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Jim’s breath is fogging the glass between him and Scotty. He watches ghostly patterns form as he struggles to get out another ragged gasp. The engineer is being deceptively calm as he speaks into his com, but the tremor in his voice isn’t lost on Jim and he feels a pang of guilt for putting Scotty in this position.
“Sir, you’d better get down here. Better hurry.”
Spock is both the last person, and the exact person, Jim wants right now. He doesn’t want to see his first officer’s blank look when he realizes what Jim’s done, or the empty way he will come to the logical conclusion that Jim is going to die.
But he needs to be sure that everything will go on as usual without him. (It’s fine if they’re a little sad, Jim is very much okay with some tears, maybe a nice Starfleet funeral. Maybe Bones will bawl a little and Uhura will pat him on the back gently while Sulu wipes a tear from his eye and Chekov nods sadly and says, “Yes, he was a wary good captain.”)
Mostly though, he doesn’t want Spock seeing him like this.
From the moment Scotty figured out that the core housings were misaligned, Jim had known that he wasn’t going to survive this. It’s a little impressive how many beatings he’s been able to take in his admittedly short lifetime – if he’s being honest, he sees why McCoy is very sick of him at this point. But no amount of bravado can save you from radiation poisoning.
He didn’t expect it to hurt this much.
He can hear hurried footsteps and then Spock is standing on the other side of the sealed door, breathing heavily. Jim realizes he must have run all the way from the command center, and he feels his hurt flutter.
Spock turns to Scotty and barks, “Open it.”
Jim can’t hear what Scotty says but he trusts his engineer to know that there is nothing he can do. Jim’s side of the glass is still contaminated, and they can’t risk spreading it into the ship.
Breathing is getting so hard, and Jim is gasping for air that won’t come. He can feel himself trembling and he can’t focus long enough between gasps to tell if he is too hot or too cold. Everything hurts so much but he’s more scared of when it stops, because that means he does to. Goddamn it, he doesn’t want to die, he thought he had more time…
Jim closes his eyes and lets himself fall backwards against the doorframe, closer to the lever he knows is somewhere above his head. If he can pull it, he’ll seal the core chamber and the radiation will dissipate enough that they can get him… well, more accurately, his body, out. It costs him nearly all his strength, but he manages to pull it and the door to his right seals with a hiss.
He forces his eyes to open, looks up. Spock’s soft, dark eyes are on him, and they are filled with a sadness as intense as Jim has ever seen in them.
Spock is beside him; Spock is right there. Jim wishes more than anything that the glass between him and Spock would open. He wants Spock to pick him up and hold him with those careful, strong arms, and say goodbye. He chokes on his own spit and coughs painfully.
Jim tries to pull the last scraps of himself together. “How’s our ship?”
Spock is looking directly at him with that unflinching gaze that most people find unnerving, and Jim is more than a little obsessed with. “Out of danger,” Spock says softly, “You saved the crew…”
“You used what he wanted against him,” he breaths brokenly. “That’s a nice move…” He may be dying, but so-help-him-god, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to flirt with his first officer one last time.
As usual, it goes completely over Spock’s head. “It is what you would have done,” he murmurs.
Jim glances at the floor beyond the glass, trying not to be disappointed. It was never going to work. He breathes in, breathes out, manages something a little louder than a whisper. “And this, this is what you would have done. It was only logical.”
Now his breath is coming in short gasps, and he can’t tell if it’s because his lungs are failing or because his heart is in his throat. He swallows, his voice trembling. “I'm scared, Spock… Help me not be.” The Vulcan is crying, and Jim knows he is too. “How do you choose not to feel?”
“I do not know.” Spock shakes his head, his eyes wet with tears, and it’s breaking Jim’s already doomed heart. “Right now I am failing.”
And in that instance, Jim decides that he’s going to tell him. He tries to hold his trembling body steady as he looks up into Spock’s eyes, meeting his gaze. “…I want you to know why I couldn't let you die… Why I went back for you.”
A look of realization dawns on Spock’s face, and Jim feels his throat tighten. Spock holds his gaze, mouthing the words with certainty as a tear spills down his cheek. “Because you are my friend.”
Yes! Jim thinks, and he knows that he loves Spock, more than he ever admitted to himself, more than his angry, wounded little heart can understand. The depths of what he feels for this strange, beautiful, infuriating man are so beyond him and he knows he has no time left, that this is it, and he thinks that maybe he can bear to go, but goddamn it, he wishes he would have asked Spock to kiss him…
He gags in air, raises his hand to rest against the glass and Spock raises his hand too and makes the salute that Jim has never figured out, their hands pressed together. Jim uses every ounce of love and grief and fight he has left to slide his ring and middle fingers apart and the glass holds them there, and he means it with every last radiated particle of his whole fucking being. Live long and prosper, Spock. Please, do it for me.
He lifts his eyes to Spock’s and Spock, beautiful, beautiful Spock, meets them and holds his gaze as the air leaves his lungs and the world goes white.