Title: Mark of the Beast (8/9)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: The Enterprise falls into yet another ill-timed scheme. A terrible choice must be made—and honored.
Previous Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7
Or read at AO3

Check-mate

“Jim’s crazy.”

Spock looks at the enraged doctor and lifts his eyebrow. “Is this your medical opinion, Doctor?”

“It’s always been my medical opinion, but I had really hoped that the poor kid wouldn’t showcase it to the entire universe!” Len realizes, then, that Jim did just that a very long time ago and somehow McCoy has continued to stick by him all along. (Go figure.)

“What would you suggest that I do, Leonard? Declare him mentally incompetent?” They’ve been on this vein before; it does little to aid the passing of the long hours of a sleepless night.

“Hell no. That’s not what I—look, Spock. Jim may be off-the-wall, but he’s our off-the-wall nut. We need to make him see that the Basilisk won’t just let us go! That’s fucking crazy!” McCoy has almost come full-circle to his original rant. He mutters about harebrained, foolishly blind, willfully stubborn Captains and devious monsters.

Spock probably decides to allow Leonard this moment of release and stares off into the distance. When Len comes back to himself (finishes stuffing random Captain’s clothes into a bag), he stands beside the Vulcan and tries to see what his lover does.

“What are we looking at?”

“The grounds of the Palace, Doctor.”

“Oh. Well don’t we have more important things to be doin’, like tying Jim-boy to a chair and forcing a confession out of him?”

“Your suggestion is not only illogical, it is woefully igno—” Spock breaks off, which has McCoy narrowing his eyes. Suddenly, the Vulcan takes Leonard by the arm and drags the doctor from the Captain’s rooms at a rapid pace. McCoy only flails and has to be tugged along like a stubborn puppy for just under three minutes before he gives in and settles on cursing vividly at Spock.

“Damn it, Spock! Let me go! I can walk, you blasted hobgoblin! Spock? SPOCK!”

Leonard is released unexpectedly; he would have tilted over into a bush had not a quick hand jerked him against his companion’s side.

“Look, Doctor.”

Spock shoves his science tricorder under McCoy’s nose. The man listens to the frantic whir-whir of the device and takes it into his hands. He squints at the readings. “I don’t understand, Spock. How come the energy spikes are so high? This planet isn’t exactly a hotbed of radiation.”

“Precisely, Doctor. The readings are not in conjunction with the scientific data previously gathered from this planet. The particle classification of the fields of energy are familiar, but I cannot identify it further without access to the Enterprise databanks.”

“Familiar?” McCoy questions sharply. “As in what, Spock? An experiment you studied or as in a place we’ve been?”

“The delineation is unclear.”

“Damn. I’m no expert on the life-cycle of space bodies, but couldn’t it be emanating from the planet?”

“Unlikely.”

“So we’re talking about a foreign source.”

Spock’s eyes are bright with speculation. He tells the doctor, “I have reviewed the documentation from the initial planetary exploration team—before the reign of the Basilisk. If my conclusions are correct, we may assume that the Basilisk and this new data correlate to the same time period.”

McCoy is blunt. “I don’t care if the sky turned purple and the maids fell into the sleep of Rip Van Winkle—any lead is a hope for fixing this mess. We have to figure out what’s going on, Spock, before it’s too late.“

“Agreed.” Spock and McCoy set off to trace the waves of energy as far as they can. (It’s better than doing nothing, better than waiting for the end.) Spock asks, as they enter the Garden Maze, “Who is Rip Van Winkle?”

“He’s a man who slept too long.”

“You refer to a coma?”

McCoy laughs. “No, Spock. Haven’t you read Irving?” Leaves rustle as their voices start to fade. “You poor bastard. You know, Spock, you must assume I have ample time to molly-coddle your curiosity…”

The echo of conversation is lost among the growth of the garden. Dawn is close.

Jim returns to his rooms after a long night of roaming the white halls. He’s ironically reminded of his habits aboard the Enterprise, when he cannot sleep. Unfortunately for Jim, this is not Enterprise; and he’s not likely to see foot on his ship again.

He is surprised to find his rooms abandoned. Where are Spock and Bones? There is a bag filled haphazardly with clothes on the edge of the bed. McCoy’s packing, he knows. The doctor never folds clothes. Why should I? Jim hears the memory of Bones’ voice. You can fold ’em for the both of us, Jimmy. Jim complained that he wasn’t a housekeeper and the doctor wouldn’t stop laughing. Secretly, Kirk likes to sneak into the CMO’s room once a month and tidy up. The doctor never talks about his elusive quarter-Brownie. Does Leonard know it’s Jim? Now, quite wistfully, Kirk wishes that he could admit that particular secret to Bones.

He sits on the bed, hands gripping his knees.

Stop it, Kirk! he chastises.

Jim has tried to reconcile his choice with the heartbreak it will cause his lovers. He’s tried so very hard. But his heart hates what his brain will accept.

Jim rubs at his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose.

No safe quarter for the damned, he thinks. Pulling out the vial of a dark liquid, he rolls it between his hands. How, exactly, is this stuff supposed to work? Is it poison? Does it paralyze, make him vulnerable to the Basilisk’s transformation?

Jim does not understand, exactly, but he comprehends the Basilisk’s orders well enough.

Take this, James Tiberius, and upon the breaking of dawn, consume it.

It will kill me?

The Basilisk smiled. All will end as you know it, yes. The ruler must have seen the hesitation in the Captain’s eyes. His parting thought lingers long after Kirk finds himself unexplainably in the Center Court.

Think of those you would save, as you drink, and it shall be so. I promise.

At least he’s allowed to say goodbye, to watch his crew—and his heart—beam back to the Enterprise. Yet somehow, that small favor is not as comforting as it should be.

Jim stands up. It’s almost time to send everyone home.

“Damn, please tell me that you’ve got a map of this place in your brain, Spock.” McCoy turns a slow circle in the cool darkness. “I can’t tell right from left in this God-forsaken maze!”

“Doctor, patience. We have almost tracked the energy’s peak—here.”

They round a corner and stop.

“It’s a dead-end.”

“Yes.”

“Spock. It’s a dead-end.” Leonard repeats. “I don’t see anything good about a dead-end. Damn it! Now we have to start all—Did you just sigh at me?”

The Vulcan sighs again—in fact, louder this time. “Yes, Leonard.” There is a pause. “I find that I must release my… exasperation at your actions or my concentration decreases by 15.6%.”

McCoy’s bright white teeth can be seen gleaming in the night. “Why, darlin’, to think I drive ya to distraction—”

“Doctor, if you please. Shine the light to your left.”

McCoy does so with a grand swirl. “Just a wall, my Vulcan.”

Spock steps up to the gap in the hedges and runs his tricorder along it. “Readings indicate that the energy source is no farther than six point two meters.

“In the wildland, Spock? There’s nothing but dirt and long grass over this wall.”

Spock addresses the issue mildly. “I do not accept the current presentation of this planet as factual. It fails to coincide with previous—”

McCoy gets into Spock’s face. “We don’t have time for guesses, Spock! Can’t you see it’s gettin’ light out here?”

“Doctor.”

“And then we’ll all be beamed directly onto the Basilisk’s dining room table, like one conveniently delivered juicy meal—”

“Leonard.”

“Nuh-uh, Spock. I want answers—” McCoy braces himself against the wall to lean into the Vulcan’s face. “—and we’d damned well—what the—!”

Leonard’s arm disappears into the stone up to his elbow and only Spock’s arm around the doctor’s chest prevents McCoy from proceeding after it.

Len jerks his arm back and stares at it (possibly surprised that it’s still whole). “Shit.”

“Fascinating,” Spock clarifies. “An illusion.” He wastes no time and pulls his protesting Human through the wall.

Jim and a crowd of security officers stand in the courtyard. Lieutenant Reeves lies, pale and silent, on a makeshift gurney at their feet. Kirk is livid.

He cannot find his First Officer and his CMO, has no way to contact them without communicators. Dawn is just moments away and…

Bones and Spock aren’t here.

Questioning his men does no good; no one saw or heard either of them leave.

And there’s no time!

Jim is pacing when the Basilisk appears.

“Captain!” The security officers are as jumpy as Kirk.

He says without preamble, “Not yet. They aren’t here.”

“We have a deal, Captain.” The Basilisk opens his left hand and a communicator appears.

“No,” Jim barks. “I need more time!” He reaches for the communicator but the Basilisk merely waves his hand and sends Jim flying. His back connects with the statue. Through the subsequent shouting, Jim hears the Basilisk say, “My patience wears thin, James Tiberius. You will not deny me.”

Hauling himself painfully upright, Jim tries to reach the horrified crewmen as they start to collapse one by one in a shroud of blackness. He can only manages a strangled “No!”

“Only your lovers are left. Will you join me and save them?”

Jim trembles in a building rage. “Do you have them?”

The Basilisk tilts his head. “What is your choice? Your life or theirs?”

Jim holds up the little bottle between two fingers. “Either you give me Bones and Spock, or I’ll drop it.”

An echo of dark laughter comes in on the wind. “Whether you drink or not, it matters little. I have the power—”

Whatever the Basilisk intended to say (or gloat), Jim does not find out. There is a low (angry?) rumbling of the stones in the courtyard. The Basilisk’s head turns away just for a second and Jim could swear that he glows. Then the Basilisk disappears altogether.

Jim stands, staring into the empty courtyard, his heart pounding. Eyes turning to steel, he relaxes his fingers and the vial smashes upon the stones. He seeks his enemy in the only place that he knows the Basilisk won’t want him to go—into the Garden Maze.

“Goddamn you, you fool Vulcan! I can’t believe you just did that!”

“We are unharmed.”

McCoy’s jaw practically drops. “Of all the dangerous, untried, and damn stupid things to do…”

“Your arm was unaffected. It was logical to assume a satisfactory outcome.” When Leonard goes slightly red and his eyes blaze, Spock quickly interrupts the on-coming infamous McCoy tirade. “Doctor, there is no time for arguing. We must find the source.”

Len purses his lips, unfolds an arm and points into the room. “I’m betting on the crystal ball.”

An eyebrow lifting as he turns, Spock tilts his head in study. “Why?”

“‘Cause if we’re about to devoured by a monster with magical powers, then it’s only proper that he’s hoodoo-ing us with a crystal ball.”

“You must provide me with a list of your references for such events, Doctor—at a later date.” Spock walks over the pedestal and stares. McCoy joins him. Together, they watch as it goes from clear to grey to black.

“What did I tell you?”

Spock is busy twisting the dials on his tricorder. He says his favorite word more than once, so McCoy can only assume that they have stumbled upon on that which they wanted to find.

When McCoy lifts a finger to poke at it, the Vulcan tells him sharply, “No!”

“It’s glass, Spock. Or something like glass.”

“The object is foreign. We must proceed with caution.”

“Yes, please proceed with caution,” a voice says out of the shadows. Spock and McCoy tense in front of the pedestal as the Basilisk steps into the room, his black eyes intent. “I would hate to break my promise to your Captain.”

McCoy’s anger is palpable. “The Captain’s the only one willing to believe it, I can assure you.”

“You do not think me capable of honor?”

Spock says, succinctly, “No.”

McCoy slides his hand down Spock’s wrist, skin to skin, and prods at their bond. It opens and Len remarks to his other, He’s not moving his mouth, Spock.

Interesting hypothesis, Doctor.

The next words that the two assimilate (hear) have a tinge of anger. “Rudeness is forbidden in my Palace.”

McCoy’s eyebrow hikes high. He snorts and says, “One would assume that you forbid the big no-no’s, like murder. But then again, what’s it matter when you’re the one committing the crime?“

“What is murder to one may be survival to another, Doctor McCoy. Do you blame the beast who collects his dinner?”

“We’re not animals, man!”

“We retain animal instinct.”

McCoy turns away in disgust. “If he’s a beast, then why don’t we put him out of his misery, Spock?”

Spock meets Leonard’s eyes. Do you feel hate for this creature?

I understand, Leonard.

“Enough!”

The bellow resounds in their heads and their link snaps at the surprise of the intrusion. The Basilisk’s face is twisting—like two faces fighting for dominance, and McCoy’s stomach roils at the sight. He does the only thing that he can—in the brief moment before the Basilisk goes berserk. He pushes the glass ball off the pedestal.

It shatters—not into shards of glass—but into a thousand shrieking voices in a spread of wild black. Len feels Spock pull him in and back them away, to stumble against a wall. The angular sharpness of Spock’s chest digs into McCoy’s back; they cannot look away.

The Basilisk’s mouth goes wide and lets out a miserable howl so loud that stones rattle in the floor. Spock’s hands release McCoy to cover his ears and he hunkers down. Doubting that his cursing can be heard over the noise—and truly fearing the blackness boiling up around the Basilisk (it’s developing long arms and taloned hands)—McCoy crawls away and starts smacking the walls.

“Goddamn it! Where are you!“

“Leonard.”

“Shut up, Spock, we’re getting outta here!” McCoy intends to hit the wall for emphasis when his right hand goes partially through it. He grabs the kneeling Vulcan with a ” C’mon!” They tumble through the illusion.

It’s no better in the Maze. McCoy throws his arm up just in time to avoid a face full of twigs. The hedges are literally falling to pieces, as if a spell has been broken. Spock is better now, without the assault on his hearing, so McCoy clutches hard to him as the Vulcan tugs them this way and that.

Leonard shouts, wanting to know, “Do you know where we’re going?”

Spock shouts back, “No!”

Oh, how comforting. They have little choice, however, but to keep moving or be swallowed into the collapsing grounds. Spock stops so suddenly that McCoy crashes into him. He pulls at the Vulcan, “What’re ya stopping for? Spock!”

Spock ignores him.

“SPOCK!” Goddamn and Holy Hell! McCoy has no clue how to fell a Vulcan and it’s not like he can drag an unconscious Spock out by his pretty pointy ears.

“Jim!” Spock calls, startling Leonard.

Spock sets off to the left, one hand gripping McCoy’s wrist. Leonard thinks, ridiculously, of a bloodhound on a scent. He has the crazy urge to say That’s it, Spock, go find Jim!

So Len settles on calling “Jim!” at the top of his lungs. His heart thuds when an answering “Bones!” comes back over the crashing of the hedges.

“Jim!”

Spock twists them violently to the side, narrowly avoiding the crush of a branch. McCoy coughs out leaves and after a vigorous wiping of his eyes thinks he sees the most beautiful sight in years.

It’s Jim—dirty and half-limping—but it’s Jim. Alive.

They meet in a ménage-a-trois press of limbs and grasping hands. Jim is latched onto both of their tunics like he never intends to let go. (McCoy hopes not.)

“Which way’s out?” Leonard asks in Jim’s ear. The man just shakes his head.

Ah Hell, back to square-one. Leonard wonders if they can find a place to ride out the storm. Jim must be thinking the same thing, but there is no more time for planning. The ground shakes like it’s waking up, and they all pitch over into a heap, bombarded with a shower of half-rotten leaves and dirt.

Leonard has one moment for a cry of “Jim!” then “Spock!” He feels someone’s hand holding in his and squeezes it hard. The world is breaking apart around them, at the dawn of a new day. He hopes they survive it.

Don’t get your hopes up yet; there’s one part left. What’s the prognosis? Are they going to live?