Title: Take Us Out (3/6)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Summary: Leonard finds himself in a situation that quickly goes from bad to worse, and it turns out he is the only one who can fix it.
Previous Parts: 1 | 2
Or read at AO3

Jim comes out of it to find himself slumped sideways in a passenger seat inside the stolen shuttlecraft. He is not restrained, and he’s alone.

Well, not quite alone, he realizes, catching a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye. Oddly, that figure does not seem to care as Jim’s torso straightens out, followed by Jim’s legs. Jim narrows his eyes and, after a quick deliberation, levers himself to his feet.

In the next moment the man is immensely grateful to have both hands planted on the armrests. The floor, having tilted precariously in one direction, refuses to remain still under his feet. He steels himself against a drunken stagger and finally masters his afflicted equilibrium (as well as the nauseous turn of his stomach) with the practice of someone who is long used to operating under a serious medical condition like head trauma.

The Betazoid had tried to ensnare his mind, he remembers. The attempt failed, and he felt pain shortly thereafter. He can only conclude he must have been knocked out. The aching at the back of his head seems to support such a conclusion.

But for how long? And why was he left here?

Needing answers, Jim turns his coldest look upon the dark shape standing among deeper shadows. “Where’s Auron?” he demands.

The person doesn’t respond, not even with a facial tick of acknowledgement. Frowning, Jim steps toward him and experiences a surreal moment, wondering if he is looking at a life-like statue of a man.

No, he decides. The person is breathing, if shallowly. It’s the vacancy in the eyes which tells the story.

Pained by what he sees, Jim knows this is just another version of death, perhaps something worse than that. Auron has no conscience, no morality, to do such a thing to another living being.

His gut tells him a hard choice will have to be made in order to stop the Betazoid, a choice he always dreads but, as a captain, understands is his responsibility to make. And he’ll have to live with it afterwards, just as he lives with the weight of all the other hard choices already made.

A quick search of the dimly lit cabin yields no weapon and an inoperative cockpit. He believes he could bring the system online again, at the very least enough so to relay a subspace message to the Enterprise, but he can’t do everything he wants. He is only human and short on time, and so priority must be what dictates his next action.

It could be said not everyone agrees with the way Kirk prioritizes. Certainly his First Officer would not call it logical, and his doctor would argue he hasn’t the sense God gave a goat. Despite how much Jim likes and respects both men, concerning his priorities he keeps his own counsel. So long as it aligns with his personal code of honor, that is all which matters to him in the end.

Mind made up, Jim forces the planetfall ramp to lower with a manual override and steps down from the shuttle into the darkness of what appears to be an empty holding bay.

For him, nothing ranks higher in that moment than the rescuing of his men.

Leonard’s first impression of the tiny area is that it could easily serve as a prison cell. A single light fixture hangs from the ceiling, its occasional flicker across the walls and floor adding to the growing gloom of the room. The air has the distinct aftertaste of being recycled for too long. There are no windows and no route for escape other than the one entrance.

A glorified box, he thinks, crossing the threshold.

His lungs, offended by the lack of space, make it difficult to breathe, his palms start to sweat, and his mind takes a sudden slide sideways, like a pinwheel caught in a harsh gust of wind. Leonard ignores what amounts to his body’s building panic by focusing on the whereabouts of his patient.

Out of a shadowed corner of the room, the outline of a man takes shape. “You seem distressed.”

“Guess all the fancy suites were booked,” croaks the doctor, his voice hinting at nerves, and he himself not pleased at being so vulnerable to the Betazoid’s scrutiny. “I hope you didn’t get jipped on the overnight fee.”

Another flicker of the light fixture illuminates the side of Auron’s face and, for the briefest of moments, he looks like a man stretched beyond endurance. That surprises Leonard enough to forget about his claustrophobia for a second.

Auron sounds no less unperturbed than he always has. “I will admit I do not understand why you humans care to joke in the most un-fortuitous of circumstances.”

“Because they are unfortunate,” Leonard explains. “Laughing is better than crying, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.” The Betazoid beckons him forward. “Do not be afraid, Dr. McCoy. You are here for my wife, and I give my word I will not harm you while she is in your care.”

Yeah, until you think there’s nothing more I can do to benefit you or her. His lungs tighten again, for a different reason.

“Do you distrust me so?”

Leonard pushes past Auron to the unconscious woman visible on the small bed. “You’ve given me plenty of reasons to.” He doesn’t like the pallor of her face. “When was the last time she was awake?”

“During our dis-embarkment from the shuttlecraft. As I lifted her into my arms, I heard my name… but no more.”

“She didn’t open her eyes? Move her limbs?”

“No. It was only a faint resonance, mind to mind.” All at once, Auron’s voice turns frosty. “You pity me. I can feel it.”

“It’s not pity,” Leonard argues as he calibrates his tricorder and starts a mental count to regain control of his breathing. “It’s compassion. Something I doubt you could understand.” The cell-like room which had started to fuzz to grey snaps back into focus.

“Whether you feel pity or compassion, I desire neither from you. Focus on your task. Bring her back to me.”

“I’m a medical officer, Auron. I’ll do my best but don’t expect miracles. That’s left up to a higher power.”

“Higher power? How can I believe in such things when my wife lay dying—she who has done nothing to deserve what has been done to her!”

“Believe me, you’re not the first person to feel that way.” He adds in a rush, as if he might be stopped before he can speak, “But I hope you know hating the universe and everything in it isn’t going to help her. Hatred makes nothing better.”

Auron glances away, then. “Hatred is the only thing I have left.”

Leonard recognizes what remains unsaid in the pause, in the space between them. Auron will continue to take what he deems necessary to survive, to the point of killing. Reasoning won’t work and a plea won’t buy more time.

The doctor bows his head, the cold hand in his seeming heavier. He takes a moment to pray for the woman and, by extension, for himself and his friends. If his captor can discern the sadness of his thoughts, nothing is said of it. For that, at least, Leonard is grateful.

A voice breaks the silence of the cabin: “Sir, I’m being told there’s no room in the bays for us.”

“Then we will engage the docking ring.”

Sulu glances at the Vulcan in the co-pilot seat. “I put in a request for that but it came back denied.”

One of Spock’s eyebrows arches toward his hairline. “Most unusual. Although this sector is not known to be a busy thoroughfare of the galaxy, the space station should be equipped to handle approximately two hundred vessels at any given time, a volume of which I highly doubt it has encountered since its construction.”

Sulu waits, knowing the Vulcan’s brain is fast calculating the odds and nuisances therein.

“Perhaps, Lieutenant,” Spock says in somewhat softer tone of voice, “we are not as invisible in our sheep’s clothing as we hoped we would be.”

“But Auron couldn’t have infiltrated their Control already… could he?”

There is a moment of silence from Spock. Then, “‘It takes but one spy in the house of the enemy to turn a tide of war.'” At Sulu’s half-curious, half-surprised look, Spock admits, “A proverb I heard, or a remark closely resembling one, from our captain.”

“Ah,” murmurs Sulu, “Kirk does think like an army general sometimes.”

“Indeed.”

Sulu sits back in his seat. “So what do we do?”

Spock flips up the plastic cover over a red button but he looks at the button instead of pressing it. He says, almost as if to himself, “…I would argue that our situation is dire enough to warrant a priority-one emergency.”

“You won’t get any complaints from me,” offers Sulu.

Spock blinks once, long and slow, before activating their beacon of distress. If the Vulcan has any misgivings after doing so, it does not show in his face.

Assuming a slight inclination of Spock’s head in his direction to be tacit permission to proceed, Sulu contacts the station with a sweet and simple SOS, and in a matter of minutes the auto-pilot is backing them into a space between two larger carriers. He feels the moment the rings between the vessel and station wall connect and seal, imagining he can hear the depression of air. It takes some guesswork but he is able to the guide the vessel’s system through the proper protocol to ready and unlock the hatch.

Spock rises from his seat in silence, bringing Sulu’s mechanical checking of the sensors to a halt as he watches the Vulcan retrieve one of their communicators.

Sulu wants to know, and so he asks, “What are we taking for weapons?”

“Only that which is not registered under Starfleet armory codes.”

Patting the sword hilt at his side, the human nods. “I definitely have that covered for myself—but what about you, sir? I don’t think it would be wise if you walked into the port unarmed. In an outpost like this, no one else will be. It’s like asking for trouble.” He removes a small, plain dagger and its sheath he had attached to the side of his boot and offers it. “Here, carry this at least.”

Wordlessly Spock takes it from him and ties the weapon to the front of his belt.

Sulu returns his attention to to the helm, fingers flying over buttons and keys before he finally relays the command to secure the vessel until their return. “Craft is powered down. We’re ready as we’ll ever be, Mr. Spock.”

“Let us depart then,” Spock replies, and they do.

Beside the bed of his wife, Auron lifts his head like a dog catching a scent. “We have company.”

Leonard resists the urge to bite into his bottom lip and keeps his response mild. “That so?”

“Oh, yes. Your Vulcan.”

Hands stuttering over his tricorder, the doctor bows his head. That fool—that pointy-eared fool! “He’s probably looking for Kirk.”

“Of course.” Auron’s agreement is eerily good-natured. “I suspect they will be reunited in short order.”

Leonard sets the tricorder aside and stands up from his seat at the edge of the bed. “So that was part of your plan, leaving him behind in the shuttle. I figured so. You’ve made a grave mistake, though, in doing that.”

Auron meets and holds Leonard’s stare. “Have I? Do enlighten me, Doctor.”

“You won’t stand a chance once Kirk and Spock find each other. No one who tries to work against them ever does.”

“You sound confident of that.”

Despite being mocked, Leonard finds that he can speak levelly. “My confidence is in them. I’ve served enough years alongside those two men to know what you’re about to go up against. But you won’t believe me—not until the end.”

“Would you suggest I surrender?”

Leonard just looks at him before slowly returning his gaze to his patient. “I think it’s too late for that,” he says softly. “I wish you’d made a different choice in the beginning, Auron. I really do. The best that can be done now is to make the right choice for her.”

Something cold and unfriendly presses against his mind. Leonard sucks in a sharp breath at the sensation, for it reminds him too much of another time and place when his mind had caved to invasion. But the force dissipates as quickly as it came.

A warning, then.

The doctor sinks to the edge of the bed, afraid his legs might refuse to hold him.

“I have made the right choices,” Auron states, voice implacable.

“Yeah,” Leonard murmurs, feeling a heavy sadness encompass him, “I figured that too.”

It isn’t until the sadness begins to ebb away, leaving McCoy slightly confused about why he felt it in the first place, that he realizes it doesn’t truly belong to him. This time, as he takes a hold of his patient’s hand, there is a spark, almost like an electrical current, which passes between them. Leonard opens his mouth to call her name.

Do not.

The voice in his head is as distinct as if the woman had spoken, but it is weak. Leonard curls in his shoulders, turning his head from Auron, worried his expression might betray both Nola and him.

Do not be afraid, Nola says. I… can be of help to you.

He squeezes her hand, a sign of encouragement, to say yes, I understand you. When no reply is immediately forthcoming, Leonard presses her fingers again with some urgency.

This body… is dying. I cannot stay… but nor can I… go until—

Her voice dies out abruptly. Leonard leans over her, concerned, to rest his palm against her forehead. He releases her fingers and reaches for the tricorder with his other hand.

“What is it?”

Auron’s voice at his shoulder startles Leonard badly enough he fumbles, and the tricorder slips from the bed to the floor. “What?”

“Do you detect something?” the Betazoid demands, his dark eyes restlessly shifting back and forth between his wife and the doctor. “Is she… returned?”

Leonard begins, “Auron…” not certain he can say the truth but also not certain that he should withhold it from a man who sounds that desperate for good news.

—until he is ready to let me.

The voice comes back in the faintest of whispers, but Leonard feels the words burrow into his mind to stay. He recognizes the resignation behind them, and the quiet suffering, and knows in that moment what he has to do to help the woman—and to use her to help those who are in danger of Auron’s wrath.

He sits up, an idea forming into a plan, and gives the Betazoid his full attention. “Nola won’t speak to you.”

First confusion then denial flickers across Auron’s face. “That is a lie.”

“She’ll talk to me, or through me if that’s what you want… but only on one condition.”

Auron grabs his shoulders painfully hard and forces McCoy to his feet. “What is it, this condition?”

Leonard is careful not to think about how easy this is. “You have to convince my captain you’re dead.”

Auron slowly pulls back. “Dead?”

“Dead,” Leonard confirms. “That way he has no reason to pursue you.”

Auron’s eyes narrow. “What ploy is this, Doctor?”

“There is little ploy here against you, Auron. You play dead, and then we will convince everyone I’m safely en route to the Enterprise. Once we know for a fact Kirk and his men are out of harm’s way, Nola will communicate with you. No more tormenting, and no more killing. That isn’t what she wants, so that’s the condition you have to fulfill.”

The Betazoid’s nostrils flare. “If you are lying to me, human, I will turn you into a feeble, drooling shell of a being.”

Leonard purses his mouth. “You great big fool, haven’t you realized why your bond with your wife has been silenced while her body is still living?” At the sudden flash of uncertainty across Auron’s face, Leonard continues, “It’s not her mind at fault—it’s yours. You said her psionic skill was closely related to an empath’s, so can you imagine what she would feel from you right now? Your unbridled rage, your lust to kill? How could she withstand that?”

“I would never hurt her. Never.”

“Then give her a reason not to fear what you’ve become. Do that, and you can have her back.”

Auron looks at McCoy; he looks at the human for a long time before transferring his gaze to the pale, too-still visage of his wife.

“What do you gain from all of this?” he queries.

“To save the lives of my friends,” Leonard replies honestly.

“And when it is done, what becomes of you?”

I don’t know, he thinks, knowing Auron will hear him. I guess, at the very least, my fate will still be yours to decide.

That answer seems to satisfy his captor, for Auron’s mouth quirks at one end and he says, “Then let us presume me dead, Dr. McCoy. Tell me, how did I reach my end?”

“You’re the mastermind,” Leonard retorts, “so you tell me.”

And Auron does.

Next Part

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