Chapter Text
Some days, Kirk doubted his sanity for having taken a desk job. All the years spent grounded on Earth, the power, the consistency, the assurance that a friend you saw one day wouldn’t be dead the next, the familiar promise of home… all of it seemed pale and translucent next to the adventure of the past few days.
He had asked for the glory days again, hadn’t he? And up had come Kahn, large as life and twice as dangerous, the glory days back with a vengeance.
True, the circumstances could have been better. The Enterprise was untested for battle, and her crew as green as the cut grass. But to a part of Kirk, this only fueled the adventure. Each obstacle, no matter how many lives lost, fueled the challenge. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, of course. He would give his very life for each and every member of the crew, every kid who wasn’t even cleared for action yet. Each death was a tragedy that he would mourn in its time.
But that was the responsible Kirk. His dominant side, yes, but not the only side. For there was also the side of him that was drunk on adventure, the side that only came alive pinned down under fire with his ship thrumming to his command and his blood singing in the face of danger. Each setback, each spark of the consol and shudder of the ship fed his adrenaline, and when he had that moment in his hands, where he had won and the Enterprise was in one piece and his enemies were helpless… he was never so alive.
And after so much time spent flying a desk… the euphoria was all the greater. He’d thought his moment had come when he crippled Kahn’s ship, but then the Genesis device had been activated, and it had looked hopeless for a moment… but Scotty had pulled through. He always did. The Enterprise had leapt into warp, and for a moment Kirk allowed himself to bask.
Good old Scotty, pushing the Enterprise past her limits once again. The glory days indeed. And Kirk fell back against his chair, and everything felt right. Another mission, come and gone. A good mission.
Kirk leaned against the chair’s intercom, allowing himself to relax. “Well done, Scotty.”
The first sign he has that something is wrong comes when he hears Bones’ voice.
“Jim. I think you’d… better get down here.”
The voice is hesitant in a way he’s never heard Bones before. It almost sounds… hollow, and it’s so not-Bones, and so unnatural that it sets Jim on edge. Bones is always willing to give Jim the straight truth no matter how difficult - when Bones was diagnosed with xenopolycythemia he had looked Jim in the eye and told him - gently but firmly, exactly how long he had to live.
Bones was a rock; no matter how volatile he could be off-duty, when he was in doctor-mode, nothing could shake his focus and determination.
But something in that unnatural hollow voice was gone and Jim felt ice settle in his gut.
“Bones?”
“...Better…hurry.”
Jim is confused, and he does what he usually does when nothing makes sense - he looks to Spock. But Spock’s seat is empty, and staring at that empty chair something clicks in place in Jim’s mind at the same time as the bottom drops out of his world.
He jerks, as if struck by a physical blow, and rises out of his seat without thinking. His mind is already racing ahead of his body, ahead of the protocol to follow, ahead of duty and responsibility-
“Saavik, take the con.”
He will never remember his break-neck dash through the Enterprise, only starting to come back to himself as he slides down the ladder in engineering with a familiarity born of years of service on his silver lady. He skids around the corner only to jolt to a complete halt, brain stalling and stuttering and overloading at what his eyes tell him at what can’t be true-
He can see Spock’s crumpled form tucked against the wall inside… the warp core? Spock can’t be inside the warp core. He’ll die. Someone has to save him!
The shock is so terrible that he freezes , actually freezes for a full four seconds before his instincts kick into gear save Spock pull him out of there Spock can’t be in there he saved you save him now but McCoy and Scotty come from nowhere and there are arms restraining him, holding him back Spock is right there dying can’t they see him dying what are they doing ?
“No! You’ll flood the whole compartment!” Betrayal. McCoy of all people… surely after everything he can’t want him to abandon Spock…?
“He’ll die.” And in that moment, fueled by adrenaline and instinct and watching Spock die right in front of him that is the only thing that matters; he’ll go, he’ll risk his life, it’ll be alright in the end - he beat the Kobayashi Maru, he beat Kahn, it won’t end like this -
“Sir! He’s dead already.” Jim turns to gaze in shock at Scotty, the words penetrating at only the surface level. On instinct he twists to Bones - Bones will tell him what’s true, if there is some miracle they can still perform; if there’s hope…
“It’s too late.” Too… late? For Spock? Jim takes a moment to process this information, to come to terms with a world where he doesn’t save Spock, doesn’t even try , just lies down and waits for death to steal over him; to steal away the better part of his soul to… lose. To accept losing.
In a wild burst of imagination Jim imagines offering up his own life to whatever powers are listening, a last-ditch gamble, a desperate trade, but he can see the end now, see it rushing on headlong, and there is no time for fantasies or denial.
He shrugs away his friends and they release him to press both his hands against the pane, staring down at the body on the wrong side of the glass. ‘Dead already’… what if there is no time? What if Spock is… gone, dead before Jim even has the chance to see him one last… time.
The horror of it has him in its grasp - thoughts are elusive, coated in teflon; the buzzing is under his skull, his fingers tingling as his world tilts, lightheaded. He is caught in a deluge of emotion - what would Spock think of him now - and it carries him along, tosses him head over heels, wrenches words and thoughts from his grasp and drowns him in terror.
He tries to call to Spock, but no sound makes it past his lips. He has no command now - no authority, no power, not even over himself. His only desire is for the broken man in front of him, but there is nothing in all the galaxy that is more inaccessible now.
He makes a broken, aborted motion towards the door, go to him save him what are you doing , but catches himself, reaching out the only way he now can - “ Spock !”
Is that his voice? So broken and desperate? And yet, how could it sound any different now, now of all times.
To his overwhelming relief, Spock moves, raising a hand to help pull himself up, movements halting and stiff as Jim has almost never seen them before. He manages to stand, straightening his tunic before turning around to face Jim.
That simple tug fills Jim with more emotions than his overwhelmed brain can name. How like Spock to be concerned with being presentable at a time like this - and how ridiculous, how pointless for him to straighten up for Jim, for Admiral Kirk, as though Jim has any power to help him, any right to be standing here as Spock is martyred for the sins of Jim’s past.
Jim sweeps an unconscious gaze over Spock, taking in how unsteady the man is on his feet, the thousand yard stare into nothingness, the loose arms that wave outwards for balance. What justice is there in Spock suffering like this in his final moments; what kind of universe would repay Spock’s years of honor and dedication to life with such agony?
Horrified, Jim watches as Spock approaches - near him, but not quite on the right path, as Spock doesn’t stop himself before hitting the glass a foot to Kirk’s side, stumbling backwards and righting himself.
Somehow, Spock turns to face Jim, although those warm brown eyes stare somewhere Jim can’t see, their gentle depths clouded by pain and fixed on nowhere. There are burns on his face, terrible burns, and the skin and flesh are starting to slough off his cheek and Jim desperately wants nothing more than to take this man into his arms and comfort him somehow, in these final moments.
Spock is his older brother. Somehow, despite everything that happened over their five-year mission and beyond, he had maintained a halo, an aura of untouchability - Spock was always alright, would always be alright after a trip to medbay; to see him desecrated like this was… unthinkable didn’t begin to cover it.
“The ship? Out of danger?”
Imperfect grammar? Spock? And that terrible, wrecked voice, gravely and ravaged almost beyond recognition… in a single, terrible moment, Jim wanted Spock to die, to pass from whatever agony he was experiencing at the same time that he wanted to reach out and keep him safe, preserved in a single moment for the rest of time, no matter what it meant for anyone else.
There is so much to say, so much to express… the tidal wave of emotion still has him in its grasp, and no words could ever do the raging torrent justice. A mindmeld… if only he could open his mind to Spock one more time. But as he pressed helplessly against the glass he was only too conscious of the fact that touching Spock was an impossibility now. Tears burn hot against his cheeks, and he wonders if Spock can see them, hear them in his voice.
In the end, his stuttering mind could only produce - “Yes.” Blasphemous in it’s insufficiency, the word rang hollow in the face of all that needed to be said.
“Don’t grieve, Admiral. It is logical.” How can Spock ask this of him? How can Spock stand there, dying, dragging each word past his tortured throat, body decimated by radiation, Jim’s brother, his older brother in all but blood and tell him not to grieve? Nothing is logical about this! Logically, Jim should pay for his own mistakes! His hubris in exiling Kahn, his stupidity in failing to check back on Kahn’s colony in those later years - he should be the one in that chamber! He would give anything…
Spock’s head dips down as he rallies himself, fighting for each word with that steely determination nothing has ever been able to break - “The needs of the many… outweigh…” he cuts off again, and Jim cannot stand to see him suffer. Has never been able to see him suffer.
“The needs of the few,” he finishes, making sure to control his voice - he needs to be strong for Spock now, it isn’t fair that Spock still be the strong one even as he dies …
Spock nods, approving, and manages “-or the one,” as if it is a single word. Part of Jim cannot help but feel comforted - Spock always had a comeback, was always ready with the final word… and part of Jim sinks into the horrified realization that he will never hear it again.
Spock starts to crumble against the glass, and Jim reaches out, instinctively, to catch him, coming up short against the pane. Somehow Spock finds the strength to remain standing, holding himself up against the glass (where are the days of that easy parade rest, that elegant form, hands clasped behind his back as sharp brown eyes catch every detail around him?) and Spock does not manage to raise his head to meet Jim’s but he still rasps -
“I never took… the Kobayashi Maru test… until now… what do you think of my solution?”
Kirk barely restrains a sob. As if this was Spock’s test. As if Spock could convince him that this is Spock’s brilliant solution to the Kobayashi Maru when it is clearly Jim’s failure. Always so selfless, Spock - to the very end.
Jim glances away, tries to think; to pull together his scattered thoughts for a response… Spock asked a question and he has to come up with something comforting, something insightful, something that would make things better somehow… isn’t he the Golden Boy captain with the silver tongue?
But all that trips over his lips is “Spock,” pleading, begging, helpless…
Spock crumples then, slowly, fighting for each inch, pawing at the glass to remain upright and shaking his head as he collapses, grunting in pain and effort as he reaches the ground. Jim is with him every step of the way, helplessly pressed against the glass as he reaches to help him, catch him; do something in the face of this butchery…
Spock turns to him now, and this is the end, there will be nothing after this, the presence that has defined his life for so long is going to leave him but Spock is a Vulcan Spock was supposed to outlive them all and it isn’t fair and he’s going to panic here when he can’t afford to panic, break when he can’t afford to break and he can only stare helplessly as Spock turns and manages -
“I have been, and always shall be… your friend.” The green of his melting skin is bright against his cheekbone, and flesh runs down in rivulets marring the outline of his jaw, and he can’t meet Jim’s gaze and his voice is terrible, ruined beyond all belief but Spock’s only words are to affirm that bond between them that has defined so much of their lives.
Spock’s hand comes up to the glass, split in the Vulcan salute and clearly held there with all the strength Spock has left in his body. “Live long… and prosper.” Spock’s hands are… ruined, a bright, unnatural green in the glaring light, wrinkled with blackened tips. Every blood vessel in his hands must have been ruptured, and Jim can’t imagine what force of will allows him to manipulate them at all.
Jim raises a shaking, hesitant hand to meet Spock’s own, splayed fingers so close and yet so far from Spock’s own. He tries to slide his fingers into the ta’al, but they won’t cooperate, and he cannot give Spock even this… if the Vulcan could even see it.
They sit there for a second, connected beyond all words, and then Spock collapses, slowly, as though lying down to go to sleep, exhausted by a long mission. He crumples against the wall, half sitting, and Jim straightens on his knees, pressing against the glass as if it will give way, allow him to catch his friend and hold him and pay him the respects he deserves.
But Spock does not move, and his eyes are closed, and it hits Kirk like a runaway train that his final words are over and passed, and he will never hear another word from Spock again. Spock is passed. He is dead.
“No.”
No, Spock can’t be… gone? Gone? Time and memory slip like sand through his fingers, intangible as ghosts when now more than ever he needs something real …
Jim collapses beside Spock, mirroring his friend, gasping on air and death as he tries to understand … the no win scenario.
He has finally lost, and the price of his failure has been taken out of his soul.
Jim stares into nothingness, lost in the raging torrents of his own despair, and thinks of nothing.