Disclaimer: Don't own it. Never have, never will.

A/N - well, I might as well put this up here. I apologize if this depresses you. I seem to be on a depressing fic writing streak. I wonder if that needs to change ...

Warnings: Slash, character death. Don't like, don't read.


There is emptiness. A profound emptiness that words cannot begin to convey. The sight of his body, broken and pale before me is a knife slicing through my heart and lungs, the pain making the simple task of breathing impossible. It could have been me that died. It should have. If I could do it all over again, I would insist on being the one to beam down. It would cost me my life, but it would be a price I would gladly pay, if only he could still be alive.

I walk over to the table where his body is lying. I want to turn away, to stick my head in the proverbial sand, and hide from the emptiness and grief, if only for a while, but that isn't possible. So I walk. Step by step, though it feels as though razors, rather than the smooth floor of sickbay was beneath my feet.

After what seems like forever, I finally make it to his side, and put my hand on his. I am struck by the fact that it is cool. His skin was always, always warm. I take the hand I'm holding in both of mine, as though I can give him my warmth. But I can't. He is gone - forever. I will never see him smile again, never feel his arms around me. I will never be able to look into his beautiful, chocolate brown eyes, and know that here was another being who knew me. Knew me as well as I know myself, and who accepted and even loved me, even though I am an illogical human. I wish I could thank him for that, but now I will never get the chance. I open my mouth to say his name, but as I move my lips, no sound came out. Another painful reminder that he is gone. There are so many things I will never get the chance to do, or say. So many missed oppurtunities. The thought is another weight upon me, though I thought that the burden I carried couldn't get any heavier.

"Spock" his name is a whisper on my lips.

Finally, I feel my captain's facade slip. I knew it would, eventually. Since two days ago, when they first brought him in, unconcious, to sickbay, there has been no substance to it, only a mist that hides what I feel - the fear, the pain, the lonliness. I feel as though a wind whips away the mist and I don't fight to keep it. I try again to speak his name.

"Spock ... I'm so sorry" I know he can't hear me, but at the moment I don't care. My voice breaks when I whisper "I love you". Words he needed to hear. Words I didn't say often enough.

The tears start, and I make no effort to stop them. There is no one around to witness this. I am alone, not that I needed a reminder of that, and, as I let the tears stream down my face, I know that this lonliness, like the regrets, is something I will have to face, every day, for the rest of my life.