Inell's Fanfiction Archive

This planet doesn’t have a name yet. Hell, Starfleet didn’t even know it existed until the Enterprise stumbled upon it three days ago. It’s only the second planet that the Enterprise has found in the seven weeks since it began exploring, so there’s still a sense of excitement and wonder about the whole process. The other planet was 98% water, so no one went down to check it out. Jim still thinks it might have been worthwhile to at least try to explore it, but the Federation didn’t agree. It would have been nice to have a swim, even if nothing else came out of it. That would have been a lot more enjoyable than this planet, which is dry, hot, and really damn dull.

It’s too bad that the chances of the Federation naming this planet Scorching Monotony are slim to none because Jim can’t think of anything more appropriate. Since they discovered this planet and got approval to go exploring, he’s been eager to get off the ship. The reality of it isn’t what he hoped for their first real expedition, so now he’s trying his best to appear positive and enthusiastic around the crew when he mostly wants to pout and bitch about boring planets ruining his fun.

The landing party has split into two groups. Spock and the scientist types are coming in their pants over the vegetation they’ve discovered thriving amongst the rock and dirt. He’s leading the group who find that shit as boring as he does, unless it really interests him, which isn’t the case today. He does respect the whole scientific purpose thing, though, so he’s giving Spock and the others the time they need to take samples. Maybe they’ll find something useful that can lead to a new scientific discovery. That’d make the landing worth the time and effort, not that it’s totally pointless even if he’s not overly impressed with it.

The sun high overhead doesn’t help with the heat. Normally, Jim’s all for warm weather, but this is too hot for him. That’s possibly because his uniform isn’t exactly made for walking around comfortably in this environment, and he really hates the feeling of his undershirt and uniform shirt sticking to his damp, sweaty skin. The material is soaked, and they’ve only been here for a couple of hours. Everyone else seems to be having the same problem. The members of the crew are flushed and red-faced, pulling at their wet shirts while they try to remain professional, as if they stop perspiring just because they’re with the captain. It’s silly, but he isn’t going to say anything about it.

This is the first place they’ve landed, so it’s not like they won’t eventually visit places worse than this. He can’t coddle them and promise that they won’t be here much longer, not when Spock’s all over the vegetation like he’s never seen plants before. And he’s not going to mention his own discomfort because they need him to set the example. It’d be nice to find some shade, though. Just one big tree with branches providing some protection from the heat isn’t too much to ask for, is it?

He reaches up and moves his fingers through his damp hair. His arm feels heavy, so he drops it at his side. With a slight shake of his head, he keeps walking. “Murtaugh, we’ll follow the path ahead and veer to the right,” he decides, calling out directions to the ensign walking ahead of them. She indicates her understanding, and he watches her sway slightly as she steps onto the upcoming path.

There are bigger rocks around here, which has him feeling more cautious. The scans of the planet didn’t find any evidence of sentient life, just a lot of vegetation, and not much of that, but he’s still apprehensive about anything that could be a potential hiding place. He moves his hand to his phaser, just in case, and has to pant at the effort it takes to lift it in a defensive manner. It’s then that he becomes aware of how slow he’s walking now. It’s like every step is being made through deep sand, requiring more energy than necessary. That’s not normal, no matter how hot he might be. He turns to look at the crew and can see that they’re having as much difficulty as he is, if not more.

“Damn it. Something’s not right,” he barks out.

“My legs won’t move any faster, Captain,” L’riel says in a worried tone.

“Mine either,” Crantson echoes. “I’m just so tired, Captain. It’s too hot to walk.”

He looks up at the glowing sun above them and frowns. “Murtaugh, get back here. We’re turning around.”

“Captain, I don’t think I can,” she calls back. “I don’t think I have the energy to take another step.”

She’s far enough ahead that he’s lost sight of her, which is worrying. Fuck it. There’s only one thing to do. He looks at the others. “Head back to Commander Spock. Tell him that we’re getting the hell off this planet, now. Something’s wrong here,” he says firmly. “Be alert. I’m getting Murtaugh.”

“Captain, it’s a long way back. I don’t know if I can make it,” L’riel admits. “Can we stop here to rest?”

“You will make it, Petty Officer L’riel. If you don’t, you’ll have to deal with me. Is that understood?” he says sharply. “Now go.”

“Yes, Captain,” the crew say as they slowly turn and begin walking. It’s like everything’s in slow motion, he realizes. Maybe he should just have Scotty beam them out. That’s the safest way, if something really is happening here, but he can’t be sure. If this is just a natural reaction to the heat, he can’t overreact and submit that report to Starfleet.

“I’ve faced off against an angry Vulcan and a crazy Romulan without slowing down, so it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than heat to get me down,” he mutters. He pushes the button on his communicator as he makes his way to Murtaugh. “Commander Spock, this is the captain. Report.” All he hears is static, which isn’t good. He tries again. “Commander Spock, report now.”

There’s more static but he can make out a few words. “Captain. Problem. Return now.” The rest is lost or impossible to make out.

“Damn it.” He sees Murtaugh wobbling from one side to the other, her blonde hair falling limply around her face. “Murtaugh, focus on walking. Don’t think about the heat.”

She looks up at him and blinks. “It’s too hot, Captain. My skin is burning. Can you feel it? I can smell it, burning burning,” she mumbles as she moves her face against her arm.

He’s about to reach her when a rock nearby suddenly shakes. It’s one of many smaller rocks that they’ve passed, and he braces himself for the ground to shake, expecting an earthquake. Instead, the rock makes a fast dash towards Murtaugh. Jim moves as quickly as he can, which is about ten times slower than usual, stepping between the rock and his ensign. He groans when he feels sharp teeth bite into his calf, looking down to see dull eyes glaring up at him as the rock creature whatever the fuck it is gnaws on his leg.

“I don’t think so,” he says, aiming his phaser and shooting. The rock creature explodes, sending bits of hard shell and blood and other things he doesn’t want to think about onto their legs. He looks at Murtaugh and frowns. “Come on, Ensign. We’re getting the fuck out of here, and I’m not leaving you behind. Get your ass moving. Now.”

She seems to have snapped out of the whole sniffing her arm thing, thank God. “Captain? The rocks are moving,” she says, pointing to a group of small rocks nearby.

“Damn it. Go!” He shoves her ahead of him, and it feels like he’s trying to run through quicksand as he aims his phaser and shoots at all the huge teethed bastards trying to bite him. With his free hand, he tries the com again. “Commander Spock, report.”

“Captain, there is something in the atmosphere of this planet that is not ordinary,” Spock says blandly through the communicator.

“I have moving rocks with huge fucking teeth chasing me right now because they think I’d make a good damn snack. Save the atmosphere bullshit for when we’re off this damn planet,” he says. “Get yourself and the crew out of here.”

“Captain, it would be illogical to leave without you,” Spock says in what is becoming a familiar ‘illogical but possibly preferable’ tone. “Also, it is inappropriate for a captain to use certain words while in command. The language that you are using is--“

“If you want to bitch about my language, feel free to come out here and deal with these bastards yourself,” he suggests as he fires his phaser again. Murtaugh is moving faster, and she’s got her phaser out, striking several of the things before they can reach him.

“Perhaps the reminder of protocol can wait for a more convenient time,” Spock says over the communicator. “Your crew has just arrived here at base safely. I will send them up, Captain.”

“You go, too, Commander. We’ll follow,” he says confidently. Another of the toothy bastards has a hold of his leg, so he shoots it and tries to ignore the pain that the bites on both his legs are causing. He wishes that they were moving faster, but it’s some consolation that the creatures aren’t overly speedy. There are just so damn many of them.

“Captain, I see the commander ahead of us,” Murtaugh calls back to him. “He’s running this way.”

“Damn it, Spock. I told you to go back to the ship,” he mutters as another of the beasts pounces on his leg. He tries to shake it off because he’s busy shooting the dozen others that are too close for comfort, but the damn thing has its teeth holding firm into his skin through the his pants. He looks up as Spock reaches them, phaser out and not even a flicker of surprise showing at seeing the things chasing them. “The rocklike shell isn’t enough to protect them from the phaser, so just aim and shoot the fuckers.”

“Your language is unprofessional and inappropriate for a captain,” Spock informs him as he shoots at the creatures. "Upon your report of being bitten by rocks, I performed a preliminary scan of my surroundings, removing certain life-signs parameter. The creatures' silicon exteriors fooled our tricorders, but they clearly are alive."

“No shit.” Jim sees the arched brow and rolls his eyes, which isn’t easy when he’s trying to keep an eye on the attacking rock beast things. “They obviously never made you listen to recordings of past missions, Commander,” he says, grimacing slightly as he feels pain radiate up his right leg. “My language is nothing compared to many of those captains and admirals.”

Spock scoffs even as he shoots his phaser again. “It is unacceptable that you choose to follow such an example, Captain. It is a danger to your position if your tirades offend the crew. While I have not been forced to hear recordings, I have been instructed in proper protocol regarding vulgarity and harassment,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Commander, the Captain is at liberty to say anything that he wants as long as he keeps shooting those nasty fuckers,” Murtaugh says helpfully.

Jim smirks at Spock briefly before he focuses on getting the hell off this planet. “I don’t know if we’re going to make it back to base. It feels like we’re going slower.”

“It does not affect my biology in the same way, but I, too, can feel an alteration in the atmosphere surrounding us.” Spock seems to have given up the argument about Jim’s language, for now. Jim’s had to hear the lecture a dozen times in seven weeks already, but he just ignores it because he knows the protocols, too, and knows that Starfleet isn’t going to pursue something like that unless it’s meant in ways he doesn’t mean it.

When they’re free of the huge rocks, he pushes a button. “Scotty, beam us up,” he says. Fortunately, it doesn’t take long before they arrive on the transporter, even if he failed by having to escape like this. His legs are throbbing, and he can feel the sticky wetness on his skin from where the bites must be bleeding.

“Captain, you don’t look so good,” Scotty says as Jim steps off the transporter pad. He seems concerned, which makes Jim wonder how bad he must look right now.

“I’m fine, but I’ll go down to medical.” He flashes one of his ‘everything’s good’ smiles at Scotty and takes a couple of steps before his vision begins to blur and he sways on his feet. “Murtaugh, you need to go to medical, too.”

“Yes, Captain.” She walks ahead of him, and he’s relieved to see that she’s not bleeding and doesn’t show any signs of having been bitten.

“Spock, you take the conn while I go have these bites seen to,” he says, reaching up to rub his eyes when things become blurry again.

“I will escort you to medical first, Captain. Doctor McCoy will require an honest account of the events that have transpired today and not one of your vague reports,” Spock says as he follows along behind Jim.

“You weren’t even there, Spock. Not until the end. So I don’t see how you’ll give him an account of anything except being bitchy about archaic language protocols,” he mutters as he steps onto the turbolift. He’s moving too slow to get the doors shut before Spock can get on with him, which is frustrating. As it begins to move, he closes his eyes and tries to ignore the lurching in his stomach.

“The protocols may not be widely used in the current time, but they are important guidelines for behavior,” Spock drones on until the words become nothing more than a buzzing in Jim’s mind. He reaches out to put his hand on the wall as everything begins to spin then it all goes dark.

When he comes to, he groans at the pain in his head. He’s lying down, he realizes, and he can smell Bones, even through the strong scent of antiseptic that surrounds him. The panic he initially feels subsides when he realizes that Bones is nearby. There’s more pain in his legs than in his head, he decides, which means he has to open his eyes to see what’s wrong. It takes a little effort, because his eyelids feel heavy, but he manages it. Bones and Chapel are hovering over him, and Bones is cursing under his breath as he moves the tricorder above Jim.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. His tongue feels heavy and awkward, which means someone has used a hypospray on him. He recognizes the feeling easily, and tries to glare down at Bones, since he’s obviously the one who is hypospray crazy around here.

“Christine, finish this one,” Bones instructs in that bossy ‘I’m a doctor’ tone, but Jim is too out of it to really enjoy hearing it. He blinks up at Bones when he moves up the length of the bed and begins to peer at Jim’s eyes.

“Needa shave,” he mutters as he looks at Bones’ jaw. He likes feeling Bones’ stubble against his skin, but Bones has been working so much that it looks like he hasn’t shaven in weeks. The scruff is becoming a faint beard, which, well, it’s sexy, but Jim still prefers the unshaven but not so hairy look more. Not that Bones seems to care what he likes lately.

“You lost a lot of blood, Captain,” Bones tells him in a professional tone that so doesn’t conceal his frustration and annoyance. “There are five bites on your legs, three of which are very deep. We’ll be able to heal them without any scarring, but the main concern is the toxin that we’ve discovered was in the creatures’ saliva.”

“Poisoned spit?” he asks, frowning as he moves his leg. “Ow!”

“Captain, if you’d stay still while we’re fixing you, it would be appreciated,” Chapel says tightly, obviously already taking lessons from Bones on how to be competent and cranky.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Bones asks.

Jim blinks and focuses on Bones’ hand. Those long fingers that always make him feel so good. It’s been almost two months since he’s felt them on his skin the way he likes most. The last couple of weeks, since Bones started avoiding him and stopped even dropping by for a drink, he hasn’t felt them at all. It’s his own fault, of course. It’s always his fault, isn’t it?

The whole ‘no sex while stressed’ thing was supposed to last a few weeks, which he took as a challenge after giving Bones a couple of weeks to deal with stuff. Only, nothing he’d done had worked. Just made it worse, if anything, and that had made him curious. He’d ‘borrowed’ one of Bones’ medical texts and tried to learn more about the problem. That hadn’t helped, either. All of his efforts to be understanding and not add pressure just seemed to cause Bones to stop even being friendly to him. When they were alone, it was too much arguing and stubbornness and Bones being distant and Jim pushing to try to fix it and help. Always pushing. It’s who he is, after all. But, this time, he pushed too far, and Bones is just always busy now, busy with anything that keeps them from having privacy.

“Jim?” Bones’ voice is lower, concerned despite the annoyance, and Jim looks at his face. He hasn’t meant to make him worry. It’s just all fucked up in his head, and the painkiller isn’t helping with that.

“Three,” he says after focusing on Bones’ fingers. “The others? How are they?”

“They’re fine. Dehydrated and exhausted from whatever the hell that planet was doing to y’all, but no one was injured. Seems their fool captain risked his own life to keep them safe, getting himself bitten up like a chocolate cake at a kid’s birthday party,” Bones says, and there’s the anger back.

“Always told you I was sweet,” Jim points out, grimacing when he feels a sharp pain in his left leg. “Fuck. That hurts.”

“We’re getting the toxin out. Fortunately, Commander Spock got you here before it had spread too far,” Bones says, sneering slightly when he mentions Spock. “Some of it got into your bloodstream, though. Messed up your vision, knocked you out, all that stuff you think is so much fun that you do it constantly.”

“Don’t think this is fun,” he grumbles, eyelids fluttering when he feels Bones’ fingers on his bare leg. It’s probably good that he’s in too much pain to be thinking about sex or Chapel would probably notice his reaction to Bones.

“We have to finish with the toxin and then repair the bites,” Bones tells him. There’s a look of intent on his face that Jim recognizes. “It’ll be easier if you’re not talking or moving.”

“Don’t do it, Bones,” he warns but, of course, Bones doesn’t listen. Instead, he shoves a hypospray into Jim’s neck, and everything goes dark again.