James T. Kirk x married!reader
Summary: You’re beamed down to a desolate planet to make Federation peace accords with the native civilization and are ambushed by the galaxy’s greatest enemy.
A/N: you guys should know that I really fucking love Star Trek, so expect random uploads of oneshots ahhaa. enjoy (:
“Enterprise!” you hiss through the receiver. “Enterprise, this is Lieutenant Kirk. Come in, Enterprise.”
There’s no answer, and something in the distance shatters, shouts and growls from the village just over the hill reaching your hideout. Cupcake holds onto your arm, more protectively than out of fear, two of his fellow security bodies on the other side of him. One of them, Matthews, is bleeding from his forehead, and Hubble has blood stained dark brown on his cheek, but other than that, the four of you were okay.
“Lieutenant Kirk, this is Uhura,” the com crackles, and you let out a breath of relief.
“Uhura, my team and I are just outside the northwestern corner of the village,” you begin to report to her, but then Cupcake throws his hand across your mouth, slamming the receiver top closed. You don’t fight him, knowing full and well that he had heard something over your voice.
The sand of the desert planet the four of you had been beamed down to was freezing, night having fallen hours ago and not even the blazing fire coming from the village as it was pillaged by native savages could warm the four of you at this distance.
The village you’d been assigned to make peace accords with, alongside your husband, Captain Kirk, and Commander Spock, was more charred rubble and blackened bones than the prosperous and primarily civil place it had been earlier this morning. The village natives had been peaceful, and though they didn’t understand English, Uhura had been there to translate the language she wasn’t entirely sure of.
“It feels like a different form of Klingon when I’m speaking,” Uhura had mumbled to you and Jim. “Like the vowels and pronunciations have changed, but most of these words are Klingon.”
You, personally, have never seen a Klingon apart from pictures, only a couple wormhole traveling Romulans a few years ago, but you didn’t have to meet one to know they were dangerous, unpredictable, and off limits for a reason. What their language was doing lightyears away from the Neutral Zone was unbeknownst to you, but it still made for an order of a planet wide scan.
Cupcake drops his hand from your face and raising a finger to his lips. Your hideout was under a ledge a stone’s throw away from the village’s edge, sand occasionally raining down into the folds of your gold uniform as the ground shook with whatever weapons the attackers were using.
Something grabs you by the arm before you can open your mouth, and your com goes scattering away, a scream escaping you before your throat is caught in a tight grip.
A Klingon holds you by the neck, shadowed by the fire raging yards behind it, lips formed in a wicked twist of a smile.
“Federation,” it says, accent thick with his primary tongue, and you kick at the savage.
“Let her go!” Cupcake demands, shooting up from out of the hiding spot. “By order of the UFP!”
The Klingon laughs, a deep and throaty sound that makes your stomach fill with disgust. “Humans,” it spits, lip curling. “Put your weapon down if you want your leader’s life.”
You try to shake your head at your security team, but the Klingon shakes you like a ragdoll and your head pounds as the security unit lowers their phasers.
“Put her down,” Hubble argues, his phaser at his side, finger still over the trigger.
The Klingon laughs again, and throws you into the dirt at his feet. The force of impact knocks the last of your breath out of you, and you gasp, vision fuzzy and black dots dancing across your eyes.
“Lieutenant?” a voice calls out from your com, having been thrown open when it had flung out of your hand. “(Y/N)!”
It’s Jim’s voice, and your chest burns with adrenaline as you go to make a mad grab at the device, but the Klingon’s boot comes down on both it and your hand, and you scream, your red shirts racing to your side as pain in every form shoots up your wrist. You writhe.
“I’m fine! I’m fine!” you pant, not fine at all. You feel light headed, and know most, if not all, of the bones in your left hand are broken. At the least, you’re lucky, because nothing has punctured through skin, meaning you weren’t bleeding. Oh, Bones was going to love this.
Cupcake pulls you to your feet, one hand holding you by your left bicep as you face the Klingon again.
“You four are my prisoners,” it says to you, sneering. “We will trade your lives for your captain’s.” He reaches for you again, but Hubble shoots at him, the phaser burning a hole in the monster’s arm.
“Run!” Matthew orders, and you stumble at first, but break out into a run across the desert.
Cupcake is screaming into his own com – “Montgomery! Scott! Beam us the hell up!” – and the Klingon is bellowing behind you, summoning more of his comrades as sand flies up in your wake. Matthew falls, and you stop, Cupcake and Hubble halting as well.
“Go!” you order them, and they both hesitate. “I order you to go!”
The two security officers don’t get the chance to dart off, the yellow-gold ringlets of the transporter beams beginning to encircle them. Thirty yards in the distance, three Klingon forms are rushing towards you, weapons firing and bolts of their ammunition going astray.
“You’d think for the most feared aliens in the galaxy, they’d have good aim,” you say to Matthews, helping him stand.
“I think I twisted my ankle,” he says to you, wincing.
“It’s okay,” you say, holding his shoulder. You swallow, hoping for the gold light to appear around you both as well. “We’re going to be okay.”
Captain James Tiberius Kirk paces the bridge of the Enterprise, and when he hears Cupcake shouting over every com frequency, he slams his hands down on the console in front of Chekov. The young Russian boy yelps and glares at Kirk, but Mister Sulu gives him a slight nod and the Ensign lets out a puff of breath.
“Captain-” Spock starts to say to him, but Kirk runs off of the bridge, taking the turbolift to the transport room.
“Scotty!” Kirk calls as he enters the room. On the pad, two of his security detail are on their knees, panting and covered in sand and dust. “Where’s (Y/N) and Matthews?”
“Sir,” Scotty starts to say, but Kirk ignores him, rushing up onto the beaming pad.
“Beam me down, Scotty,” Kirk cuts him off.
“Captain!” Cupcake gasps out, reaching for Kirk’s pant leg. He shoots a glare down at the security officer, and Hendorff moves off the platform with Hubble under his arm. “Captain, there’s Klingons-”
Kirk doesn’t hear the rest of whatever the officer is saying as he’s beamed down to the planet’s surface, but a bolt of adrenaline shoots through him when he lands.
Ten yards in front of him, you’re holding Matthew upright, both of you shooting madly at the oncoming Klingons. One of them falls, and Kirk hears Matthews cheer, but a bolt is fired back, and you go down instantly.
“(Y/N)!” Kirk screams across the stretch of desert, and runs towards you.
“Captain!” Matthews blurts, still firing as Kirk slides through the sand, knees right up against your body. You convulse, a burning sensation all over your stomach region, but you register Kirk above you.
“Jim,” you gasp, left hand closest to him. He grabs it, but you scream in pain, and he lets go of you.
“What happened to her?” he questions Matthews.
“Klingon crushed her hand,” the officer replies, wincing when his weight went down on his bad ankle. He continues to fire at the two remaining Klingons, twenty yards away now and closing in fast. “Another one shot her.”
“Scotty!” Kirk yells into his com. “Beam (Y/N) up now!”
The Klingons are fifteen yards away, and more are coming up from over the hill.
Blood leaks out of your mouth as you cough, splattering specs of the dark red liquid over your and Jim’s uniforms.
“Sir!” Scotty’s voice comes back. “The system, she’s malfunctioning sir! Something’s wrong!”
“Damnit!” Jim scowls and takes you into his arms, holding you against his chest. “Matthews!”
“Sir?” the officer asks, glancing back between the Klingons and Kirk.
“Have my back, we’re going to go over that hill,” Kirk tells him.
Matthew hesitates, but then nods, firing back at the Klingons as their shots hit the sand around both the Captain’s and Matthews’ feet. The phaser in the security officer’s hand shoots barely accurately at the two Klingons, and their firing is getting more and more on target.
“Jim,” you gasp, gripping the fabric of his shirt as weapon’s ammo explodes in the ground off to your right.
“I’ve got you,” Jim replies, squeezing your body. You can feel your blood leaving your body through the blast in your side, and you mouth tastes of copper and sand. “I’m going to get you out of this.”
Matthews suddenly cries out, and Jim knows he’s gone without looking back.
“Scotty!” Jim shouts into the air again, defenseless. “Any time now would be fantastic!”
“I’m sorry sir, the beaming pad, it’s-”
There’s a ringlet of golden light, and Spock comes out firing from it, stance tall and protective as Jim takes cover behind his back. The Vulcan fires round after round from the phaser before the Klingons stop advancing, shouting words to each other in their language.
Spock glances over his shoulder.
“Is she alive?” he questions, and Kirk nods.
“Just barely,” Jim replies. “She’s bleeding a lot.” He holds you to his chest, one of your arms dangling and the other holding the wound site. A thin trail of glossy red blood is running down your jaw, starting from the edge of your mouth.
Spock turns and goes for your pulse point, and you can see in his dark brown eyes the fire raging on from the village.
“The transport pad is only capable of beaming down after being damaged in weapon fire, Captain,” Spock reports, taking his long fingers from your bruised neck. “Doctor McCoy wishes to beam down, and he is waiting in the transport room, though I suggest we seek cover before the Klingons return.”
Jim nods, and looks down at you briefly before scanning the horizon. “The scanners picked up a cave northwest of the village, but I don’t know how-”
“There,” Spock cuts him off, and you groan as Jim moves to face the direction the Vulcan is pointing. A single rock juts out of the sand, a ring of stones around it, tall enough to hide your bodies, and far enough away that it didn’t have any association with the fallen village.
Spock glances at you, and then to Jim. “Captain, if I may provide assistance in carrying the Lieutenant-”
Jim shakes his head. “I have her.”
You clutch the fabric of your Starfleet uniform to your waist, coughing another roll of pain left the wound and your gaze became fuzzy.
Spock nods his head, and beings to set off across the sand.
Jim looks down at you again, and pushes his fingers into your shoulder. “I’ll keep you safe,” he promises, and follows his first officer.
When you wake, it’s to the gentle beeping of heart rate monitor. There’s a gentle brushing against your right hand, and your fingers spin themselves into the soft hair on your husband’s head. He peeks at you, unmoving, but blue eyes gazing at yours.
“Jim,” you exhale, and then your chest spasms.
“Hey,” he shoots up, scooting closer in the chair he’s sitting in. “Bones!”
“Jim, there was Klingons. The entire mission was a trap, they were looking for you,” you blurt out, gripping tightly to his hand, eyes wide.
“It’s okay,” Jim reassures you, running a hand over the top of your head. “We’re on the Enterprise, lightyears from that planet.”
You listen to his words, and gradually ease back into your pillow. “Who made it?”
Jim winces, and you let out a shaky breath.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he immediately says.
“Matthews,” you breathe. “He was injured. I should have-”
“You couldn’t have done anything,” Jim breaks in, shaking his head. “After I beamed down, Klingon ships attacked us and knocked something out with the transport so we could only beam down.”
You nod, and Bones walks into the room, a sigh escaping him.
“You are just about as bad as he is when it comes to almost dying on my exam tables,” Bones scowls at you.
You smile thinly. “You know you secretly love it.”
“No,” he says, waving his tricorder at you. “I don’t.”
Jim winks at you, and backs away a bit so Bones can check the stitches on your forehead. You don’t even remember banging your head on anything.
“Well,” Bones says, “it seems you’re going to live.”
“Oh no,” you say sarcastically.
Bones smiles, and shakes his head. “I mended your left hand, so you’ll be fine as long as you’re not lifting anything too heavy for the next month or so.”
You smile, and touch the bandages under your gown. “What about this?”
Bones huffs. “Just means no alcohol for two months.”
“Shit,” you say, playfully, “I was going to drink to my luck.”
Jim chuckles as Bones rolls his eyes.
“Thank you Leonard,” you say, gratefully.
“Jim, I want you to get out of here and take a damn shower,” the doctor tells him, then looks at you. “He tracked enough sand in here to make a damn sand castle and has been stinking up this room since he brought you here.”
You smile at your husband, and he brushes his left hand over your cheek, having ignored Bones. His wedding ring is cool against your warmed skin, and comforts you as you feel his fingers lift from your face. He kisses your forehead delicately.
“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” he promises. You nod, and Bones nears, checking the IV in your arm.
“Damn Kirks,” Bones huffs, adjusting the needle in your arm. “Stop trying to die on me.”
You chuckle at the doctor, “Just another day in the Fleet, Bones.”
“You two really were made for each other,” Bones huffs, rolling his eyes.
