Captain Christopher Richard Pike

The night was dark and deep and long in space, never ending, without a dawn to break the line between waking and sleep, day and night, beginning and end. It made existence endless, broken only by the silent running of the clocks on the wall, the movements of work, food, and sleep. Without these things, without the sureness of a schedule, time became meaningless. Even the stars could not keep him company.

So after Kirk came and 'visited', time resumed its endless patterns, moving on and on without pause or break or concept. For a man used to near-constant action, it was a form of torture more exquisite then any bit of pain or distress. More then anything, it was a torture that gave him nothing to focus his mind on anything but the swelling pain of the broken bond. It was swiftly becoming over whelming, completely and utterly. There was nothing left to keep the pain away, and with his shields designed only to block out Spock's light intrusions instead of a full on force, they were failing after being buffeted for so long. In short, he was going mad.

His expression showed little of the internal war except for the strong brow being furrowed and the age-lines at the edges of the eyes and corners of the mouth looking thicker. It was his hands that gave him away, gripping fiercely into the fabric of the bed he was reclining on. A headache was throbbing behind his eyes in time with his heart, a thick red-hot band of light that was searing like a knife into his mind. Deeper, deeper with every beat of his heart.

Every part of him was focused on maintaining the failing shields, rebuilding them as Spock had taught him those years ago. He had survived torture from Vulcans who knew precisely what to do in the mind, but could not stop this. This bond that had been forced onto him but in the end welcomed, this bond that had saved his life many times in the past, that had saved the life of his first officer and friend, this bond that had been a respite from a world where one could never relax... this bond was killing him. It would destroy him as surely as any blade to the heart.

SPOCK!

Never screamed aloud, never aloud. Instead, strong white teeth bit firmly into his lip, hard enough to send a trickle of crimson along his chin, down to his jawline. The pain, the strain, had been steadily increasing since James Kirk's visit to his cell, as if the reminder of the bond and speaking of it had started a chain reaction. He had long since started to keep his eyes closed [was it hours? minutes? weeks? centuries?] because at least this way the room would not spin. He was starting to feel that same spinning in his mind, making his world wobble like a child's toy.

It seemed hours passed this way. A day? Perhaps. He vaguely heard someone calling him, but did not dare respond. Still trapped in the arms of the enemy, he could not let a weakness be seen. The smell of food made his stomach swell and gurgle, but not from hunger. It felt like his entire body needed one thing it could not have. [a universe away]

He did not feel when he stood, instead he felt the world sway, go sideways. Could not feel the floor beneath his feet, the slap of his hand against the wall in an instinctual attempt to keep himself upright. Did not feel when the world tuned him out, blew him out like a light bulb, did not feel when the pain consumed him and his shields finally fell, did not feel when he hit the ground.

The darkness had claimed him instead.

With the most careful of attempts, not wanting to warn the system that he was trying anything at all, Pike was testing the limits of the restrictions on the padd he had been given. He had been reading extensively on the history and known facts of the Christopher Richard Pike of this universe.

In many ways, they were surprisingly similar, and in others, not so surprisingly different. This was a man of peace, with multiple accomplishments in the areas of peace keeping and bravery, a very well respected captain as well as the designer of this universe's Enterprise.

And a slightly younger man as well, it seemed. The year was 2258. When he had left his universe, it had been 2263. Briefly, Pike had wondered if he had remained fifty years old or he had lost five years in the process.

His head came up from the faint light of the padd when he heard the guards shifting. It was too early for the shift change - that meant something was happening.

He had told himself that he did not want Spock to come, to find him.

As the days passed, it was getting harder to believe that lie.

( He had spent the last several days in complete silence. )

The worst part of the time in the brig was the boredom. Normally he was a very, very busy man. He worked with the science division of his crew quite strongly when it was needed, in particular Spock on the replication of the alien technology that was the source of power for his gloves. They had many plans for it, in particular for the Enterprise herself.

Now he was alone, or possibly only mostly alone depending on who else was in the brig. Without the First Officer that was the single person he trusted in any universe. Briefly, he entertained the thought of Spock attempting to come through the barrier between universes to find him, but would not push the strength of their trust that far. But... perhaps.

For now... he could wait.