Your face was pressed against something warm when you regained your senses, and you quickly sat up, blinking blearily at your surroundings. You seemed to be in an underground room with one tiny window near the ceiling that faint shafts of sunlight were filtering through. You brought a hand to the back of your head and winced. The place where you'd been hit was tender, probably bruised nicely. Drawing your hand away, you cast about for any sort of door, but the room seemed to have no entrance.
A small sigh escaped your lips. This would happen on your first landing party mission.
Your eyes fell on the floor where you had been laying, and your blood ran cold. Spock, your commanding officer, was there, still unconscious, and a stream of green blood was trickling down his scalp. You knelt down next to him, not quite sure of what to do. You'd only ever taken the most basic medical courses.
It seemed likely that you should at least stop the bleeding. Unfortunately, you didn't really have anything ready to use as a bandage. You suppressed another sigh and began tearing off the lower halves of your pants legs, making a mental note to start carrying a roll of gauze or something with you from now on. At least you wouldn't have to use your shirt. By the time you had torn a sufficient amount of fabric to clean and bandage the cut on his head, Spock had begun to regain consciousness.
"Lay still, sir," you ordered. "I'm going to try and fix up that cut on your head."
Spock's eyes followed your movements as you set to work cleaning the dirt from the gash. You were a little surprised that he was silent; your method of cleaning a cut most likely hurt pretty badly. You met his soft brown eyes only once, but quickly looked away again. He did have lovely eyes.
"How long have I been unconscious, ensign?" he inquired at last.
"A few minutes longer than me," you said expressionlessly, beginning to tie the remaining strips of your pants in place. You were grateful that of all the men in your landing party, you were imprisoned with Spock. You doubted whether any of the others would have been quite as adept as the Vulcan of not staring at your exposed skin. You fixed the last knot in place and straightened up. "There. That should work. It's not too tight, sir?"
"No, ensign," Spock said, standing up. "It seems to be quite efficient. I thank you."
"No problem, sir," you said, stepping up beside him and still avoiding his eyes. You paused for a long second before adding hesitantly, "And I would appreciate it if you would call me (Y/N), sir. Just (Y/N)."
You'd never asked anyone to call you by your first name before, and you had no idea what had come over you to make you ask him to do so. Apparently, your request sounded unusual to Spock as well.
"You do not like being referred to as an ensign?" Spock asked, frowning slightly. "From what I have observed of humans, I had assumed you would be proud to have achieved such a rank with only seven weeks of Starfleet experience. It usually takes one years to achieve it."
"I'm unusual," you said bitterly. "Do you know why I even joined Starfleet in the first place, sir?"
"I do not."
"Look at me. My skin. My scars. Didn't you notice them?"
"I didn't." Spock moved a step closer to you. "You were abused on Earth?"
"I've always been abused," you said sourly. "On Earth, at home, at the Academy, on the Enterprise–" You stopped speaking. You hadn't meant to say any of that out loud, and you cursed yourself for having done so.
"Who harms you on the Enterprise?"
You turned away. "Just some of the cadets that came aboard with me. It's not important."
"It is quite important. Starfleet does not want anyone who would physically harm another person in its service. Have you reported these cadets?"
"No," you said flatly. "And I won't."
You could practically feel Spock's raised eyebrow without turning around.
"There's been enough trouble," you sighed, sinking to the floor once more. "I don't want to make more."
"Illogical."
To your surprise as much as his, you laughed. "Yes. It is. But then again, you must have observed that humans are illogical, sir." You paused, then recalled something he had said earlier. "Sir? Did you really not notice my scars?"
"Vulcans do not lie, Ensign."
"(Y/N), please, sir. So if you didn't notice my scars, sir . . . Is it just because you didn't look at my legs?"
"I looked at them."
The simple way he said it made your cheeks flare up. "U-um . . . sir?" Way to sound articulate, (Y/N).
"I apologize if I make you uncomfortable, (Y/N)." You heard him sit down beside you, but you didn't look over at him. "I am half human, and my human side occasionally forces me to behave illogically." From the way he said it, you could tell he didn't usually admit that.
"So what did you see, if not my scars?" you asked dully.
"An intelligent, attractive young female," he said.
You turned your head to look at him sharply, and you caught a faint glimmer in his eyes. You ducked your head to hide your unquestionably red face.
"You have very human eyes," you murmured, deciding to pretend you hadn't heard his last comment. "Your mother's, I'm betting. Moving on, though, how are we going to get out of here? I don't see any exit but that window over there, and neither of us would fit through that."
"Indeed."
You both lapsed into silence, looking around. Suddenly, you had a thought. If this room was basically just a hole in the ground, it stood to reason that the entrance couldn't be in one of the walls. If it were, there would have to be other rooms or some sort of tunnel system, and it didn't seem like there was. You stared up at the ceiling, then grinned.
"Bingo, Mr. Spock," you said.
"'Bingo?'" Spock repeated.
"A human phrase," you explained, jumping to your feet. "It means something like 'I've got it.' Look up there. A trapdoor."
You pointed to a clumsily constructed square of wood in the far corner of the ceiling as Spock rose to his feet as well.
You frowned. "What the hell did they do, just chuck us down a pit? It doesn't look as if this were designed for us to ever get out."
"Perhaps that was their intention."
"But then why capture us? To study us?"
"Possibly, although there would have to be some way to observe us. That window would hardly suffice."
The situation puzzled you, but you dismissed it. Right now your main concern was escaping and contacting the Enterprise. Of course, to perform the latter, you would have to recover one of the communicators, and that didn't seem likely to happen any time soon.
"If you give me a leg up, sir, I think I can pull you up after me."
Thankfully, you didn't accidentally kick your commanding officer, and soon you were both standing on the dirt in the middle of . . . what? With stone domes standing in a neat wheel-spoke pattern, it seemed to be some sort of city, but there was absolutely no sign of life anywhere. Everything was perfectly still and silent, creating an eerie feeling of desertion about the place.
"What is this place?" you asked suspiciously.
"It seems to be some sort of city, (Y/N)," Spock replied, looking around.
"Mr. Spock?" You glanced uneasily over your shoulder. "If this is . . . a city, sir . . . shouldn't there be residents? Where are those spider-creatures that captured us?"
Spock frowned slightly, shaking his head. "I am uncertain. We should move before they return. It would be logical to return to the place we beamed down to. That would be where a search party from the Enterprise would begin."
"Good plan," you agreed. "Which way?"
Spock suddenly stumbled, and you only just managed to catch hold of him before he fell over.
"Mr. Spock! Are you alright?"
"I seem to be experiencing dizziness from my wound," he muttered, pressing a hand to the bandaged area of his head.
"I'll help you, sir," you said at once, placing his arm over your shoulder and hoisting him more upright. "Which way do we go?"
As a reply, he merely pointed. You frowned, worry filling your mind. How much blood had he lost? Was it safe for him to move? Reasoning that it was probably much less safe for him to remain where he was, you started walking slowly in the direction he'd indicated. Maybe it was a good thing that those creatures weren't around; you couldn't move particularly quickly while supporting another person.
After what had to be at least several miles, Spock was leaning entirely on you, and you were unintentionally dragging him along, struggling under his nearly dead weight. You stopped to catch your breath, and he looked over at you. You could tell he was fighting unconsciousness, and your worry increased.
"Sir, I think we need to stop," you said.
"We can't," he mumbled. "In the open . . ."
"Sir, you need to rest," you said sharply. "If we don't stop, it might kill you."
"We cannot, (Y/N)," he insisted. "We must continue."
You sighed inwardly. Something told you he could be just as stubborn as you.
"(Y/N), that is an order."
You seriously considered stopping anyway; after all, he was in no condition to stop you, but you figured he was probably right. You were indeed in the open, and that would be a very stupid place to stop. You shifted him to a more secure position and continued on your way. He was mostly unconscious already, so you weren't sure he even noticed your severely slowed walk or your frequent stumblings.
The direction he had chosen was, in fact, the right direction. Soon you saw the clump of trees where you'd been captured in the distance, but you took a wide arch around it before resuming your original course. There was no point in taking the unnecessary chance that the creatures were still waiting for more victims to fall into their trap.
You had no clue where you had beamed down at exactly, but you kept walking, telling yourself that you'd probably recognize it when you saw it. You never got the chance to test that theory. You heard a shout, and saw several people in Enterprise uniforms running to assist you. It was only then that you realized just how exhausted you were, and for the first time in your life, you were glad to see other people.
