This is the sound of one voice,
One spirit, one voice
The sound of one who makes a choice,
This is the sound of one voice
Your mind races as you and Scotty rush to the warp core, desperate to fix the Enterprise and get your crew (family, your brain supplies) to safety, to make sure no one else on board dies at the hands of Khan. No, this is all your fault, due to your stupidity and pride and naiveté, and as Scotty explains that the warp injectors are misaligned and nothing will work until they are realigned, you realize you are the only one who can (and should) fix this mess.
You knock Scotty out with a swift punch and strap him into a nearby chair. You think, No, there will be no more death today, as you resolutely enter the radiation soaked chamber. The toxic air burns your nose and mouth and lungs and skin. Your flesh feels like it will melt right off your bones. You nearly collapse right away, but you press on, knowing you are the ship's only hope.
I swear I will make this right, you pray to whoever may be listening, I will make sure no one else dies today if it is the last thing I do… and it probably will be.
Your muscles ache and burn as you try to kick the injector back into place. Just when you feel like it will never budge, will never move, like you failed, it jolts into place and the resulting burst of energy throws you back as the ship stabilizes herself. Your stomach empties itself onto the floor. The pain is immense and staggering, like nothing you've ever felt before (and you nearly starved to death on Tarsus IV). You crawl back out to the door, knowing you can't cross it. You will die here, alone and in terrible pain, with no one to offer you even the simplest comfort.
This is the sound of voices two,
The sound of me singing with you,
Helping each other to make it through,
This is the sound of voices two
You feel a very human chill creep up your spine upon hearing Scotty's call for you. If your presence is urgently required, and Jim has not yet come to the bridge, then he must be in danger. Additionally, if Scotty called for you and not Dr. McCoy, the danger was either not very serious or (you desperately hoped against this) the danger was so severe that the doctor's presence would be pointless and perhaps cruel for both of them. Your legs cannot carry you fast enough to the warp core. Your heart pounds. You try to hide your fear as you approach Scotty, but it does not work as you see him standing alone, his face bruised and wet with tears. He stares as the airlock door that leads to the warp core's interior, a place filled with deadly levels of radiation.
The realization hits you like an icy wave.
"Open it," you order.
"I can't, it's-"
"Open the door, Mr. Scott!"
"We can't!" he replies, "The whole chamber is completely irradiated. Opening that door would flood the ship with radiation. It would kill everyone onboard."
The logic of statement is inescapable. Your sentiment on Nibiru enters into mind unbidden: The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few… or the one.
You approach the glass slowly and crouch in front of it to see Jim hunched up against it on the other side. His eyes are glazed and unfocused. His skin looks as though he'd been sunburnt, and patches of it on his hands are red and beginning to slough off. He must still be able to see you because he looks right up to your face and asks in a rasping voice, "How's our ship?"
"Out of danger."
A smile graces his chapped lips. His breathing is labored due to his seared lungs. You both know he will not last much longer, and the knowledge feels like a stab in the heart.
"I'm scared, Spock," he whispers, "Help me not to be… how do you choose not to feel?"
Vulcans do not lie.
"I do not know. Right now, I am failing."
Tears roll down your cheeks. The bright blue eyes are filled with tears, and the sight rocks you to your half-human core.
"I wanted you to know why I couldn't let you die… why I went back for you…"
Oh, Jim, you do not have to tell me why, for I already know.
"Because you are my friend."
You are gifted another brief smile from Jim Kirk before it fades. He drags his hand up to the glass, pressing his fingers against it. You raise your hand to mirror his, your fingers spread in the salute of your world, wishing you could break through to him and hold him in his final moments. Jim weakly emulates the salute, his eyes locked on yours. The glass is cold and hard and unforgiving, everything Jim is not, and you hate it. It is not fair that he should be so alone at this time.
Grief you had hoped to never feel again floods every cell in your being as Jim goes limp, his eyes blank and lifeless, his hand sliding to the floor. Your logic is thrown to the wayside by anguish and rage. Khan would pay for this.
This is the sound of voices three,
Singing together in harmony,
Surrendering to the mystery,
This is the sound of voices three
Spock insists on being there when you inject Jim with the serum you created from Khan's super blood, and you don't have the heart to kick him out. Spock had been there when Jim died, after all. You suppose it's only fair he's there to see him return to life if this crazy plan works. You try to keep your thoughts clinical, try to think of him as The Patient instead of Jim, but you had been through too much with him for that to work. You pray the serum will work and repair his irradiated cells and the other extensive damage done to his body.
Once the serum is in, all you can do is wait. You listen carefully to the machines currently keeping Jim alive, the ones breathing and pumping his blood for him, listening for the sounds of Jim's body working on its own once more.
The minutes pass. Doubt creeps into your mind. Sure, the serum worked on the tribble, however, a tribble is nowhere near as complex as a human being, and it took several hours for the tribble to revive. You don't have the slightest inkling of how long it may take to work on Jim… if it works at all. You look to Spock, who sits opposite you on Jim's other side.
His face is impassive. His eyes are anything but. Pain and hope and worry and fear are clear as day in his brown eyes, his most human feature. Some would argue that Spock was nearly robotic (you among them), never showing emotion or even feeling, but you know better. You are a doctor, a reader of people. You have always been able to see Spock's emotions, though you would never tell him. You know that currently your face betrays the same, if not more, emotion; you are too tired to really care.
You felt your whole world crash down around you as you looked upon Jim in that body bag, tears immediately forming in your eyes as Scotty told you what damn fool hero Jim had been, how he'd saved everyone's lives but sacrificed his own in the process. He said that Spock had been visibly upset, had even cried, had bellowed Khan's name in a rage and left the Enterprise on a mission of vengeance. You couldn't say you blamed him. Grief weighed heavy on your heart, and you sank into your chair by the dead tribble, willing yourself not to cry in front of anyone. When that little ball of fur starting purring into life, you were flooded with hope… hope that is now running very thin.
You and Spock sit by Jim's bedside, waiting for the machines to alert you to Jim's return to life, praying you will hear them soon. Your hands itch to reach out and hold Jim's.
"I don't know what I'm gonna do if he doesn't wake up, Spock," you finally admit, "I don't wanna be out here in space if Jim's not here with me."
Your companion is quiet, contemplative, before replying, "I am afraid I have no words of comfort for you, for I find myself in a similar situation. Of late, I had not anticipated a future in Starfleet that did not include Jim."
Silence reigns for a moment until you quietly say, "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being with Jim at the end. I know it meant a lot to him."
"You speak as if you have lost all hope this treatment will work."
"Humans are a bit more complex than the furball I revived earlier, and even that took hours. I have no idea how long it'll take to work on Jim. He could be walkin' around tomorrow or he may only just wake up a year from now, and that's if it even works at all, Spock."
He tips his head down, looking at Jim as he asks softly, "Have you lost your hope, doctor?"
"No… no, I haven't," you reply with out missing a beat, "because if this crazy treatment works on anyone, it'll be James Tiberius Kirk."
"His ability to avoid certain injury and death in most occasions is uncanny. Some would likely attribute it to a higher power."
You mutter, "Yep, and I'm one of them," before falling into restless silence once more. Several hours pass. You star to drift off to sleep, your head nodding, when your hear it. Your head snaps up to the screens. You hear it again. Spock's interest is also piqued, and he queries, "Doctor, am I hearing what I think I am?"
"It's… it's working, Spock," you gasp, "Oh my lord, it's really working! That's Jim's heart! His heart's beatin' on its own! And his lungs are startin' up, too! He's comin' back! Spock, he's comin' back!"
You burst into tears, covering your mouth with your hands. Your heart feels ready to explode with joy. You're just so happy that Jim is alive again, that you can hear his heart beating once more, that you won't have to live without him anymore. Spock looks elated.
This is the sound of all of us
Singing with love and the will to trust
Leave the rest behind it will turn to dust
This is the sound of all of us
Jim was released from the hospital a week after he woke up from his regenerative coma. Leonard, however, still refused to let him go home alone and insisted that Jim come stay with him for a while. Jim took offense to this, letting out a long string of complaints, saying that he wasn't a child and could take care if himself. Leonard then reminded him none too gently that he often took better care of Jim than Jim did of himself. That stopped Jim's arguments.
"Look, Bones," Jim said once they were at Leonard's apartment, "I don't wanna be a bother to you or take up space. I'll just-"
Leonard growled, "Shut up, you idiot," and crushed Jim to his chest in a fierce embrace. Jim slowly hugged back as Leonard told him, "Dammit, Jim, you don't even understand. I lost you. You died. You died and for a while there was nothing I could do to save you. I was gonna be trapped in space all alone without you. I don't know what I would've done…"
"I'm sorry, Bones. I really am, but you have to understand that I would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant saving your life."
"You're a damn fool, Jim Kirk, but God help me, I love you for it."
"Thanks, Bones. I know you do."
"The doctor's earlier point is a valid one. We were both extremely worried you would not be revived."
Leonard gently disengaged from Jim so the latter could turn to see Spock. The look in Jim's eyes could only be described as love and relief and unerring loyalty as he approached the third man. Tears filled the blue eyes.
"Spock…" Jim said softly, "Spock, thank you for being there with me… at the end. I don't think you know how much it meant to me, to not be alone then."
"Dr. McCoy mentioned it, but I am glad to hear it directly from you, Jim."
"You don't understand. I've been alone my whole life, ever since I was a kid, and I was sure that was how I was gonna die, alone in a dirty alley or a bar or in some kind of motorcycle accident… never on starship to save hundreds and thousands of people, and I definitely never thought I would have someone with me that I… that I cared so much about. I just… thank you so much, Spock…"
"At the time, I found myself wishing I could have been anywhere else, as the prospect of watching you die and not being able to be in contact with you was extremely distressing, Jim. I do not know if you recall the exact circumstances regarding the incident."
"I do, Spock, very clearly, and I'm sorry I hurt you, too," Jim replied softly.
Spock did not answer and only stiffened slightly when Jim embraced him. The pure love radiating from Jim nearly set tears in his eyes. Jim never wanted to let go, reveling in the fact he could actually touch Spock once again. When Jim finally released him, Leonard cleared his throat, saying, "Alright now, I think the patient needs a nice home-cooked meal after that hospital fare. Come on, Jim, doctor's orders."
To his credit, Jim didn't complain, and to Leonard's credit, he managed to cook something delicious that both Jim (with his allergies) and Spock (with his dietary restrictions) could eat. After that, Jim was still tired from his brush with death, so they all decided to retire early, Jim curling up beside Leonard in the bed; Leonard was more than happy to let him. Spock even joined them, sitting on the edge of the mattress where he could be comfortable. Jim slept more peacefully than he likely ever had, knowing his two closest friends were nearby to look after him, and they took equal comfort from watching the rise and fall of his chest with each breath.
This is the sound of one voice
One people, one voice
A song for every one of us
This is the sound of one voice
This is the sound of one voice.