught, and my eyes lock on Kirk as his feet now so slowly, ploddingly, bring him in deliberate fashion towards me.
In all my attempts to master myself, I still gasp as he stands over me with chest heaving and arms braced. His muscles bulge as his arm rises and twists. I keep my head up, striving to listen to his words. To not remain afraid.
But even so, my heart is pounding.
And then he turns. Our brave incredible captain fights back, voice nearly a scream, roughly shouted at these... Platonians
"You're half dead, all of you! You've been dead for centuries. We may disappear tomorrow, but at least we're living now, and you can't stand that, can you? You're half crazy because there's nothing inside. Nothing. And you have to torture us to convince yourselves you're superior."
His features flinch, change ever so slightly and I realize, yes. Yes, we all feel. Even Mister Spock, in his own way. We have so much inside of us. My fury heats and then cools as I feel cold wet tears upon my cheeks. They only sit, they do not fall. I won't let them.
The captain cracks his whip in front of me. I flinch, but only slightly. My eyes do not leave his face. It will be all right, I think. I believe in you, captain. I am not afraid.
He cracks the whip again, and out rings the doctor's anguished voice.
"Stop it, Parmen! Stop it! I'll do whatever you want me to do. I'll stay and serve you, but stop it!"
Chapter 17: Alexander
Summary:
CW for discussion of death - murder and oblique references to suicide
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
She speaks so coldly, Parmen's wife. I've gotten away, put down my music and grabbed a knife. I can do this. I'll do it, I'll cut them! I'll end this freakish terrifying show, because that's what it is, to have the power. They don't deserve to. They don't deserve to have it. They surely don't deserve to have it and to live!
"Parmen," says Philana, and every part of me is frozen. I want to scream. I had gotten a knife, a little one, a good one. They won't hurt the captain, my friend. Jim. They won't hurt his people, or anyone else, anymore!
Starting with Parmen.
But he catches me. Freezes me. And I hate it, how he says my name. It's like I'm nothing. Less than nothing. He's used to me, doing this. Playing with knives, he says.
"Very well, we shall indulge him." With that I dance a dangerous jig, step close to stabbing. My arms shake, my muscles creak until suddenly I'm released. It's as if a warm wind blows a clear path into my head. And for the first time I have ever seen, Parmen looks... uneasy, if not afraid.
"Who did that?"
The captain, golden and strong and throwing down the whip. "I did."
"Impossible!"
"Quite possible and logical," the Vulcan Spock replies. He drops the poker with a clang heavy and final.
"What is this?!"
I feel a surging satisfaction as Philana shrieks, demanding what is going on with as much emotion as has ever been shown, by anyone.
Firm and fierce, "Platonians, listen to me. The next one of you that tries any trick will get hurt. Not only do we have your psychokinetic abilities, but at twice your power level." The captain speaks and Parmen snarls, fists clenching.
"Not twice mine!" A surge of cold seizes me up, clenching in my whole body again. No no no no - I'm being controlled again, I'm twisting and moving in jerks. Warmth wars, spinning me. To and fro I turn and lurch until the dagger is inches from Parmen's body. So so close...
And then Parmen begs. "Captain, no! Captain! I beg of you, I'll do anything you say. I do not wish to die. Captain, do you hear me?"
Fury blazes hotter than the clearness in my head. No, he can't - he mustn't get away.... "Don't stop me. Let me finish him off." He would have finished me, or let me end myself -
But with his open face and forthright gaze, the captain looks to me, and asks "Do you want to be like him?" So simply put, and kind.
More than anything else, kind.
I look at him, and at my hands. And then think of how fervently begging for my life he has already done; how focused on my well-being, in a way no one has ever, ever been.
Not even me.
I put down the knife, fingers opening, unlocking with a shake I square my shoulders. Parmen falls from his seat. "Parmen, listen to me. I could have had your power, but I didn't want it. I could have had your place right now, but the sight of you and your Academicians sickens me. Despite your brains, you're the most contemptible things that ever lived in this universe."
He doesn't even look at me, eyes travelling over my head.
"Captain, you knew that I intended to destroy both you and the Enterprise, yet you spared me."
Hand resting on my shoulder, "To us, killing is murder, even for revenge. But there will be other starships," the captain says to Parmen. And I take that as, what he has done, he and his people have saved me. They didn't let me sink to my basest instinct for revenge.
But others might not have.
"There's no need for concern," so smoothly, with the right amount of pause in his voice, Parmen speaks. Making my heart sink. Of course, he doesn't just have the power - he's using his words. "They'll be safe. Of late, I have begun to think that we've become bizarre and unproductive. We are existing merely to nourish our own power. It's time for some fresh air. We shall welcome your interstellar visits."
But "I don't believe you." The captain retorts, and with a deep breath so agrees his Vulcan friend.
"That would be highly uncharacteristic. We must expect, Parmen, that the moment we leave here, your fear would be gone and you would again be as sadistic and as arrogant as your twenty five hundred years have made you."
I can feel myself - and try to cease - shaking.
The captain stands beside me, and I look up at him. He nods in reassuring fashion to me before leveling his gaze at Parmen and the rest. "Just remember, we can recreate that power in a matter of hours, so don't try anything."
"...Understood, Captain. And you're right, none of us can be trusted. Uncontrolled, power will turn even saints into savages, and we can all be counted upon to live down to our lowest impulses."
Sniffing and lifting an eyebrow, "You're very good at making speeches, Parmen. Just make sure that this one sinks in. Now move aside." Going to the lady he had previously been holding and offering a hand to help her to her feet, the captain beckons to me. I nearly trip over myself to join him. The first woman is assisting the other, and the doctor is helped to his feet as the captain presses one of his contraptions, calling their ship.
"Kirk to Enterprise. Mister Scott, prepare to beam us up. I have a surprise for you," he smiles, and I feel my heart leap. For the first time I feel more than just a single spark of hope.
I am happy as the captain continues, beckoning to the others from his ship's crew.
"I'm bringing a visitor aboard."
Notes:
I felt like the conclusion of the time on Platonius needed to end with Alexander's voice, but there is still more to tell.
Please let me know if you're interested in more 1st person POV, or if 3rd with multiple characters would be amenable :)
Chapter 18: Spock & Bones
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
There is no logic in this.
Or, rather, no logic that can help.
The crew is beamed back onboard the Enterprise with the captain making introductions betwixt Mister Scott and Alexander; meanwhile close, practically twined together by hands and all stand Nurse Chapel and Lieutenant Uhura. The ship's chief medical officer stands with one of his hands clenching the sleeve around the first officer's forearm before his eyes flicker up to Spock's and then away.
Spock feels a surge of emotion, then; neither logic nor reason. The kironide serves, it seems, in a sense to heighten everything; Spock's heart beats faster, his thoughts are shooting, tumbling, more than racing, galloping in multiple directions. He sees Nurse Chapel, her face white, knuckles clenched at the neck of the long sleeveless robe she was forced into and still wears. She catches his eyes with a strangled noise and all but runs from the transporter bay, staggering, wrenching away from Uhura with a nearly blurted apology.
The doctor reaches out with a sharp movement that precedes a muttered curse. His eyes flick from Spock's to Kirk's before he utters "damnit Jim, I'm ordering you all to sickbay. Get your first officer to come first if he can stand me doing the littlest possible -"
"I am currently accompanying you, doctor," the Vulcan interjects. The doctor's eyes widen in what seems to be recognizable as shock. It crashes over in waves that cause Spock's extremities to shudder. His eyes narrow, brows lifting on their outermost edges, pointing to the tips of his ears. His arm extends and McCoy as if automatically braces the elbow of the Vulcan. Eyes wide in response, "I, but I must..." With a concentrated effort, he asks "Know - what am I feeling? What is this?"
Kirk steps closer, his automatic caring impulse to clap his first officer on the shoulder causing Spock to feel as though he could split apart. The captain lifts his hand almost instantly, gaze travelling across Spock's face and body with concern before he looks to the medical officer. "Take some time, Spock. That's an order. Do you need help, Bones?"
"I've got him, Jim," McCoy says in a soothing drawl. His shoulders are tense, however; even in the onslaught of feeling that rushes through Spock, he sees it. Catalogues it, as best he can.
It perhaps is the only logical thing. "You are troubled, and still feel hate, do you not, doctor? That is logical," the Vulcan says as McCoy shouts after the retreating body and step of their captain to come and see him as soon as possible.
"I know you can't leave the bridge, but give yerself permission for a break like you're givin' th' hobgoblin here." His drawl grows even thicker before he flicks his eyes to Spock's and growls as they begin to move in step along the corridor "An' is it logical, Spock? Really? I just sat there, lettin' 'em do what they were doin', those moralizing -" his face works, eyes blazing and lips pressing together so as not to speak in a manner ill (as their captain would, no doubt refer to the Platonians with colorful vernacular. Would call them 'rat-bastards' when heated enough with drink, no doubt. As could Ensign Chekov as well, he is sure).
Taken aback and swallowing the best he can this newfound emotional turmoil that continues to send sporadic shivers through his form, the first officer speaks as evenly as he is able. "Yes, of course. You could do nothing different." There is a hiss and slide of the door to sickbay as Spock ducks his head underneath the lintel and registers the grasp of the doctor that tightens as much as it remains around his arm. The Vulcan turns to the human, this feeling man who has never stayed silent when he could speak, often at odds with the logic of Spock's people, but providing intriguing insights and interesting thought experiments for all of that. Somehow, thinks Spock, he has to reach out to this man, for the doctor is in emotional agony, he can sense it even through his own furious onslaught of feeling.
Turning to directly face McCoy, Spock reaches out and carefully wraps his hand around the doctor's upper arm.
"You spoke for us," he says. "though you could not move your limbs, you used your voice to fight. To - protect our lives, preserve them as you do, always" he swallows "in, and with, your profession. That is" he struggles for words, not in saying them but from the feeling of such intense emotion crashing over him, still - "honorable, doctor."
McCoy closes his eyes, breathing deep as he hears his father's voice. Leonard, please. This was even LESS - "Thank you Spock," he utters. "But it wasn't, I couldn't do enough -!"
Kironide be damned. The Platonians be damned, too. Seeing the implements of torture, witnessing the exploitation of the first officer and captain, the assault and degradation of Nurse Chapel and Lieutenant Uhura, his medicinal assistance nearly manifested too late to be of any help, and what else could he have done but remain a prisoner of Platonius in order to save them? His features twist in pain, and then his body lurches in surprise as with an abrupt vocalization and deep inhale of his own, Spock pulls the doctor against his chest in a nigh-humanoid embrace.
As every other feeling and instance has been since they departed Platonius, he figures, this is illogical.
Utterly, completely, highly illogical.
Notes:
So the "Miri" episode about the children who died when starting to grow up, (s1 ep8 TOS) when the doctor injected himself with a vaccine and screamed out "SPOCK!!!" Had the doctor being held and lowered whilst and after doing so by Spock. That was -almost- a hug, so I think Spock could and might give one to McCoy in an emotional circumstance such as this. Besides, this is three years later, so in their own way they have gotten close
Chapter 19: Kirk & Alexander & Mr. Scott
Chapter Text
Quick thinking and swift action, one or the other balanced in some form are necessary in every situation dealt with by the crew of the Enterprise.
Those are necessary for he himself as well, Kirk knows this. At the moment, he blesses his chief engineer for swiftly acting subsequent to seeing them - the way his medical officer supports his first, the way Lieutenant Uhura looks stricken. Mister Scott looks around and welcomes them aboard. Takes the oddness of their clothes and tenuousness of facial expressions in enough of a stride to speak easy and warm: "Welcome back aboard, captain. First officer, lieutenant, doctor, nurse. An' this 's your visitor? Welcome to you."
The captain cannot fade into the background or the wall, standing still to gather himself together as does Uhura; nor can he make exit to sickbay as are Spock and Bones, or fly to his quarters to collect himself as surely did Chapel. Never mind be physically supported by another crew member. He must muster his strength now, and come to sickbay later, if only to satisfy Bones - the good doctor needs to know they all are well after this ordeal.
Is he well? Kirk does not know; his skin is burning and his fingertips itch with the feeling he counseled Alexander against - stabbing Parmen, destroying him utterly was not in the right, should not have been done. Alexander made the truly larger choice, the moral one; and yet the captain feels still white-hot fury burning inside at the way Uhura and Chapel were treated, manhandled like Alexander also was, and Spock wrung free of so many emotions, forced to feel as Bones was frozen helplessly, suffering perhaps the most of all simply because he could not follow his code, could not perform his oath to do no harm. He could not prevent the harm befalling each of them, and Kirk only hopes Spock has not left the doctor's side and can inform him of something logical as a comfort until Jim talks to Bones. And Spock, too.
He looks at Uhura, thinking on whether he ought to send a recording or speak directly to Chapel as well as checking in with her, and blesses Scotty for stepping out from his station to offer a hand to Alexander, small bewildered soul standing in seeming terror and delight. "...is this your ship?" He almost whispers, wide eyed.
"Aye, lad, that tis. I'm Montgomery Scott, head engineer, so's it's me job to keep this girl running. I can show ye round her if you like."
"I would," honest awe makes Scott smile, the captain can see it. "I'm Alexander," the smallest yet at once largest of the Platonians shakes hands before looking up to Kirk "is that alright, Captain?"
With his best attempt to smile, Kirk pats Alexander on the shoulder. "Of course, Alexander. You'll be a guest on this ship until we find the best starbase for you. Show him to clear quarters as well, Mister Scott."
"Aye captain."
"... Quarters? Of my own?" Even more in awe at the affirmative, Alexander continues by asking "am I to be close to you?"
"If you want to Alexander, there are rooms on each side of crew berthing. You can be with the bridge crew, main and medical, or engineering."
"We're on the bottom floor, close to the boilers," Scott jokes. "Ach, there's nothing like 'at, just a warp core, but no one's t' go inside. I'll show ye every place that's open, though - ye might do away with being near captain in favor of bar or mess hall."
Alexander's eyes light up. "I do like to sing when I have a drink. If...no one's forcing me," he adds the last more quietly but Kirk hears it nevertheless. He feels his jaw clench.
Scotty slaps the diminutive fellow on the back. "Ah, you are my kind of man! I'll introduce ye to Chekov as well; he's one to get rousted when having a drink, but he does love music. Even if it's just those flatfoot Russian dances."
"Excuse me sir," Alexander asks with all earnestness as they go together in-step "but what is Russian?"
Chapter 20: Closeness
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As Kirk watches after Alexander and Mr. Scott as they leave, knowing already that not only will he need to update his Captain's log but, at the first opportunity, present himself to Bones for a check-in, he hears the slightest of sounds from the edge of the room and turns on his heel to look into the lowered eyes of Nyota Uhura.
Her eyes are half-lidded often due to various things; thought process and intrigue alike. But she is someone who has a steady hand, and as her nails rise to push slightly at the edges of her hair, folds of the filmy garment forced upon her by the Platonians shiver as much as her fingers shudder, and the captain steps forward, going to her.
His footstep on the floor alerts her to his movement and her eyes shoot up to catch his, hand dropping to curve before her face. "Captain - I'm sorry, I will head to - I'll be at my post shortly," she says, as quickly and professionally as she can muster her tone to be.
But he shakes his head, feels his chest clench and constrict, his heart stutter. She is always poised and composed, she does so well, is second only to Spock and Sulu when it comes to impassiveness. And here stands Jim with heart cracking open for this brave dear member of his crew as he sees her strive, in this moment, for strength. "You have nothing to apologize for, Lieutenant Uhura," his voice is gentle as he aches to touch her, put a hand upon her shoulder to steady as much as soothe her.
And yet, certainly, as a result of the actions of those Platonian bastards, his touch would not be soothing to her.
Eyes lowering as he rolls his shoulders, clasps his hands behind his back, letting one and then the other clasp each other before dropping to almost fall directly at his sides, the captain says "If you require rest, please take this next shift off -"
Uhura already shakes her head. "- No. Forgive me, captain, but I... You are still working and I'm the same." Inhaling through her nose, Nyota's nostrils flare as she lifts her head, shoulders back and stance solid. "I must do the same," she clarifies. Her voice is softer as she swipes with nails at the curls on one side of her face, as if twisting and placing them so carefully can calm the upheavals of this day, of all the days they have not been aboard ship. Eyes flickering across the Captain's face, she adds "how can I desert my post, when you have dealt with hardships of manipulation twice as many days -"
Kirk shakes his head, stepping into her space. He doesn't touch her, but with tone firm reaches forward, and she freezes as he says "No, Nyota, your experience is nothing less than mine. Is no less terrible than mine. In fact, it could be more..." His voice thickens even as his eyes blaze with pain "...you were violated as much as controlled. I - it was not in me to resist myself when holding you," his face is pained, one fist is clenched now. "You - are a wonder, Uhura, and as much as I would never force myself on you, it wasn't a hardship for me to hold you close." A muscle in his jaw spasms as the captain dips his face, a flush rising to his cheeks as his eyes lift with shining from them shame. "... please forgive me, if you can, this truth I'm telling," he croaks out. "And if it causes discomfort, or a fear that I would act in any way upon it -"
"Don't," Uhura now steps forward, startling him and herself with hands covering, grasping his. "Don't offer me another place, or worse yet, send me away. I know you value my work here, captain, as much as you value me. And I still mean the words I say to you; that I am not afraid." Her chin rises, eyes holding his. She squeezes his hand, thumb rasping across the callouses on his knuckles from work as much as any fight. "You don't need to fear the way you feel for me, as I don't fear my attachment to you. You are my captain," her eyes have brightened as her hands are no longer shaking now. "And I knew that you, and Officer Spock, and Doctor McCoy would all assist me in every way imaginable, had I asked; but more than that, I knew with your support I could master myself. My mind." She nods to him with a look of triumph. "And I did. We all did. Christine... she'll make it through this, with some time," she reassures as the captain opens his mouth and indicates the hallway down which the nurse, ever Doctor McCoy's calming agent, had just fled.
The captain smiles, slightly. He feels thankful for the lieutenant's words, as thankful and grateful as he is for her and for all of them returning. He'll need to check with Bones, and Spock, but somehow thinks it will be up to his first officer to reach Chapel. "Thank you," he tells Uhura, withdrawing a little to gesture if she intends to accompany him to the bridge. "Lieutenant."
She seems to settle herself, inclining her head in stately way as she steps away and turns at his offer.
"Of course, captain," she responds as she walks, glancing over one shoulder. He notices how she seems to study him in such a careful manner.
"Do you think I need time too?" He finds himself asking her, and warming to the curve of her mouth as she shakes her head no, one eyebrow quirking up as she presses her lips together.
"...the question is, would you take the time, any time that is offered or prescribed to you?"
He dips his head, chuckling. "No. You know me too well."
Her laugh is deep and rich and real as she nods in response to him. A sound that Kirk finds himself blessing, because it had been so far removed from so many interactions on this day. "I do," her eyes twinkle as she catches sight of his smile when they step into the lift together.
And somehow the response from her is what helps the captain settle, what allows him to feel a release of the clenching muscles within his chest and elsewhere in his body. He knows he will still need to receive a clean bill of health from McCoy, but the recognition of connection between himself and Uhura, and her unforced acceptance of it, makes Jim feel able to true and fully settle.
And that is, or may be, a first for him.
Notes:
I always thought the captain and lieutenant Uhura had a close and affectionate bond, whether platonic or romantic, and tried my best to showcase that here, with enough ambiguity for readers to see said bond manifested either way.
My hope is to have some more of Bones and Spock and Chapel. Please feel free to tell me what you'd like to see.Comments appreciated
Chapter 21: Bones
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Leonard McCoy has seen a lot. Been through a lot. But he hasn't felt the embrace of a Vulcan before. Neither that nor pure psychic violence - because, that's what it was, what Spock experienced. What Jim had experienced, and his nurse, and the lieutenant, but Alexander most of all. For years. And he cannot get out of his head, somehow, the way Parmen had said as if HE could not bear it,
"We've had enough of your moralizing."
As if he had any right at all to say so, to try to shut up McCoy's talk of the oath of Hippocrates, and more than that, of the power of empathy. "A truly remarkable emotion," he said. "It's a force for good. Even more'n my doctoring skills an' tools. All of us have it, have the use of it, if we try. You can use it here, to think about the - hurt you're causin' with all yer skills. When you could use 'em for scores of better things! Why Alexander -"
And that was when Parmen clicked his tongue, and shook his head. When he told the doctor he'd had quite enough of his moralizing, and the Captain's, too. McCoy should have gone quiet, perhaps; he should have let it lie.
Alexander had even urged him to, with his eyes.
But silence wasn't in him; he had spoken up in retort anyway. With what he felt within his soul, that people ought to be treated well, and better.
"And we've had too much of yours! You'll never get me to stay here."
He had vowed thus to Parmen, and his cold, cruel wife - to them all. He had nearly shouted the words, only managing to remain calm with the thought of what Spock had said to him, and with what the Vulcan had been dealing.
"You will be happy," Parmen said. He spoke as if he was sad for the doctor, for the present state that he was in; as if he had not known happiness; as if he's never known it before coming to this blasted planet with its people who force their will, who seem to WILL their happiness. Do they force themselves to be happy? He wonders. Do they, and can they? He looks to Spock as the Vulcan withdraws himself, and thinks how they had forced Spock to feel, or rather express, emotion.
He looks closely at the Vulcan, and sees Spock looking...drawn. Wan, pale; there is a set of exhaustion in his demeanor as well; it's as though he's slumped even as he stands straight still.
"Here, Spock," says the doctor. His tone is rough, or rougher than usual, with feeling as he clears his throat and gestures to the examination table. "Siddown for a second, will ya?"
"Of course, Doctor." The Vulcan is speaking in a measured manner, but it's like he's forcing himself to hold still. To even keep his face from moving very much. He settles hands on top of knees as he sits, and with instruments, the doctor checks and notes the Vulcan's vitals. He hesitates only on tracking brainwaves, and bites his lip, looking at Spock steadily. The other squints ever-so-slightly and says "What is it that you require me to do? You have never restrained yourself from speaking before."
"I'd - like to see how you're doin', Spock. Mentally, I mean. But you've been through somethin' hard, here, so I don't wanna push ya too far."
"This is for your examination, however; it must be complete, and thorough. I understand." Spock pauses, and the other thinks about their hug as the first officer gestures and almost gently adds, "Please go ahead. Feel free to ask your questions."
McCoy nods. Right. He opens his mouth
And hasn't got the foggiest idea what to say.
Notes:
Back with this though it's near the end!
I had a bit of a frustrating conversation with someone who is of the opinion that there are two possibilities for enjoyment of original Star Trek: either it is good because of writing/ideas, or good by accident. I personally ascribe to NEITHER of those beliefs. I like a bit of camp and goofiness as well as a bit of philosophy and darkness, and far as I'm concerned this show has those things. As well as the tight-knit nature of the main crew and Kirk, Spock, and Bones in particular. I'm a sucker for close bonds between characters where they learn things from and teach each other in a non-pedantic manner. I also have no problem with and will not crack on Mister William Shatner for his particular brand of movement and/or pauses in his speech. He was Captain James T. Kirk and I thank him.
Anyhow! Personal ranting aside, I think I'm set to have Spock and Chapel in the next two chapters. Please let me know what you think and if there's anything else you would care to see, dear readers
Comments appreciated. Live long and prosper 🖖
Chapter 22: Spock
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
First officer Spock strides down the hallway. Or, the act of striding would probably be indicative of a specific purpose. Rather he, in his current continued emotional state, rather...ambles, or perhaps - strolling, with that word's connotation, would indicate a sense of levity. But there is no levity within Spock at the moment.
Nor is there an excess of logic.
"Y' know I - whenever I've called ya a green-blooded hobgoblin or said anything about you needin' t' let yourself feel emotions, you know I'd never want you to force yourself to feel anything against yer will, right, Spock? And for anyone else t' do that to you... My god, I can scarcely imagine the pain. The violation of such an act," the ship's doctor had said these things and his face was screwed up in anguish, his skin reddened and blue eyes brighter even than typical with the sheen of tears.
This was after some time of minimal speaking, when the doctor appeared to wrestle with whatever he wanted or needed to say in order to complete a mental and emotional evaluation of Spock's current state. Spock had been unsure how he performed when, in fact, the doctor began to ask a series of questions; he felt rather numb in response to Doctor McCoy's emotional words, his drawling tone ever more pronounced as he continued speaking them. Words that Spock would have called impetuous and illogical before the events of this week, as such sentimental outbursts.
Except, somehow...when forced into emotion, when still feeling, without the typical fetters of purely logical thought, Spock cannot make such a response.
He has always relied upon logic; perhaps clutched upon it, symbolically he thinks would be the word, tighter even than would full-blooded Vulcans due to his half-breed status.
And yet at the word 'violation', the thought comes to Spock's mind suddenly of Nurse Chapel and how he had treated her in response to his forced emotions. "My apologies, doctor," he says, standing suddenly. "I will return whenever you think it best to resume answering these questions, but there is something I must do first," and that is why he travels down the ship's corridors to quarters and reaches at last those of Christine Chapel.
He is unclear upon the way his presence will be received by her, and finds himself concerned about this, in a manner that were he thinking through logic he would not feel, but emotional responses are antithetical to logic, and all he can do is announce his presence. "Nurse, Christine, it is Spock. I wished to check upon you...and your status," his voice starts and stops, though not stiffly in the manner that Doctor McCoy has often spoken to him with remonstration for. No, this is a sort of, he feels a sense of ... hesitancy, as well as concern for the woman. It is a more acute feeling than Spock is used, save to the manner he feels concern over his captain and even Doctor McCoy himself, as he had been concerned when the doctor injected a wholly-otherwise untested medicinal product upon himself in order to assist the young inhabitants of a particular planet.
But after the doctor showed such concern for him, and he did his best to assuage that concern, and the guilt that Doctor McCoy expressed for not doing what he felt was enough to assist Spock on Platonius, the first officer thinks of the way Nurse Chapel had looked, the heartbroken...horror in her eyes. The shame, as she said she had longed to be close to him but now wished only to crawl away and die.
Something clenches within Spock's body as he thinks upon those words, and he finds himself leaning his forehead close to the door of her quarters. "Please," his voice is lower as he thinks he hears a sound within. "I also wish - to apologize."
And suddenly the door slides open, then. Christine Chapel stands with wide eyes in clothing a similar color to her uniform, but all of that hue, without the black slacks that are standard issue. A nightgown, he believes the old word is for what she wears, though she crosses her arms before her chest, one hand shoots towards him. "Apologize?" She seems almost to gasp. "You - oh, Spock, you did nothing- absolutely nothing wrong."
Notes:
The next two chapters will be from the POVs of Chapel and then Kirk. I may try first person again, perhaps - I'm not quite sure. I hope you all continue to enjoy, and I profusely thank those of you who are sticking with this story <3
Comments appreciated
EDIT 22 April 2025: still want to write but haven't had continued inspiration for this, so this is the end (for now). I thank you all for reading, and for the kind comments I've received. Live long and prosper 🖖
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