Dear Spock,
I write this to you of necessity. Also, Bones is making me write it. He says that I'm going crazy. I have to say that I pretty much am. You're making me go insane Spock. You died, and I can't take it anymore. I'm going mad with grief. I promise that I will do anything in my power as captain to bring you back. I'll be sitting the captain's chair, and I'll look over, expecting to see you at your station. But you aren't and it's some other science officer in your place. I don't even know his name. I don't care. For all I care, it could be McCoy that was working right beside me, but it wouldn't be you. Every time that I expect to see you, and see this other guy instead, I get so angry. I want to attack him, and I think that he's noticed. He thinks that I hate him, and I do. But I don't. I know that that isn't logical but it's true. I hate him, because he's not you. He's got black hair, so for a split second I can think that it's you, and I think that that moment of calm and peace fuels my anger more. But I don't hate him either. I know that he's doing his job, and I know that I shouldn't hate him. I know that it isn't god damn logical to hate him, but I almost do. I almost would rather not have a science officer here then have to watch someone else do your job.
It's not logical, Spock. None of it is logical. I hate it. I hate how illogical it is. I hate how much I care. I hate it so much. I'm always angry. I'm always depressed. I'm always empty. I am so emotional, Spock, and I can't turn it off. I want to lose emotion. I'd rather be totally empty then to feel all of this, and yet I don't want to lose it. I can't handle it anymore, but I couldn't stand to lose it. I hardly even know what 'it' is, really. Emotions. Thoughts. Living. Now I'm not about to throw myself outside of the ship, but I'd be lying if the thought hadn't crossed my mind.
Don't worry about me, though. Not that you can. You're dead. That feels weird to say, especially because the crew skirts around it every time that it comes up. Even when it comes to who's going down to the surface on so-and-so planet. Me, Bones, and… that random science officer that I've yet to learn his name. I think that he pities me, Spock. Or hates me. Both. I don't know. I don't even care anymore.
Speaking of skirting around subjects. Bones has been reading this over my shoulder when he gets the chance, so I've been avoiding the main subject that I think needs to be addressed with this. The main thing- the only thing- that I've been able to think about since you died to save the ship. I can't stop, but if I keep thinking about it, I'll collapse in on myself like a dying star. So that is why I need to tell you about this, because if I don't say anything then I'll actually drive myself crazy, but if I tell someone, it'll become so much more real. So saying it to you doesn't really count anymore does it? It doesn't really mean anything. So I'll probably drive myself to insanity anyway, but it should feel good to put on paper. I'm still stalling, and if you could read this you'd probably give one of those sighs that you always denied existed. Get on with it, I suppose. And yet, there's Bones trying to read this over my shoulder, and if I say this now, then I won't be able to go back from it. As I said, it'll become real.
Spock. Nobody's said your name since the funeral. You wouldn't have liked my eulogy much. It was way too emotional. And yet, I felt it described you well. Human. Your soul is very human. And yes, I know that that isn't logical at all. Yet that's how you were. Or perhaps it's the idealized version of you that I've practically created in my head, but it's how I saw you and whether that was right or not is frankly completely up for grabs. I can see that I'm not the only one that's been effected by your death. Though I can't imagine anyone else going through the torture that I'm going through, the pain, the suffering, and the… anger.
McCoy has been telling me about the seven stages of grief. Something about if I know what to expect, it might be easier for me. It wasn't. Shock, which I got through slower than I thought I would. It was well past your funeral before I got through it. Denial, which left a toll on me. That was the most times I'd glanced over to your station, just in case that you'd come back while I wasn't looking. Bargaining. That was an odd one. I've never been a religious person. You know that. Yet, soon after I realized that you were gone, I felt that there had to be a way to get you back. I prayed every night. I thought that there must be some way. That you could be brought back to me. Guilt was one of the worst. What if. That was the beginning of practically every thought that I had during that stage. What if I'd stopped you from going? What if you'd taken a little less time? What if we'd opened the chamber? What if I'd gone instead? I felt that if I'd done something different, then you might still be alive. Anger was hard for the rest of the crew. I would lash out, as if, instead of being my fault anymore, it was theirs. That was when they pitied me. They pitied how emotionally unstable I was. How so obviously messed up I was. And when I realized how much they pitied me, I fell, almost seamlessly, into the next stage. Depression. It was so sudden, that the crew didn't even realize how terribly I'd started the day. It wasn't until one of the ensigns spilled their trey of food all over my shirt that they realized. Because, for the last few weeks, I'd have glared, and started yelling at him, I now just backed away, and walked out of the room. I went back to my quarters, and I stayed there until McCoy practically forced me out. Nothing improved for two weeks. I would sit in my quarters, until someone- usually Bones- would come in to force me to go eat, or go to the bridge. I say would, yet it's still happening. That was what happened just before now, as I'm sitting in Sick Bay, and Bones is forcing me to write this. The next stage, as McCoy told me, was acceptance. Acceptance. Accepting that you died. Accepting that you're not coming back. Accepting that it wasn't my fault. Accepting there was nothing that I, or anyone else could've done about it. Accepting that life will go on. And yet, I can't imagine how anything could get better, how I could possibly accept that you died. That you just aren't here anymore. When I told him this, he gave me that pitying smile that I've seen so much in the past few months. And then he told me that nobody feels like that, and once you do, that's when you've already accepted your grief. That didn't really make me feel any better. I don't think he thought that it would. But he'd hoped. I think that I pity him. Because he thinks that I'm going to get better. He thinks that this letter will help, but I don't think that it will. It might, but it's not going to magically fix me like he thinks it will.
I still won't just write it. I'm still stalling. I've been stalling just saying it for years now, and perhaps you'd guessed it. I don't know. If you did, then I'm sorry. If you didn't… then I suppose that I have to write it now. Because McCoy says that I have to write my feelings, and this is how I feel. One of those many, many emotions that I can't contain any longer. One of the emotions that keeps swirling around inside of me. With all of the accumulated shock, denial, bargaining, anger, and depression. Something that feels like hope, but softer. Something that should keep me happy, but can't because you're gone.
I've fallen in love you, Spock. I don't feel any better having written it. I haven't been magically fixed like every movie says you will be when you admit that you love someone. I don't know how I feel about it. I feel scared. I'm blushing, and I think that Bones has noticed. He's also noticed that I started crying, which I haven't done since I truly felt the emotions that I had. I know that I said that there are emotions swirling through me, but it isn't the same. I feel these emotions, but just the emotions themselves, and not the true feeling of them. Like eating when you have a cold, and you can feel the food in your mouth, but you can't quite taste the full spectrum of flavor. I feel like I've been floating around, not quite experiencing things through my own body.
I do love you. I really do. And somehow, now that I've said it, it doesn't seem to be so huge now. Like wanting a bike for your birthday so bad, but then when you get it, you find that you don't really care for it anymore. You still like it, but it doesn't seem like your world is going to end if you don't get the bike. I love you, and though I accepted that a long time ago, it still seemed like the most important thing happening in my life- second only to your death- and now… while still a big part of my life, it doesn't seem quite so important.
Did you know? I really don't know if you knew. I don't think you did though. You probably would've found the logical thing to be to tell me that you knew, and tell me- in the nicest, most professional way possible- that I didn't have a chance in hell.
I have so much more to say, yet I can't find the words to say them. I think that Bones knows how much I have to say, because every time I look like I'm about to stop writing, he looks at me with this really intense stare. You know how he is. Knew. I keep fluctuating from present to past tense. I'm talking to you. I'm talking to Spock. It's been months, except I still haven't quite gotten used to saying anything about you in past tense.
I think that I understand a bit more now why Bones made me write this. I think that he wanted- and still wants- me to realize what I'm feeling. That I've had so many emotions in the past months, that I can't even sort out what I'm feeling. And that I've bottled it in so much that I can't process any of it anymore. I think that he wanted me to sort it all out so that I can start that process of accepting what happened. Not that I'm anywhere close to accepting any of it yet. It still feels like a whirlpool of emotion, and I feel like I'm about to drown in it. But maybe a little bit slower.
I know that I've been using a lot of metaphors and flowery language in this letter thing, and you probably wouldn't understand half of it, but it's not as if you're ever going to read this? I mean. You're dead. I haven't accepted it per se, but I at least realize that it's a fact, and that nothing I can do can change that. Just like I can't change the fact that I'm in love with you. I practically went through the whole seven stages of grief when I first realized that I was in love with you. First came the shock. I was definitely surprised by that realization. I never really expected to fall in love with a Vulcan- however human his soul might be. The denial came soon after, trying to tell myself that I couldn't love you. That I didn't care for you like that. I knew that we were definitely friends, that I loved you, but not that I'd fallen in love with you. Bargaining wasn't quite so much bargaining as, I realized that I loved you, but I was trying to get myself to fall out of love with you. It didn't work- obviously. The more that I tried to get myself to not be in love with you, the more in love with you I fell. It sounds poetic, and not the logical thing, but it happened. Guilt felt very different too. I felt guilty that I had to put you through the hardships of friend-zoning someone. I'd been there before, and it feels terrible. It's so awkward, and you eventually just drift away from the person. I didn't want to make you have to do that. That feeling transferred through the rest of it all, up until I did accept it. Anger was strange. I wasn't mad at you, not in the slightest. If anything, I was pissed at myself for letting myself fall in love with you. Like it was my fault somehow. The depression was more internalized. I know that you noticed that. You asked me if I was feeling alright. That meant so much to me, and you didn't even realize that. I realized in that moment that it didn't matter. It wouldn't affect our relationship any. It wouldn't break any part of that, because our bond was so strong that it couldn't be torn by how I felt. I realized that I shouldn't be down about how I felt, that I really didn't have any way to change it, and that I shouldn't get depressed about the fact that I'd fallen in love with someone. Falling in love sounds like such a beautiful and elegant process, but I realize now how messy it is. With every other person that I've fallen in love with, it was that nice feeling like you were just falling into a bed of flowers. I know that you don't really understand, because I don't think that you've ever really fallen in love. I don't really know. Did you love T'Pring? I don't know at all. You've never really talked about that at all. You didn't even want to talk about it during Pon Farr. I could understand this, but I can't say that I didn't feel hurt by it. You were dying and you didn't bother to tell me.
I never quite understood the Vulcan ways as much as I should have. You probably explained more to me than any Vulcan had told a human- other than the rare instances like your mother and father. I never quite understood how lucky I was. That you would tell me about the Pon Farr, even though it was frowned upon by Vulcan cultural standards. That I even got to know you. For all I know, there's a chance that I could have never met you. Never have gotten to know you, and never have fallen in love with you. I- and the rest of the crew- would've died in your place, if not long before that. The whole crew was effected, as I said, and none as much as me.
McCoy is joking with me, and telling me that I don't have to write a ten page paper. I know that it was a joke, but I almost feel like I'd have to write a ten page paper to completely say how I feel. I plan to start from the beginning. I plan to spill my heart out on this paper, as many pages as it takes. However much you might scoff at the blatant display of emotion, I plan to write down exactly what happened.
People say that you know when you fall in love. I don't think that that was the case for me. There was definitely a moment in which I realized that I was in love, but I know that I'd fallen in love with you far before that. I don't think that even Bones- who I'm guessing figured out long ago that I'd fallen for you- knew how early, or how hard I'd fallen. As I said, there was an obvious moment that I realized I'd fallen for you- and even though the denial of it came swiftly after, I still realized that what I felt for you wasn't just friendship. That moment wasn't too far into what was supposed to be a relaxing shore leave. That planet that produced your dreams. I never quite told anyone why I chose to stay, but I chose to stay- completely out of denial- for Ruth. I first saw her there, and I realized that I no longer felt anything. I realized that I didn't want her anymore. I wanted you. The phase of shock barely even took an hour, and the denial hit hard. I chose to stay for Ruth, I told myself over and over again, even though I spent most of my time there with you. That's why I seemed so off. You even asked me about it, I remember. You thought that I should head back to the ship and lie down in my quarters. You thought that I must've been ill, or that I'd hurt myself running away from the samurai. You never suspected that it was because I was in love. You were so kind to me. You even offered to bring me back to the ship, more concerned about my health then you were about getting some much needed rest and leisure in. You always did work yourself too hard. That was something I loved and hated about you. You were so determined- and, daresay, passionate- about your work. You always thought about your job, and about the rest of the crew before you thought about your own safety. It was my health over yours because I was the captain, and Star Fleet says to protect the captain's life over your own.
My hands are now shaking as I write this, thinking about all of the things that made you such a beautiful soul. The things that made me fall for you in the first place, and then keep falling deeper and deeper still. I don't think that I'll ever quite stop loving you. Whether I do- as McCoy says I will- move on one day, and stop grieving, I will still love you. I'll never quite let go of that hope that still lingers that you did love me. I think that's something good out of all of this. I still have that hope. I can still hang on to that dream that you loved me, that you cared for me the way that I still care about you. While I know that most of this is completely inconceivable, I still have that hope that, had I told you, you might've said similarly. I never got the complete rejection, so I can never really know for sure what exactly it was that you felt for me. Whether it was a friendly affection, brotherly, or something more, I will never know. And I think that I'm at peace with that, at the very least. I think that I came to my peace with that before you die. I knew that I would never be able to pluck up the courage to tell you anything, so I came to peace with the fact that I would never know what your exact reaction would be. I'm glad that I've made that peace. I have one solid think amidst this tossing, and whirling sea of grief. One fact I know will never change- one that I've gotten peace with.
Once again, I'm sure that you'd be scoffing if you actually could read this. Not that you would be allowed to, even if you were alive. I wouldn't let you. No offense to you, but I'm not really the kind of person who'd be likely to spill their guts out to someone, if I'm sure that they don't feel similarly. And once again, no offense to you, but I have little faith that you'd fallen in love with me. I can't tell you how much I wish you did- had, whatever- even if I were only to find out in the minutes before your death. I feel like that might've given me a bit of peace. But deep down, I know that that's a load of bullshit. It would've made me angry. I would've wallowed in the anger and misery for not knowing how you felt until minutes before I lost you. Yet I kid myself that it would be more painful than the pain of not knowing either way- something that I've already blessed as a good thing. Sometimes I find the human race- myself in particular- even more illogical than you ever voiced. How illogical this letter would seem to you. I am writing to a dead man. On doctor's orders. And I'm spewing out the most illogical things, aren't I? Sometimes, the things that I write here barely even make sense to myself. But nevertheless I still write them. Because I'm trying to get down those raw feelings that are now bubbling up for the first time in a long time.
I feel a little bit uneasy writing this. Like a character in a horror movie might feel- but not at all. It's an odd feeling writing to a dead man. I don't know how to feel about it. As I sit here in Sick Bay, I know that I should feel like its familiar, but somehow I feel like I'm sitting at an old friend's house. The feeling that I know where I am, and that there are familiar aspects to it, but there are oddly subtle things that have been changed, and that's making it very uneasy as a whole. I'm writing to a dead man. That's hit me hard as I write this, and I can feel McCoy's pitying stare when he knows that I'm not looking. I think that he knows how much this has affected me. I can tell by how he looks at me when he thinks I can't see him. He looks at me like he sort of knows how I feel, and… I do know that he pities me. Because however much he thinks that he understands what I'm going through with your death, he really does think that I'm pitiful. And I am. I spend half of my time sitting in my quarters, lying on my back, and just staring at the ceiling. I want to cry, but I can't. It feels like I used all of my tears before I have none left to use. Used to. I'm crying now. That's past tense. God, it feels like I don't even understand past tense versus present tense anymore. Like my entire kindergarten year was put to waste. I can't discern when it's okay to say write about this and talk about you in past tense, or present tense. I don't want to use past tense. It makes it feel final in a way that even the funeral didn't make it. Past tense means that you're not coming back. Past tense means you're not here. Past tense is too final. I can't do it in past tense, because, even though I got over that stage, it still feels like I'd be admitting defeat. Like I was saying 'yeah, he's dead, so what, who cares?' And that's not even remotely how I feel. I feel that I am going to bring you back whatever it takes, and at whatever consequence to me. I would give my own life to let you live the rest of yours in a heartbeat. And I know that's not logical, but I don't give a damn. Love isn't logical. Love doesn't make any sense to anyone. You fall in love, and you can't help it. You fall in love with whoever your heart wants. Your heart doesn't care if it isn't logical. When you fall in love, you don't care if it would take years to be with them. When you fall in love, you don't care about your own safety, as long as they are safe. When I fell in love, I didn't care if I had to travel to the end of the universe and back to show it, I loved you. I still love you. I can't help falling in love with you, Spock. I can practically hear your voice, telling me how illogical human emotions are, but this one, this one isn't human. Your dad loves your mother. You can see it. Everyone should see that. Except Vulcan's are so god damn blinded by the fact that emotions are so 'illogical' and 'human' that they can't see that Vulcan's can fall in love. I'm not trying to say that you fell in love with me, and I'm not trying to convince you that love is logical. Wouldn't be trying to. I don't know anymore. What I'm trying to say is that Vulcan's are really hypocritical if they want to tell us humans that we can't fall in love, when they're doing it. Even freaking T'Pring fell in love with Stonn. How are Vulcans creatures of pure logic, if many of them do something that's so illogical? Once again, love isn't logical. You question- used to question- how I could possibly be so illogical. Yet you didn't even know the most illogical thing that I've ever done. I fell in love with you. That's how illogical I am. I am so illogical, that I fell in love with my first officer. I fell in love with a Vulcan. I fell in love with that human soul. I fell in love with you, Spock.
I fell in love with you. I still love you. I'm so in love with you that it physically hurt me to lose you. I will find you again. That's what writing this letter forced me to see. I will bring you back to life at whatever cost. Because that's what love is.
With the most illogical love,
Jim
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A/N: What? Me? Uploading a story? Even though I have so many other things that I haven't uploaded? I know, kill me later, because I promise FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART that I'll get some more of Rufus up AS SOON AS I PHYSICALLY CAN. Plus I've got a Stucky thing in the works, but that won't be uploaded for a while.
