Chapter Text
Pike groaned, trying to pry his eyes open with a force of will. They instantly burned, forcing themselves back shut. Judging from his position, he was laying on something hard. The cold seeping into his skin through thin clothes suggested the 'something' was made of metal, and that his clothes had been changed. He lifted a hand to his face, grunting when he somehow ended up smacking himself. Maybe he had drank too much. He hadn't gotten drunk in months, though.
“I see you're alive.”
Pike grimaced at the voice, trying to distinguish it. “Marcus?” The name came out as a jumble of random sounds. His eyes finally opened. It didn't help- he was staring up at a plain white ceiling. He braced himself against the bed to push himself up, arms giving out on him. He caught a glimpse of Marcus' face, confirming his guess.
“I thought I may have gotten to you too late. All Spock's fault, of course. If he hadn't wasted precious moments worrying over your dying form, I could have stolen you away sooner.”
He gasped for breath, heart pounding against his ribcage. The words entered his ears, but made no sense. Spock? Something about dying? Did Spock die? Footsteps. Marcus was stepping closer. Pike didn't want the man closer, but could do little more than squirm in place. The sight of the auburn haired man did nothing to calm him. Those eyes... they were full of disdain.
“If you had just agreed to join my project, this could all have been avoided.”
Words. Why couldn't he understand them? The man was speaking clearly, but the meaning just wasn't registering. How had Pike even gotten here? The last thing he remembered was telling Jim Kirk of his position as Pike's first officer. The boy was too talented to be sent back to the academy. Had something happened after that?
“...I suppose I'll have to send someone in to judge your cognitive state. I hadn't thought you had sustained any debilitating brain damage. I need you cognizant if I'm going to torture you.”
Torture. He was sure he had heard that word. Pike floundered for words, finally managing to force out, “Why?” It was a useless attempt. The resulting answer was as unintelligible as everything else had been.
“Why?” A laugh. “You threatened to out me when I asked you to join me. Now you get to watch as the war commences. Watch as your precious Jim becomes a murderer, starts a war, and dies to avenge you. Watch as a man genetically engineered to be intelligent just keeps doing what I want him to do. Thinking it's his own idea, that he's actually harming me. He was really made to be used, I can tell you that much.”
The expression on Marcus' face told Pike that he should be listening. Told him that he needed to hear this. No amount of effort, however, could give meaning to the strings of syllables and sounds.
Marcus turned and made for the door. Pike managed to push himself to his feet, but his movements were like that of a drunken man: wobbly and uncoordinated. He ultimately ended up tripping and crashing into the ground, legs aching where bruises were surely forming.
“I wonder how long I'll have to wait for Jim to come running and begging for a chance at revenge. I'd bet less than 24 hours. Men are so predictable.” With those emitted sounds, Marcus walked through a sliding white door.
Pike was suddenly very alone.
~
By the time a person entered the room, Pike had analyzed every corner of the space. It was cubic, and about 10x10x10. There was a metal slab connected to the floor, upon which he had awoken on. He supposed it was meant to be a bed. The tile floors were more comfortable. A toilet was in the corner, as well as a sink with soap kindly provided.
His head began to hurt when he spent too long trying to put things together, but he tried anyway. There had been an explosion at Section 31. He had just read over the papers on it before telling Kirk to join him in the regulation-dictated meeting. Had he ever actually gone to the meeting?
The person, presumably a nurse, was a man in his mid 30's. He propped Pike up against the wall, shining things into his eyes. A tricorder was then waved over his head.
A series of strange tests on a PADD were given to him. Things like tracing his finger from the beginning of an easy maze to the end of it. His finger kept slipping around, and his focus had become dearly departed. He scowled at the thing, shoving it away.
He wondered where his usual patience had gone. It was probably camping out with his ability to understand words. The man left.
~
Pike guessed a few days had passed. There was a basic schedule. He'd be handfed, as his failed coordination had left him tossing the food all over himself and the floor. A few hours later he'd be fed again. That nurse would then enter with a bag in his hands and continue with tests, as well as basic activities. Pike supposed they were meant to help him regain lost cognitive function, though if that was so they were failing miserably. He'd be fed half an hour after that, and then he'd be left alone for what felt like eight or nine hours.
He wasn't sure, but he thought the nurse's name started with Nova. Apparently written words processed easier than spoken words, though his ability to remember them was a bit faulty.
The schedule was different today. After 'breakfast', Marcus made an appearance. “Novakovich's scans say you should be able to heal from this, so long as we continue to give you something to stimulate your mind. They also have an experimental treatment. Not painful, unfortunately. Just a substance we'll be mixing into your food. In any case, you'll be aware enough to understand how completely you have failed Kirk.”
He couldn't interpret the words, but the tone seemed cruel. Pike flinched as a hand mockingly patted his head.
~
“Kirk,” Pike chided. He sat at Starfleet headquarters, all other Captains and first officers gathered around. Leave it to Jim to draw attention to himself right off the bat. After breaking the Prime Directive, his best bet was to stay off the radar.
“Come on, if you have something to say, say it,” Admiral Marcus was saying, from across the circular table.
It was all the encouragement Jim needed. “Isn't it strange? Why blow up the archives? It was a library.”
Pike sighed. Now Kirk was asking questions he wasn't authorized to know the answers to.
“It isn't just a library,” said Marcus, blue eyes sparkling through polluted depths. “It's where it all began.”
Before anyone could respond, there was a loud, harsh crash, everyone getting up and pushing each other to get out of the way of flying glass. Out of the way of the constant barrage of shots.
Pike was rooted in place. With an effort, Pike managed to look out the window. In a jumpship, raining fire over the meeting room, was a man. Pike squinted, trying to make out the person's face through the storm of shots. His heart nearly stopped.
It was Admiral Marcus.
~
Pike woke with a deep, gasping breath, laying in a puddle of cold sweat upon the tile floor. He ran a hand over his face, trying to make sense of what he had dreamt.
“Excuse me,” a voice was saying. It was Nova.
Pike blinked. It almost made sense. Almost. His brain had grasped it, given him a taste of the definition, and then tossed it away. It was like he had the meaning dancing around the back of his mind, refusing to push forward to where he could acknowledge it. He grit his teeth in frustration. He was much more short tempered lately.
“You're progressing,” said Nova, and while the words didn't register, the gentle smile did.
Something good had happened. With a start, Pike realized this wasn't a time to despair. He was... the word progressing came to mind. Yes. There was hope. If he could retrieve his mind, he could think his way out of this situation.
~
The next time Marcus visited, Pike could hold onto simple sentences and almost make sense of long ones. The parts of his brain that made sense of auditory input were starting to work again. His head hurt if he spent too long trying to understand Novako's words, but each day he would progress a bit more.
Marcus must have figured this out from Novako's reports. “I'm here to inform you of... Right, you understand simple sentences.” Marcus paused, rubbing his chin in thought. His used-dish-water eyes sharpened. “I'm leaving. Starting a Klingon War.” He paused between each sentence, allowing Pike time to process the words, waiting until Pike gave a slight incline of his head to continue. “Kirk will die.”
Pike was at his feet in a second, with only the slightest bit of disorientation. “No.”
Marcus raised a brow. “No?”
With a great effort Pike slowly got out, “Don't involve Kirk.” His words were a bit jumbled, but Marcus seemed to understand them all the same.
Marcus laughed. “And what exactly are you going to do to stop me, from your place locked up underground, out of sight and out of mind?”
That, Pike didn't understand. Too much at once. He had a feeling of what the words could be, though.
Marcus must have realized he had gone beyond Pike's current mental level, because he went back to short sentences with long pauses between them. “You're too weak. Listen. This is important.”
Pike could feel the anger welling in his chest, the emotion muddling his mind and impairing any regained voice-comprehending abilities. He took a few deep breaths, willing his mind clear. He had to listen. Whatever Marcus was saying, Pike needed to hear.
“Kirk went to Kronos. His ship will die. Klingons will find him. War will start.”
Pike could feel his eyes widening, unsure if he even believed what he was hearing. The more Marcus said, the more fabricated it all sounded.
“I'll lead Starfleet. Meanwhile...” The pollution floating over the blue depths snuffed out any glint in the man's eyes. “...you're going to Tantalus V. You'll never be found, Chris Peterson. Ensign gone crazy. I have a friend there. Dr. Adams. You'll never get out.”
Too much. Too much at once. Everything he thought he heard, he couldn't be sure of. No. “This won't work,” Pike said, but the emotion left his words as jumbled as on his first day locked up here. Perhaps he could escape on the way over? Maybe someone would see him? Save him? Someone had to have a conscience.
“You'll go tomorrow. Enjoy your new life.” With a smirk, he added, "Maybe I'll visit you. I'll show you a video of Kirk's funeral."
~
Pike had no clue of what had happened to Marcus. He had been in this same, windowless room for an undetermined amount of time. After being tranquilized who-knows-how-long ago, he had awoken here. It felt like years, though the fact he still had hope told him less time had to have passed. Food and water would be pressed through a little slot. He hadn't even once caught a glimpse of any of the personnel here.
They had given him an electronic book reader. That was more than Marcus had ever given Pike.
He hadn't even seen Dr. Adams once. He doubted it really was Dr. Adams that ran this place. That man was known for turning prisons into a peaceful, rehabilitative environment; not placing people in solitary isolation.
He was brought out of his thoughts by a familiar voice. It was muffled through the door, but... He knew that voice. It was James T. Kirk. He was at the metal door in an instant, fists banging and voice calling out. “Jim!” he screamed. “James Kirk!” The room was one-way soundproofed, he knew, but he hoped for a miracle. He'd be willing to pray to the god so few believed in just to have proof that Jim was alive. That Marcus had failed. He could endure an eternity of isolation, if only he knew that James T. Kirk was alive.
But what if Jim was actually a prisoner here, too? What if Marcus had won, and instead of letting Jim die, he put Jim in Tantalus V?
The hope of moments before was changed into desperate, horrible panic. No. No. He had to be wrong. Jim couldn't be caught.
Another voice... two voices... If only he could understand them. They were stopped outside his door. One was definitely Jim. The other was unfamiliar, deep and surrounding. Even through the door, he could hear the power in it. Feel it. Desperately, he resumed screaming out Kirk's name, hoping against all logic in the universe that he would be heard.
A third voice joined in. The voices were disappearing down the hall. No. He collapsed against the door, sliding down and resting his face against the cold metal. “Jim,” he gasped, voice raw from screaming. “I hope to god you're alright.”