Title: Difficulty Engaged (6/10)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: During leave, trouble thwarts a good plan and causes Kirk and Spock to accelerate the timeline of their McCoy-centric agenda. But true to form, McCoy is already playing by a set of rules they don’t understand.
Previous Parts: 1 | 2| 3 | 5

Officer Huido rarely has an exciting day, and he has been in his given profession for over fifteen years. Yet what should have been the best day of his career—nay, of his life!—is completely ruined. This is why he sits moping over his great loss in a holding cell. Utterly dashed, the once-in-a-lifetime chance to meet and impress the ever-illustrious Captain Kirk of the USS Enterprise.

And all because Murtee had to be overdramatic about some petty theft! Huido has seen the shopkeeper’s wares, strategically displayed to catch a tourist’s eye: overpriced imitations, most of them, and not worth the wrapping they are in. Why go blathering on about a missing medkit (no doubt containing out-of-date instruments and moldy gauze) when there is a decorated starship captain—a bonafide celebrity!—visiting their backwater station?

Huido has never had any hopes of his friend being smart, but now he’s downright appalled by Murtee’s lack of sensibility.

“I’m downright appalled!” he repeats out loud, deciding the offender in question needs to know how he feels.

Murtee twitches an antenna in Huido’s direction. “I can’t be here. Do you know how much profit I miss when my shop closes at rush hour?”

“It’s your own fault.”

“You odious human, you attacked me!”

“You embarrassed me in front of Captain Kirk!”

“You—”

The brig officer on duty bangs a baton against his desk. “Quiet down, you two!”

Huido shakes his stasis cuffs at the man. “Is this really necessary?”

“I’m under orders to leave you in there until you remember what your brain is for. You know how the Commander feels about public brawls.” The officer selects a data padd from the middle of a teetering stack. “Just be thankful nobody told the Chief. He’d demote you.” The man pauses. “Maybe demote you.”

Huido hunches over, understanding his situation all too well. The Chief is more prone to tossing an errant officer out of an airlock than strip his rank. Less administrative paperwork that way.

Huido’s colleague goes on, “What got into you anyway? We’re supposed to be on our best behavior while Starfleet is around. You know that.”

Huido sighs gustily. Yes, he made a mistake. A terrible mistake. How will he ever redeem himself in the eyes of Kirk?

Murtee seems to have guessed the turn of Huido’s morose thoughts and begins to snicker. “Huido, you look like you’re going to cry! Ahahaha!”

Huido glares at him. “Oh, shut up, you. I’ll be out of here soon enough, but I’ll see to it that you lose several days of business!”

Murtee blinks then, and after a moment’s pause sniffs delicately. “I will buy you more nougats. With those disgusting nuts you find so delicious.”

Huido also blinks. “Cashews and pistachios.”

“Deal.”

The brig officer simply rolls his eyes. “Huido, only you would take candy as a bribe.” Then he glances aside, gapes, and leaps out of his chair, snapping to attention.

As a unit, Huido and Murtee lean to the far left to see around the corner of their cell wall. Huido’s gaze widens at the sight of his superior, then widens further at the men following on Wardyn’s heels. His despair dissipates in an instant.

“C-Captain Kirk!” he gasps and shakes his friend excitedly. “Murtee—Murtee, look!”

“By the Great Barters,” declares Murtee, “the poster boy is back!”

Huido leaps from the bench, stumbling just a bit as he does so, to assume the same proper stance as his red-faced colleague across the room. He doesn’t quite know how to a salute with cuffed hands but tries his damnedest to make it work.

Kirk is not alone. That Vulcan officer is at the captain’s side, and behind the pair is a band of rumpled red-shirted men and women.

Murtee elbows Huido when two officers from the station’s security team enter the building last, dragging between them a very large, very angry-looking thug. “Huido!” the shopkeeper bleats, alarmed, as the officers escort their prisoner directly to Murtee and Huido’s cell.

They scuttle aside as the blue laser-lines of the cell’s force field momentarily disappear, and their new cellmate is shoved inside. With this new bulk taking up almost half of their free space, Murtee presses closely against Huido’s side.

Bearing his teeth at the grim-faced men and women outside the cell, the prisoner jerks up his cuffed hands and throws a double-fisted punch right into the force field. Blue sparks shoot every which way. Huido and Murtee lock onto each other for dear life. But their cellmate doesn’t seem scared of or, in fact, much at all affected by the backlash of energy. Then he pivots to face them.

Nosy and just as senseless as Huido expected, Murtee twitches his antennae and asks, “So, what are you in for?”

Huido would bet this fellow has killed somebody. Or wants to kill somebody. Maybe will kill them.

So much for a future of nougats and redemption.

But the thug only faces away again, returning his glare to the open brig area.

Huido notices then that Captain Kirk’s condition is not as pristine as it was earlier that day. Moreover, there is a certain chill to Kirk’s gaze as Kirk watches the prisoner. Huido studies the captain a moment longer, feeling he has missed something of importance.

Ah, yes. Kirk may be famous but he has horrible taste in civilian clothing, Huido observes sadly.

“When are we being released?” Murtee half-demands, like Huido unnerved but also curious about all the commotion in the station.

“I don’t know,” Huido answers honestly, watching as Kirk’s attention is drawn away by Commander Wardyn. “I think our case just became a low priority.”

Jim is livid: at the enemy, at this farcical port security, and mainly at himself. He miscalculated, and they all paid the price. Especially Bones.

Clenching his fists, Kirk reminds himself to count to ten to suppress the urge to lash out at someone or something. No one here deserves his anger except for—

“Captain,” a voice interrupts his thoughts, “we need to talk.”

Jim faces Wardyn, taking in the elder man’s impassive countenance. “Are the medics here?”

“They will be momentarily,” the commander says, then tips his head in the direction of a closed office door. “This way.”

Jim starts to follow him, then stops short to round on the person beside him also doing the same. “I can handle this.”

“Captain.” Spock pauses, seeming to think better of something. “Jim.”

Jim overrides any forthcoming protest with “Let Medical take a look at you.”

Spock’s eyebrows snap together. “I do not require their attention.”

“That’s not for you to decide—not when you look to be in worse condition than the rest of us.”

The fact Spock doesn’t come back with some smart remark confirms Jim’s suspicions. Knowing his duty, Jim places some steel into his tone. “I want a report on your fitness for duty, Mr. Spock. If you are uncomfortable allowing the port medics to assess you, we’ll have M’Benga brought down.” Which would take even more time away from finding McCoy, a now critical priority—and a possibility Jim is certain Spock won’t entertain. “Consider that an order.”

The flash through Spock’s eyes in a human might be called mutinous. But Spock doesn’t follow his captain to Wardyn’ office.

Kirk firmly closes the door on his way in and takes a wide-legged stance, crossing his arms over his chest.

Wardyn turns away from some photo on the corner of his desk, pushing it aside to settle there. He gives Jim a measuring look. “You’ve made fools of us, Captain.”

“It was my prerogative not to notify your command base of the situation.”

“Let’s be clear,” Wardyn says with some bite. “This wasn’t some petty fight between hotheads. It was a hostage situation. At minimum, a report should have been made. So now I want to know… what’s really going on here? Why did you try to keep the intel contained?” The commander’s gaze sharpens. “Is the operation under blackout?”

Tempting to let the man run with that idea, but Jim knows it would come back to bite him in the ass, hard. “No, there was no reason for the covertness. That’s just how I run things.”

“Your ship, your rules. I understand that. But this is my base under my command. So stop stepping over us, Kirk. We want to help, and we can—regardless of whatever opinion you have formed about our competency.”

Jim uncrosses his arms to run a hand through his hair, some of his frustration spilling over. “The Chief of Port hasn’t given me a moment’s peace since I docked.”

“Well, he is an idiot,” acknowledges Wardyn in a mild tone. “Lucky for you, since you could use our help now, I can convince the Chief to stay out of the way until your officer is recovered.”

Jim can’t help but respect this guy. And in this situation, McCoy would caution Jim not to be a fool himself and extend an olive branch, so he meets the commander’s gaze. “What do you recommend?”

Wardyn smiles slightly. “How are you at interrogations?”

“I like to play the bad cop.”

“Good. I’m told I can be a decent voice of reason. Shall we have a chat with the one you wanted arrested?”

“We shall,” Jim says, his tone hardening. Chee is precisely the person deserving of the brunt of his temper. He accompanies Wardyn from the office, matching the commander’s stride.

Spock generally prefers to think of himself as an individual who can remain calm in the most stressful of situations. But right now Spock is not calm. He feels much: anger, distress, concern, confusion, disappointment. He does not know whether these are his emotions surfacing or the combination of his and others’. There is too much data, too many feelings and thoughts outside, pelting continuously like rain against the meager shield separating his mind from everyone else’s. When the occasional raindrop is strong enough to crystallize, it penetrates the shield’s thin membrane and adds pain to the mix.

Instinct urges Spock to agree with Jim. He is not fit for duty. His body needs rest and time to regain strength and balance. In this weakened state, he is a liability.

But it agonizes Spock to recall what it felt like when that unnatural agent—that outsider—burrowed into McCoy’s mind. And despite his best efforts, Spock failed to stop it.

The medics in the small exam room watch Spock nervously. Spock ignores them, trying his best to restrain himself from inappropriately expressing impatience as he waits for his call to the Enterprise to connect.

At last, the person he needs to speak with comes online.

“Dr. M’Benga,” Spock jumps in, forgoing his customary greeting, “the medical staff here require your medical expertise in Vulcan physiology to guide their efforts.”

“So I’ve heard,” the doctor says. “But first, Mr. Spock, I have a question for you.”

Not liking M’Benga’s cautious tone, Spock stiffens—and realizes his control is so tenuous at present, even his body is a rogue agent, reactive to every strong emotion.

The doctor appears to recognize this heightened response as well but thankfully spares Spock the embarrassment of pointing it out.

“Proceed,” Spock tells him.

“If I recommend you return to the ship, will you?”

“Negative.”

M’Benga nods once, not appearing surprised. “Who’s in charge there?”

A medic steps forward. “I am.”

“We’ll start with basic readings and work our way up from there,” M’Benga begins. “I don’t expect you have some of the equipment on the list I forwarded you. Those would be particular to Vulcans. Dr. McCoy was adamant we acquire them for Mr. Spock’s exams.”

“As a medical facility, we operate at minimal capacity, sir.”

“In that case, I can walk you through some alternative tests. Mr. Spock, make yourself comfortable please.”

Spock says before stretching out on the metal exam table, “Doctor, time is of the essence.”

“I know,” M’Benga replies softly. “I’ll do my best… and you’ll do yours?”

Spock understands. The matter of bringing back Leonard McCoy safely has become the concern of many people.

“I shall,” he promises, adding silently, regardless of the price.

While the medics work diligently to follow M’Benga’s instructions, Spock closes his eyes to rest in hopes of restoring a modicum of the reserves needed to face the telepath that stole McCoy.

When Leonard comes back to himself, he empties the contents of his stomach into a bin placed conspicuously nearby. It takes a while from him to stop heaving and by the time he’s well enough to sit back on his haunches, he’s sweaty and shaking. He can’t remember being this sick recently, except for maybe that time he was talked into trying an exotic kind of liquor that nearly killed him. But it’s nothing he imbibed that has made him this ill.

At the sound of footsteps approaching, he rises unsteadily to his feet, wipes his face on part of his shirt, and turns around. He doesn’t recognize the person next to Ruti, and that person forgoes introductions, merely looking at Leonard’s rumpled appearance in disgust.

“I will call the cleaning crew,” the fellow says to Ruti, gesturing to the bin.

Ruti inclines her head. “Thank you, Captain.”

Leonard swallows down the taste of bile. When the man departs the cabin and Ruti takes a step toward him, he deliberately draw away from her. She stills.

He recognizes the sterility of the air now, has seen more than his fair share of utilitarian rooms like this before, to know where he is. And even if he was still confused, the familiar woman lying on the cot tucked into the corner of the room is a dead giveaway.

He doesn’t ask how he came to be here, already knowing the answer. That’s what made him physically sick. Thinking about it now is upsetting, in fact, so he shies away from the knowledge and tries to introduce a clinical perspective to his situation.

But at the same time, there is one thing McCoy has to know. “You let me go. Why?”

Ruti studies him carefully. “I need your skill as a doctor.”

“You mean you can control me just enough to force me to come here,” he says flatly, “but you can’t reproduce a skill that requires critical thinking?”

“Correct.”

“I hate you.” And he hates that he can feel her acceptance of his hatred. It’s horrifying to him, like having removed his hand from a spittoon but not yet scrubbed his skin clean. Her emotions are palatable to him when he simply, desperately wants to forget what he’s been through.

Forgetting is impossible, unfortunately.

“Did you kill them?” he asks, closing his eyes.

Ruti drifts toward the cot and the woman there. “No.”

His eyes pop back open, and he starts toward her, his anger rising another notch. “Don’t lie to me, Ruti. I saw the bodies. I saw—” He chokes on the word them, seeing Spock crumpled at his feet, a partial view of Jim’s face from under another body, Chekov’s. Dear god. His hands tremble at the thought of what he must have left behind.

“I killed no one,” repeats Ruti, her tone sharpening. “Why do you think the worst of me?”

“Oh, I don’t know… maybe because you kidnap people? Because you enjoy taking away their rights—violating their minds? Don’t bother trying to justify yourself to me. You are everything I stand against. And, frankly, lady, you’re despicable.”

Disappointment.

She’s not angry. She’s disappointed.

Leonard balls his hands into fists. “I’m leaving. The only way you’ll stop me is to make me your puppet again. Or kill me. Up to you.” He heads for the door.

“Please.”

It’s not the word itself that pulls Leonard up short. In that moment Ruti speaks, Leonard feels it clearly: she is preparing to beg him to stay.

God, how he hates her—and himself for turning back.

Ruti is kneeling on the floor by the cot, her hand on the arm of the unconscious woman, head bowed. “Please,” she says again. “I do not want her to die. She is… everything. My cousin will destroy her.”

“How are you any different than your cousin?”

Ruti lifts her head to look at him, the grief in her face evident. “Because I love where he hates.”

“That’s not an answer.” But he understands her meaning. “Maybe your cousin has a reason to hate… if you’re in love with his wife.”

Ruti says nothing.

Leonard sighs through his nose. “So you’re willing to beg but you still won’t do the right thing and let me go. Fine. We’ll compromise, because I don’t want you to break what’s left of my sanity and you already said you can’t lose this woman.”

“Compromise,” Ruti echoes, as if testing a word foreign to her.

“It means I get something out of this too.”

Ruti stands up. “What do you want?” When he just looks at her, she provides the answer herself. “To stay. To go home. To return to the captain and the Vulcan. To love—”

He stops her right there as a funny feeling starts in his stomach. “The first three.”

Ruti says a bit dryly, “I know what being in love feels like.”

McCoy flushes. “But you don’t know when to mind your own business!”

Her “I see” is quite solemn. Then, out of nowhere, “The Vulcan wished to protect you. His telepathy is… different… but I recognize now his intention.”

The back of Leonard’s hand brushes his cheek, feeling the phantom touch of Spock’s fingers there. “Did you hurt him?”

“I do not know. He did not seem anchored when I unleashed. Does his kind not know how to ride an unleashing?”

Apparently not. And somehow Leonard will have to pry past the taboo of asking about Vulcan telepathy-related secrets to find out why not. He really doesn’t like the idea of Spock being vulnerable to another telepath; there can be wounds a doctor like Leonard can’t fix.

“And the others?” Leonard asks. “Will they recover?”

Suddenly Ruti seems amused. “Most likely. I merely urged their minds to sleep, but I foresee your captain may be angry about that. Chee certainly will.”

Leonard straightens, finally noticing Chee’s absence. “You left him?”

“It was necessary,” she answers simply. “I needed the distraction.”

Her words are a sobering reminder of the kind of person he’s dealing with. “You knew all along about Jim, didn’t you?”

Her amusement grows. “A silly ploy. The spaceport officials are proud to have Captain James Kirk visiting them. His picture has rotated through the newsfeed for days.”

“Chee didn’t know.”

“Chee does not care for the news channel.”

“So where does that leave us?” Leonard asks somberly.

Ruti approaches him cautiously, extending her hand. “With a compromise, Dr. McCoy.”

The captain of the long-haul freighter cuts the audioless connection to the storage room where his recently arrived guests are stowed and appear to be arguing. He signals his first officer to come to his side. “Describe again who offered the payment?”

The first officer does so, along with miming the height and girth of the spacer with his hands. He also explains in detail how the massive being pinned him to a wall while making the offer.

The captain is certain now no person of that description has boarded his vessel. There is only the small chit, the weak human, and that sick-looking female who will probably die during the voyage. The insignia on the human’s tunic normally would give a person in his profession pause since he has no desire to attract the attention of Starfleet, but clearly the need for secrecy and the urgency with which his ship was commissioned to provide transport for these guests means they too want to draw the attention of no one in authority.

“Runaways,” he decides, grinning at his first officer. “And runaways generally come with rewards. Find out what they’re worth and to whom.”

“We’re scheduled to depart in—”

The captain snorts. “I will think of some excuse. An unexpected engine malfunction.” He leans forward with the fierce warning, “Get me a price, or get off my ship!”

The officer salutes him fearfully and hurries from the bridge.

The captain spends a few moments thinking of this unusual opportunity. Then he activates a comm channel in the console before him. “Tell Cleaning there is waste collection waiting in the starboard compartment, and to be quick about it.”

Yes, there’s no reason not to treat his guests well. Not until, that is, he knows for certain if they will bring him a sizable profit.

Related Posts:

• Difficulty Engaged (11/11) – from June 29, 2020
• Difficulty Engaged (10/11) – from June 28, 2020
• Difficulty Engaged (9/10) – from June 21, 2020
• Difficulty Engaged (8/10) – from June 12, 2020
• Difficulty Engaged (7/10) – from November 29, 2019