DISCLAIMER: I do not own Star Trek.

McCoy woke feeling sore. Every joint, every muscle ached. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the orange tinted light that filled the room, and when they did, there wasn't much to see. The room, or rather, the pit was void of anything except its smooth, rock walls that stretched up into void darkness and the powdery, dirt floor. A single lightbulb hung in the center; what it hung from was impossible to tell, since there seemed to be no ceiling whatsoever.

The Doctor sat up slowly, wincing as his body screamed at him to be still. He touched his forehead when he felt a warm, trickling drop roll down his face. When he looked at his fingers, they were red with fresh blood.

"Well, this is just wonderful," McCoy grumbled. He checked his belt for his communicator and travel medkit, but both were missing. Now that he was sitting up, the gash in his head was starting to bleed much more freely, and he could feel the blood running down his face. He pressed his left hand against the cut to try to stop it until he could figure out a permanent solution.

"Doctor?"

McCoy startled, turning to look behind him.

Lying on the ground with his upper half propped up on his elbows was Spock! McCoy glanced over him briefly to check for obvious injuries, however, the Vulcan First Officer seemed to be unhurt except for just returning to consciousness. He was evaluating their surroundings blearily, and then staring up into the darkness above them.

"Am I correct in assuming, Doctor, that you were also unconscious when we were placed in this holding cell?"

"Hmm," McCoy agreed, "if that's what you want to call it, Spock."

"What other term would you give it, Doctor? We are being held here by the inhabitants of this planet. They are a more primitive species, and to them, this constitutes as a holding cell."

"Whatever you say, Spock," McCoy moaned, leaning forward as a sharp pain resonated from the cut in his head.

"You are in distress, Doctor," Spock said. "Are you injured?"

"No," McCoy replied, "I'm fine except for this nasty gash in my head. What about you, Spock? Are you hurt?"

"I am uninjured, Doctor. Allow me to examine your laceration."

Being in no mood to argue, McCoy gingerly removed his hand from his head as Spock approached and knelt in front of him. Spock took McCoy's face gently in his hands so that he could adjust its angle to get a better look. "It is deep, Doctor," Spock said, "Dangerously so. You need medical attention immediately."

"Thanks for reporting the obvious, Spock," McCoy said, pulling away and replacing his hand to the wound. "Unfortunately, it doesn't look like we have much to work with. The scoundrels took my medkit and our communicators."

Spock double checked his belt. "It is only logical that they confiscate our means of communication, Doctor, however inconvenient it might be."

McCoy huffed in displeasure. "Well, as long as it's logical."

"Perhaps you would be more comfortable if you were able to rest against the wall, Doctor," Spock suggested, "Until we are able to find a solution."

"Sure, Spock," McCoy said. He tried to stand up, but suddenly felt light headed from the loss of blood. He fell back with a thud before Spock could catch his arm.

"Allow me to assist you, Doctor," Spock said.

Spock gripped McCoy's right arm with his right hand, and wrapped his left arm around McCoy's waist. McCoy tried his best to lean as little weight as possible on Spock, simply for his pride's sake. He absolutely hated being the patient, no matter how ill or dire the situation might be. Together, they walked to the nearest "wall," and Spock helped McCoy sit down against it.

Spock said, "We have to apply pressure to the wound, Doctor; however, I do not believe that your method of application is adequate."

"Oh, you do not believe so, do you?" McCoy jabbed half-heartedly. He sighed and rested his head against the wall. "I need a compress."

"Yes, Doctor," Spock agreed.

"What all do we have for supplies that might work?" McCoy asked.

Both checked their pockets but found nothing. The only things they had was the clothes on their backs. This wasn't the first time that they had to make due with absolutely nothing, so McCoy let go of his head and started trying to tear off the left sleeve of his shirt. Spock immediately caught on to the Doctor's plan and offered his help. Within just a moment, McCoy left arm was exposed to the cool, but not uncomfortable, temperature of the pit.

Spock tore the sleeve into strips and folded one strip up into a rectangle just slightly bigger than McCoy's wound. He held it against McCoy's head, and McCoy used his left hand again to hold the compress in place. "Thanks, Spock," he muttered.

"We need to find a more permanent solution, Doctor," Spock said when he saw a crimson stain already seeping through the blue fabric. "You are still bleeding profusely."

"I'll be fine for now, Spock," McCoy said. "Why don't you search the pit and see if there is a way out."

As Spock was about to reply, something floated down out of the darkness. It was a little white parachute with a small bag attached. Both watched it, fascinated, until it landed on the ground with a light puff of dust curling around it. Spock went to retrieve it.

"What the heck is it?" McCoy asked.

Spock untied the parachute and opened the bag. "It appears to be a medical kit, Doctor."

"Thank goodness!" cried McCoy.

"I am afraid you will not be impressed with the contents, Doctor," Spock added. "It is a very archaic medical kit."

"As in?" McCoy asked.

Spock brought the bag over for McCoy's inspection. Just as he had assumed, McCoy's face paled as he realized what would have to be done. "This is a medical kit comparable to the early twenty first century, Spock!"

"It would appear so, Doctor," Spock agreed. "Perhaps the primitive natives have some awareness of earth…however, outdated."

"Outdated!" McCoy shouted. "This is archaic!"

"I believe that the term 'archaic' is a synonym of 'outdated,'" Spock said informatively.

McCoy retorted, "Yeah, well my word better fits the situation."

"I fail to see how…" Spock began.

"Oh, hush up, Spock," McCoy growled, "Logic has nothing to do with my emotional reaction to what's gonna happen."

"Obviously," Spock said.

"Spock, do you understand what you're gonna have to do to me?" McCoy asked.

"I believe the term is sutures," Spock said.

"Yes, stitches," McCoy shot back. "You're going to be sewing my skin together like an old quilt!"

"I have studied this procedure, Doctor, and am familiar with the process. It is rather simple. I believe I can do it effectively." Spock took the bag from McCoy and began to pull out all the items. Rubbing alcohol, antibacterial ointment, appropriate needles and thread, gauze, wrap, and even a small water bottle. Spock brought out the last container. "This will be helpful, Doctor. It is an oral pain reliever."

"How comforting," McCoy said sarcastically.

"I believe we should proceed with the sutures sooner rather than later. Putting off the inevitable will only heighten your psychological discomfort." Spock poured some rubbing alcohol on his hands.

"You know that doesn't really do much to sanitize anything," McCoy griped, glowering at the bottle.

"It is the best we have under the circumstances, Doctor," Spock said. He picked up a gauze pad and wetted it with alcohol, and then poured a small amount of the water onto it. "I must clean your wound before we proceed."

"Let me do it!" McCoy said, reaching for the gauze.

Spock held it just out of reach. "I may not be a doctor, but I am trained extensively in first aid."

McCoy grumbled under his breath, but he did remove the make-shift gauze they had made from his shirt sleeve. The garish wound was still bleeding freely. Spock leaned forward and began gently dabbing the gauze around the wound, wiping away the dried blood and dirt from around the area. He tried to avoid the open area; however, several times, McCoy hissed curses that Spock chose not to hear.

"I am finished cleaning the laceration," Spock said, sitting back. He gave McCoy a clean gauze to press against the cut while he prepped the needle and thread.

McCoy watched with ever growing distress at the impending operation. "Perhaps we should wait and see if we're rescued before you do anything, Spock," he suggested almost kindly, as though somehow holding off would benefit the First Officer in some way.

Spock shook his head. "I'm sorry, Doctor. That would not be in your best interest." When McCoy opened his mouth to argue, Spock added, "If I were in your situation, Doctor, and you were in mine, what would be your course of action?"

McCoy didn't have to reply for Spock to know that he had made his point. He raised an eye brow in silent victory, and finished threading the needle. "Would it be more comfortable if you were laying down, Doctor?"

McCoy looked pale as he nodded. Spock helped him to recline, and used the empty bag as a prop for the Doctor's head. "Just get it over with, okay?" McCoy moaned.

The procedure required five stitches. While Spock had studied the art of suturing, it was the first time he had ever been called upon to preform the, as McCoy had so eloquently put it, archaic method. He remained ever cool under the situation, but his human half caused his heart to race and drop every time the Doctor hissed in pain. With no numbing, it had to be rather painful. Spock hated to be the cause, but he knew that leaving the wound unattended would result direly.

When he had finished, he put a healthy layer of antibiotic ointment on a piece of clean gauze and covered the wound. He then used the wrap to fasten the gauze to McCoy's head. Once this was also completed, he offered the Doctor a pain reliever tablet and the water bottle.

"This should reduce the pain, Doctor," he said needlessly.

McCoy nodded mutely and took the medication without any resistance. Spock helped him sit back up against the stone wall, and sat down beside him. While he returned their meager medical supplies to their bag, McCoy sighed. "You did good, Spock," he muttered.

"Thank you, Leonard."

They sat in silence for some time, McCoy breathing heavily with his eyes closed and his head resting against the wall. Finally, he opened his eyes. "We need to talk about what happened up there," he said. "Why did they take us? And why just us? Where is Jim, Scotty, and Chekov? Did they get captured too? Are they in a different pit? And how did this," McCoy poked his bandage, "happen? I know we were rendered unconscious, but I don't remember anything except meeting those Neeloni people."

"Most of your questions are impossible to answer without more information," Spock said.

McCoy snorted.

"However," Spock continued, "I believe we may have a way to further investigate."

"How?" McCoy asked, "There's nothing down here except us, that stupid medkit, and that darned orange lightbulb."

"You seem to have forgotten, Doctor, that we received this medkit after expressing your need for medical attention. Obviously, somehow, we are under observation."

McCoy considered for a moment. "You're right, Spock. As soon as you mentioned how dangerous my injury was, that medkit came floating down out of the darkness with that parachute."

"Precisely," Spock said. He stood up and walked several steps away from the wall. Looking up into the darkness, he said, "People of Neeloni, Chief Medical Officer Doctor McCoy and I, First Officer Commander Spock, request information as to our capture and holding."

McCoy didn't think it would actually work, but within a few moments, another parachute came down, this time, attached to it, a piece of paper. Spock caught it before it touched the ground.

"Well, what does it say?" McCoy asked impatiently.

"'We would like to express our appreciation for your willingness and cooperation to participate in our growth as an intellectual people. We seek to understand how humans adapt to new, unfamiliar, and even threatening scenarios. Once we have completed our tests, you, Doctor McCoy and Commander Spock, will be free to return to your starship,'" Spock read.

"Hey!" McCoy declared, now also addressing the darkness, "I never agreed to anything of the sort! Now as for Spock, it wouldn't surprise me, but I know for an absolute fact I would never willingly cooperate to be a human lab rat."

"What of our companions?" Spock asked.

A couple of delayed moments later, another parachute with a note came down. Again, Spock caught it and read aloud. "Our apologies, Doctor McCoy, for any misunderstandings that may have occurred. As to the state of your companions, they have been returned to your starship unharmed. We only required two test subjects. You are both adequately qualified.'"

"How do I get unqualified?" McCoy asked.

Spock ignored the Doctor and again addressed their captors. "We would like to speak with you face to face. The method with which you are currently communicating is inefficient."

Another note came down, stating, 'Any personal interference with the test subjects would void the experiment. Our apologies for the inconvenience.'

That made McCoy laugh. He yelled up, "Oh, sure! Well, how is this for inconvenient? Have you thought about where our bathroom should be?"

It was a question, Spock decided, only the Doctor would think of; however, he too wondered and allowed the question to go without further comment.

Another note. "'We have provided a small chamber.'"

As Spock read this, the wall on the far side of the room suddenly split into a door sized rectangle. Inside was a toilet and sink. McCoy rolled his eyes and sat back. "Well, if they haven't thought of everything! What about food?"

"'Meals will be provided periodically.'"

"May I ask the reasons behind these tests and why we were specifically chosen as the subjects?" Spock asked.

"'Classified.'"

"Give us a hint," McCoy said, sarcasm dripping off every syllable. However, after that, no reply note came. They waited for at least five minutes with no further reply. McCoy sighed, "Well, at least we have a nice collection of parachutes."

TBC