Work Text:
Dying is an interesting experience.
I mean, I always assumed that I would go out in flames or that my last moments on Earth would feature me going down with my ship the same way my dad did. But in the end, nothing ever really goes as planned, does it? My captaincy proves that destiny is in control here; back in Iowa, I never imagined I would be in Starfleet, nonetheless have my own starship. Now I am here dying for it – the Enterprise and her crew – because they are the end all be all for me. I have no regrets.
Lying in this glass case of radiation is definitely the most difficult thing I’ve experienced thus far, but the idea of someone else flying my ship is worse. I look around to distract myself from the thought, continuing to breathe with the hope that I won’t need to be replaced. Breathe in, breathe out; every inhale is a sharp pain in my chest, causing me to wince. I won’t give up. Still, death takes its sweet time taking me as my body goes up in invisible flames; my skin feels sunburnt and I am beginning to sweat. I cannot believe this is the end – this can’t be the end.
I remember that Scotty called for Spock a few minutes ago, so the Vulcan should be down here any time. That in itself keeps me going. Even through the fire, I calm myself with the thought that my First Officer will be here soon. Everything will be better once he is here.
But the quasi-serene feeling vanishes as he comes into view, out of breath from running and plainly mourning over me, something which I never expected and now realized that I never wanted. Spock is forever the rational one; my rock when things are complicated – I need that now more than ever. I try to fix this emotional display by telling him that what I did was the right thing; something he should be proud of. I want him to continue being the man I love, not this broken shell of who he was. I can’t leave knowing I caused that.
I rasp out, “This… this is what you would have done. It’s only logical.” My eyes are having a difficult time focusing, but I force myself to hold eye contact. He has to know that I’m telling the truth.
Alas, he just keeps staring almost beyond me, the tears pushing at the rims of his eyes and ready to flood the gates. Now I am filled with dread; nothing is right, nothing will ever be alright. As he mourns me, I begin to mourn us.
“I’m scared, Spock. Help me not be.” The pain is spreading to my arms and legs, making every movement hurt in a way I had never imagined possible. Despite everything, I continue. “How do you choose not to feel?” I am terrified as I feel my consciousness fading, making my mortality perfectly clear: death is tired of waiting, but I’m not ready to leave.
Spock senses the shift in my face, watches the determination drain from my eyes. He shakes his head half in response to my question, but mostly in disbelief; his t'hy'la was never supposed to leave without him.
“I do not know. Right now I am failing.” His voice breaks and I look up at him, bargaining with time, pleading with God to just please let me stay with Spock.
“I want to let you know why I couldn’t let you die,”
This all hurts so much and I can’t breathe. I love you, Spock, I love you so much and I’m so sorry, just please don’t cry I can’t –
“Why I went back for you.”
Because I couldn’t live without you and now I’m dying and I’m alone, because I need you, I need you with me, because –
“Because you are my friend.” Spock’s voice is steady with false confidence; his heart broken underneath the tone. A tear escapes and falls down his face, rewriting the sentence to say exactly what we both mean: you saved me because I am yours, and you are mine.
I cough and my whole body trembles with resistance – I would do anything to walk upon my bridge one last time. I would give anything.
In a last attempt to convey my affection, I put my hand to the glass. Where words failed, I hoped action will suffice.
Spock puts his hand up in return, mirroring my own; a Vulcan hello as a Vulcan goodbye. I want nothing more than to close the seperation and let him understand just how much he means to me. But my time is up and I have nothing else to give; I can’t cry or even give a phantom of a smile. So I don’t take my eyes off him for even a moment; I wouldn’t even if I could. I never wanted to look at anyone else and now I never will.
My arm muscles are weak; it’s over for me. My last breath hurts the most, and my eyes are burning with the strain of living. I want Spock to know – he needs to know – that I already miss him. I will always be with him.
And that death... death is an interesting experience.