Jim had been stupid. Absolutely stupid. He let his anger get the best of him, and he fucked it up big time.
He should’ve never taken Spock down to the surface with him, he never should have been down there in the first place. But the head of the planet’s representatives called him a coward, and his vision was nothing but red.
They were being prepared for beam-up post-firefight, when the man came out of his hiding place. He’d completely taken them by surprise, and he’d knocked Spock off of the balcony they’d been standing on. Scotty couldn’t get a lock on his position, and wouldn’t risk losing the Captain to the people of the planet.
He’d left Spock down on the surface.
"You beam me back down to the surface immediately." “I cannae do that, sir. Too much of a risk to put you back down in hostile territory." Jim grabbed a handful of red shirt, and shoved Scotty up against the wall. “You put me back down, or I’ll cut your tongue out," the words are whispered into the small space between the two men, and Scotty nods after a moment of silence.
It takes only a moment for the glare of the beam to dissipate, and Jim (and the team of security officers he’d chosen) set off quickly. They had been delayed much longer than Jim liked, even though he knew it was smarter to take a team of people rather than go in solo. Better to be safe than sorry, but that doesn't mean that Jim has to like it.
The time it took for all six men to get ready to beam down was only more time for the indigenous people to do what they liked with his First Officer. And it only made to set Jim's blood into a boil beneath his skin.
From Jim's memory of the way they'd taken into the building, there were seven possible holding rooms they could have been housing Spock. They started at the end and worked their way up, having entered the centennial building from the rear. All of the rooms turned up empty, and the crew members watched as Jim tore into one of the enemy men with his knife, a scream of anguish on his lips. A primitive weapon, made specifically for the brutalization of the human body, and a very slow death. Jim was very nearly soaked in blood by the time his arm tired.
The next man they encountered, Jim was less rage fueled, and smart enough to keep alive long enough to get Spock's location. The man's death had been a quick one, simply because Jim thought he'd earned it by giving him what he wanted. There was no shame in his death.
There were men guarding the door where the Vulcan was being held, and Jim and his men held nothing back as they tore into them. They may be a species physically capable of overcoming Vulcan strength, but their technology is outdated (which is why they were toying with the idea of joining the Empire in the first place), and by far no match for their phasers. Not a single man was left alive.
Jim burst through the doors, moving through the room to where Spock is chained to the wall, and soaked in dark green. They'd taken their sweet time learning the soft spots on Vulcan anatomy, and had taken every advantage of it. Jim wishes he could go back and kill each man over again, taking his time with every single one of them as they had with Spock.
"Commander Spock," Jim's voice no longer carries the anger or frustration it had the last hour he'd been on the surface, now almost completely void of emotion, as he's come so accustomed to being when working with his first officer. The last thing Jim needs is for Spock to be aware of the.. emotions he'd felt when faced with the idea of losing his First Officer forever.
He kneels down in front of him, hands working to undo the chains around his wrists, but his fingers have trouble finding purchase, red blood still drying upon his skin, the dark green of Spock's mixing as he works to free him. "I do believe you're late for your shift," he says, letting Spock's arms fall as the chains clink open. "Do not allow yourself to be late again, tardiness will not be tolerated on my ship."
