Disclaimer: I do not own any of the content....never have and never will...sadly.

Author's note: Here is another fic in Spock's POV for those of you who enjoyed the last one! I hope that you enjoy this one too. As usual, constructive criticism is welcomed if you feel there are areas for improvement.


Fire; all consuming, all blinding.

No single nerve is free of its crushing embrace, the sheer torture of it as it climbs and explores throughout my entire body, attacking every defence in its path. My voice, suddenly animalistic with pain, cries out of its own accord as the creature forces my mind into submission. Barely aware of the physical world around me, I battle against its overpowering force, channelling all of my strength into the mind disciplines that I learnt as a child.

I push against it, and it slams back, stunning me with its brute power. Weakened severely, I stagger backwards down the steps that I had just been climbing, gasping as I struggle to regain my balance. The proud Vulcan strength that I possessed just mere seconds ago has been sucked away, leaving me helplessly floundering against an unseen assailant.

Muscles tense, I feel myself bounce off a brick wall and onto the cold hard floor; a sheen of grey before my numbed eyes. My back is being shredded, pulverised along with my mind, and my head dips down in heavy defeat even as I dimly hear urgent footsteps racing towards me.

I do not recognise them, my now delirious thoughts assuming them to belong to another attacker. Desperate now, I lift my left arm into the air in a pathetic attempt to defend myself against what can only be another attack; my eyes squeezed shut as fire lances across them.

I see nothing.

I panic, pressing a hand into my eyes to try to force my sight to return; I no longer understand why I cannot see. Still the force within me, around me, through me, mercilessly strips me of my last vestiges of dignity. I am a gasping animal, whimpering helplessly on the floor in darkness that no one else can see.

"Spock!" The arm that I had assumed to be attacking me joins a voice, united in their attempt to help.

It is Jim.

His voice penetrates the pain, reaches me through the agonising fog, and I am ashamed of my inability to win this battle. "Spock!"

His arm touches mine, unsure of what to do, wary of causing me any reason to panic further in my current state. Ironically, his indecision is precisely what causes me to lose my tenuous hold on control.

I bite back a scream, allowing instead a strangled gasp that I do not recognise as coming from my own mouth; usually so calm and collected. This exterior that I value so much; this sedate logic, this unswerving precision, is ripped away from me so suddenly upon hearing his voice. I do not wish him to see me like this, for him to hear the anguish in my voice even as I struggle to contain it.

I must control. Yet I cannot.

I hide my face in my hand to prevent him from seeing the tortured twisting of my features, the disruption of all that I am. The tricorder and phaser now lie forgotten in front of me; I do not even remember dropping them.

I try to use such insignificant trivialities to distract myself from the onslaught against my body, but to no avail. A white hot poker presses itself into my back, arching my spine and causing me to involuntarily roll away from Jim. My fingers still reach out for a form of help that I will not allow myself to receive. Despite the illogic of it, I am ashamed that I need Jim's assistance.

My human pride makes me stay away from him, even when the poker is gone from my back to plague instead my mind once more. The creature is intelligent; it distracts me through physical torment before once again descending upon my mental self, using the brief respite as an element of surprise yet denying me the chance to recover.

I am losing this battle. This cold unrelenting fact ripples through me, jeering at me even as I try to push it away.

In a sudden burst of energy fuelled only by determination to live, I find myself on all fours, truly an animal now in every sense of the word.

Still, I cannot see.

The creature is above me, dominant, higher up in the chain of command as it defeats its host and I feel the will to live for myself draining away. A new purpose is infused within me; the purpose of the creature. I am no longer my own self, my own desires. I am now a spectator in my own body as I feel control completely snatched from me, Jim's hands arriving on my shoulders too late to spur me on in the battle.

My body gasps and I hear a groan of pain, but it is not my doing. I exist only as a shroud of agony in my mind; the body struggles on even when the soul has been defeated. Animal instinct within me prevails against logic, against even hope. Gut instinct is stronger than all that my race has fought for, all that they prize above all.

For the first time, I am grateful for my human instincts, if that is what is causing my body to continue. Yet from my current position, barred and hidden behind the mind of the creature, I am unsure if it is. Nothing is certain any more. Nothing is clear.

The creature is ripped off me, but it makes no difference. Its influence still exists.

"It's gone," Jim announces, aware of the fact that I am not be able to sense my surroundings. He grabs hold of me desperately, bracing me against the inner fire, protecting me against something undefeated.

But it is not enough. If I had allowed him to help sooner, if I had not given way to my pride, it may have been. At the point that Jim tried to help me, the creature's control was not total and the battle still raged. Ironic that I only accept his presence, his willingness, his undemanding support now, when I am beyond all help.

He feels me collapsing onto the floor and tries to keep me upright, silently pleading with me to get up, to show him that I am alright, that I am myself once more. If I possessed the strength to do this I would, but the creature denies me even the luxury of reassuring the man most important to me. It wants him to suffer too; my own torment is not enough for its sadistic pleasures.

"Can you stand?" I try to answer, but my mouth moves enough only to allow me a tantalising croak. "Spock, are you alright?" He practically shouts these last words and I wince as the noise assails my delicate ear drums, sparking a pounding within my head that pleases the creature.

He finally yanks me upright, and my sight returns. It occurs to me that my eyes have opened and that the darkness is gone, to be replaced by the steady presence of Jim; the one man who can help me.

As the pain rocks me from side to side in the moments that follow, Jim is the calm and soothing constant, providing the anchor for my thoughts that I need as I once more gather my strength.

Now that he is with me, I have an increasing determination to regain control.