51: A Spock Fanfiction

Chapter 4: The Empath

When Spock awoke, his entire body hurt all over. He was lying on his own cot, once again in the cell he shared with Bob. Spock wore no shirt, and his black jumpsuit was unzipped to the waist, leaving his bare torso exposed to the air. He tried to lift his head a bit, but a throbbing pain in his skull as though a thousand men were beating the inside of his cranium with sledgehammers forced him to lower it once again. His fingers gingerly traced the thin scars all over his face from the brutal beating he'd gotten in the corridor.

He swallowed, wishing he had water. The inside of his throat felt like sandpaper, and his dry tongue felt like fur against his parched dental palate.

"Is he awake now?" asked a female voice. Spock's head hurt too much for him to tell who it was, and he had closed his eyes because the light made the pain that much worse.

"Looks like it, Angel," said the voice of Gimp. "Bob, can you reach Celine? She wanted to know when he woke up."

"I. Will. Try," Bob vowed. Spock was aware of a certain pressure leaving his hand. Bob had been grasping it, probably out of fear.

"Good," Angel whispered. "The only one of us who's ever been beaten that severely is Gimp because he doesn't like to shut his mouth. It's a good thing Celine saw it, before they injected him with the cryopyrophil. She was pretty broken up about it last night."

"Last...night?" Spock mumbled. "How long've I been out?" His brown eyes flitted slowly open, in spite of the haze of pain in his body.

"Today makes day two. They just sounded the alarm to wake us up. That must have been what stirred you, since your hearing is very good," Gimp explained. "Just lie there. Today I think they plan to operate on Angel and Bob, since they did you and me yesterday."

"Water," Spock murmured. "Is there any water?"

"Here," Bob said, placing a cup of the liquid in Spock's hand. "Drink."

The Vulcan didn't need telling twice. He drank thirstily from the cup, water sloshing all over his face and chin from the savage way he partook of that delicious liquid. In all his life, he had never thirsted as much as he did now. The water was his lifeblood. He drained the cup in seconds. "More," he panted, smiling faintly, a fact which instantly ashamed him. But he could not help it. The water had been so fresh and cool, so delicious, that he wanted more; needed more.

"Have they never heard of IV drips?" Spock asked as Bob handed him another cup. "This splitting headache is proof enough that I am severely dehydrated."

"They really don't care," Angel said sarcastically, rolling her eyes as she twirled her pretty, blond hair. "It nearly killed Gimp once because he requires more water than a human or a Vulcan or a Klingon does. He wasn't on his feet for days."

Spock drank this cup of water more slowly, but still found himself unsatisfied. His head still hurt, but the pounding wasn't as intense. Slowly, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

Angel stood on her tiptoes with her fingers pressed against the glass. Her hair fell over her shoulders like silk, and her blue eyes looked very concerned. Gimp stood behind her, stroking her back with one of his orange, furry paws. His feline face was expressionless, but Spock detected just a hint of smugness in his features. Perhaps he was gloating because he hadn't been the one to have his face beaten to a pulp for once. As it was, his face was covered in scars, including one long one that went up his cheek and over his eye, giving Spock the impression that no one wanted to be on Gimp's bad side except for the humans holding him here.

"Have any of you ever tried to escape?" Spock asked. "They cannot keep doing this to us. They will grow tired of us eventually, and we will all be killed. Either that or we will die in this place, after many years of captivity."