Fic: The Plebe, Chapter 19

[elliewood]

The Plebe, Chapter 19
Nothing Says Winter Break Like Bedrest -- Chess with Chris and Hachi -- Bigger Heads than Yours

This must be what it feels like to be drugged, he thought, or agreeably drunk, a painless ease of mind and body in which both floated weightless in a delightful, enveloping warmth. He was aware that he was in bed and that somehow, for once, there was no alarm waiting to awaken him, no need to be anywhere else but here in this cradle, his skin absorbing the heat reflected back at him by its downy covers, his brain beneath his skull fat and placid and glowing with drowsy satisfaction.

And then a few irritations began to make their presence known: about his left shoulder, the bulk of a wrapping of some sort that insulated that part of him from the surrounding warmth. A dense, unmoving weight on his right thigh. And beneath the fingers of his right hand, a bristly annoyance.

He reluctantly opened one eye and almost snapped it closed against the intrusion of early light from a window. He waited a few moments before opening it again, then the other one, to examine what lay under his hand: a dark patch of hair that moved in time with its owner’s breathing, if the stuttering, wet snore that emanated from him could be called breathing. Mitch, sitting on a stool next to the bed with his head pillowed on Jim’s leg, his mouth relaxed in a slumber deep enough to excuse the thin line of drool that issued from it onto the bedclothes.

His hand dreamed of seizing the scruff of hair and tugging playfully on it to wake its owner, but both the motion and the mirth stalled, trapped into swimming lazy circles within his own head. He blinked himself further awake and focused harder, this time managing a twitch of one finger on the top of Mitchell’s left ear, his effort rewarded with a start and a stare of sleepy incomprehension at the smile he felt pulling at his mouth.

“Mih.”

The grin deepened at the comical expression of shock on Mitchell’s face. He swallowed dry air and tried again.

“Mitch.”

Mitchell straightened abruptly on the stool, fully awake now, one hand grasping blindly for Jim’s as he stared at his face. “Yeah, it’s me, I mean, I’m here.”

A weak twitch of his biceps signaled Mitchell to lean in, close enough for him to see the swollen capillaries in the wide brown eyes, the unshaven growth of beard.

“I have to…tell you…”

The dark head bobbed loosely on its neck, a wordless invitation to continue.

“B…Barnett.”

The name had come out as Parnett but Mitch nodded again and squeezed his hand in encouragement. “What is it, man? What about him?”

“His first name…it’s Dick.”

The whispery chuckle that followed floated between them in the silence of the hospital room as Mitchell goggled at him for a few long seconds, then dropped Jim's hand to press his knuckles against his eyes. On Jim’s left, a cautious movement: Nyota, uncurling her legs from where they had been tucked beneath her on the daybed, to turn and watch them.

“Oh my God. You asshole,” Mitchell said from behind his fingers. “You gaping, jail-raped asshole.” He moved his hands from his own face to place them on either side of Jim’s now helplessly giggling head, locking it against the pillow and pulling at his hair in a reflexive tug-of-war. “Don’t go back to sleep, do you hear me, fuckwad? Do not go back to sleep. I’m getting the sawbones.”

He gave Jim’s head one last shake before releasing it to bolt for the door, the now empty stool rolling backward across the room. Nyota rose and stopped it with her foot, then pushed it before her to seat herself across the bed from the spot Mitchell had just vacated.

The laughter died in Jim’s throat as he rolled his head on the pillow to look up at her. “You know, you are so damn pretty.”

It would be some time before he regained enough control over his thoughts to keep them from leaking out unbidden. But she didn’t seem to mind as she leaned carefully over him, her weight hovering above the bandaged shoulder, ignoring what felt like a million years’ worth of morning breath to kiss his mouth with her own.

***

“Checkmate.”

Pike frowned at the arrangement of the pieces that had just pinned his king on the rearmost rank of the third level. “Huh. Guess this will take some getting used to. Two out of three.” He cleared the pieces from the board while Jim reached for the handwritten note to scanned its careful, looping script again.

It is my hope that you will find this to be of some amusement during your convalescence.

There had been nothing else in the box aside from the graceful arcs of the three-dimensional chess board and a very brief set of instructions on its use. Pike’s dark brows knitted together as he read them over a third time.

“Can't seem to wrap my mind around these rules. Maybe this is Spock’s way of cheering you up, giving you a way to beat your superiors.”

“It was nice of him to send this.” Jim shifted against the pillows to find a more comfortable position, the ache of his mending collarbone chastising him for his refusal of McCoy’s pain medication. “I wonder why he didn’t bring it himself.”

Pike looked up from the instructions in time to catch the slight blush that crept up Jim’s neck at his own transparency. He gave a reassuring smile in return; Spock’s current whereabouts were of peculiar interest to him as well. And Barnett.

“Don’t know. No one’s seen him since…” Pike let the statement trail off, his own thoughts returning to the Finnegans’ cabin and the sight of Spock crouching before the unresponsive cadet, long fingers skating over the preternatural smoothness of the blank expression before him. Pike had felt himself mirror them both, his own body freezing into immobility while his heart fragmented under the growing conviction that they had lost him. But then Jim, his face still in Spock’s hands, had blinked twice, his first movements since they had stormed the cabin, then rolled his eyes to focus on the anxious ones before him.

“I didn’t tell them. I…I don’t think I did.”

He had watched Spock shake his head no before his eyes finally closed in exhaustion, his neck relaxing to drop his head forward into the hands enfolding it, its damp weight resting on Spock’s forehead. It wasn’t until the medical team approached them that Spock finally pulled his fingers away and stood to watch them release Jim from the chair; he had then turned his head blindly in Pike’s direction, his expression one of mild surprise as he folded at the knees, flowing like water to the floor in a dead faint of his own.

“He was admitted the same time you were. McCoy managed to keep him here all of about an hour before he took off.”

“Is he in trouble?” Jim answered Pike’s opening move, his eyes carefully trained on the board. “Is that why he didn’t come see me?”

Pike shook his head. “He’s not in any trouble. In fact, he was the one who convinced me to lead the recovery team once we got your communicator signal.”

“I didn’t send any signal. I didn’t even have my communicator on me.”

“Must have been Ben or his father, then.”

It is the king who is false

Jim’s lips tightened. “It wasn’t his father.”

“We can’t be sure about that. The attachments on Ben’s messages haven’t been decrypted yet; so far, there’s no direct evidence that the commodore was working with the Klingons.”

“Then why…” Another shift to push himself higher on the bed. “Why did Mr. Spock kill him?”

“He didn’t. Forensics ID’d the shot that killed Pat Finnegan as originating from a Klingon disruptor, so Spock’s off the hook for that. The commodore was dead before he got inside.” He frowned as he advanced a pawn. “Though he did seem to have some trouble obeying a superior officer. Not that I take it personally.”

“But isn’t that insubordination?”

“You could call it that, but the security team backed up his contention that Ben’s directive to fire indicated a probable threat. The only issue really under investigation is whether Ben…whether what happened to him, if it could have been avoided.” Pike shifted his eyes away from the lateral move of Jim’s rook to the eyes that wouldn’t meet his. “I’m sorry you didn’t make it to the memorial service.”

The undamaged shoulder rose in a slight shrug. “I guess I was still kind of out of it. Gaila told me it was nice. She said she cried, a lot.”

Jim’s rook had forked his queen and her knight; if there were any brain damage from the Klingon’s device, Pike thought, it didn’t show up here. He tried to catch the gaze that stubbornly avoided his and failed.

“Jim,” he began gently, “it’s all right to talk about it.”

“We are talking about it.”

“Not really.” He cautiously prodded a bishop across the level with his finger. “I know you and Ben were close.”

Jim promptly took the bishop with his knight, his face unreadable. “Look, I just don’t really want to think about it, okay?”

Pike would have pressed him further if not for the shadow that fell over the bright sheets and the accompanying rap of knuckles at the open door.

“Am I interrupting?”

Jim looked up toward the newcomer, the fleet admiral he had seen in the library reading room who now advanced toward the bed, his hand extended, a compact smile on his face. Pike pushed back from the side of the bed and stood, his eyebrows raised slightly at the unexpected visit.

“I guess you haven’t been officially introduced. Admiral Hachi Nogura, this Cadet Fourth Class James Kirk.”

“Pleasure to officially meet you, son. Just came by to extend my best wishes for a speedy recovery.” His handshake was firm and dry. “How’s that shoulder?”

“Better, sir, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it. I won't keep you now; we’ll have plenty of time to talk again when you’re back to your old self.” To Pike: “Commander. Walk with me back to Admin?”

Pike nodded at the thinly veiled order and rolled the bedside table against the wall, carefully so as not to dislodge the pieces. “Jim, I’ll stop by tomorrow. You can finish me off then.”

 

***

 

Outside, the officers pulled their collars up against the smattering of snowflakes that blew down from the rooftop of Medical at them. Nogura set off toward the campus at a brisk pace, Pike falling into step at his side.

“Sorry to pull you away from our young friend, but I have a few things of interest to tell you.”

It wasn’t too much of a surprise, Pike reflected, that the information conduit now apparently bypassed Barnett. He waited.

“We have biotech staff dissecting that thing they used on the cadet,” the admiral continued. “Appears to be a mind control sort of apparatus. We might be able to use that technology ourselves.”

“No.”

The force of his response surprised him, and apparently Nogura too as he halted abruptly and turned to Pike, his face an open question.

“That machine is evil,” he continued resolutely. “It needs to be destroyed.”

“You need a long view, Chris. With modifications and refinements, it could be used for therapeutic purposes. The colony on Tantalus V has already expressed interest in the technology.” He placed his hand on Pike’s shoulder to steer him back on course toward Admin. “Don’t worry; it would be for rehabilitation only. You know the Federation doesn’t torture.”

They walked on in silence for a moment before Pike broke it. “What else, sir? You said you had a few things of interest.”

“Mm hmm. Yesterday a patrol found a small ship adrift in our side of the Neutral Zone. Two occupants.”

“Klingon?”

“The bodies, yes; the ship, no. It’s an Earth ship, registered to Pat Finnegan. Sublight capability only, clearly a private vehicle. We think that’s how the men that Spock described made their escape from the cabin.”

His stumbling across the snowy yard, Spock’s head tilting upward toward the stairs, his search of the second floor a few seconds later already yielding nothing. It made sense if they’d beamed out to Finnegan’s ship. Except that a vessel of that type would likely have no transporter.

His thoughts stuttered in confusion for a moment before returning to something else Nogura had mentioned. “You said ‘bodies’…?”

“That’s right, an officer and either a civilian or a subordinate. Both were dead when we found the ship.”

“Dead from what?”

“From the stills it looks like they killed themselves. Probably realized they weren’t going to make it back to their side of the Neutral Zone and carried out some sort of ritualistic disembowelment. Sliced their own guts out as neat as you please.”

A chill fluttered up Pike’s spine. “Oh my God.”

“I suppose they wanted to avoid capture. Hell of a way to do it; shooting themselves would have been easier. Both men were armed but neither one had drawn his weapon." His chuckle at Pike's strained expression was humorless. "And there's something else. Only one knife was recovered from that ship. So they either killed themselves in turn, or the officer gutted the other guy before killing himself. Damnedest thing I ever saw.” Nogura shook his head. “These Klingons must have balls of iron.”

Pike’s silence much was much longer this time; they did not speak again until they reached the stairs of the Admin building, shook hands, and parted.

 

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