"This is what you would have done."
Horror.
There is no other word in Standard or Vulcan to describe the emotion that finally breaks through the wall of Vulcan training and makes itself known within me.
My heartbeat races to a different rhythm in my side, my eyes flickering from his battered body to the surety on his face and back again. It is what I would have done, and yet, how could he be so certain? There is a look in his eye that speaks of experience, the knowledge that is born only of seeing an action and cannot be replicated simply by imagining the event.
He left me on the bridge because 'I knew what I was doing'. He did what I would do, as I have struggled to encourage him the entirety of the time we have worked together. Logically, then, I am responsible for this outcome.
Because you would have sacrificed yourself, I have sacrificed myself instead. These are the words I hear ringing in my mind, even as he continues on.
"I'm scared, Spock. Help me not be. How do you choose not to feel?" Denial rages in my mind, an illogical desire to have what unfolds before my eyes be an illusion. My captain, dying by inches before my eyes, tears of pain and fear slipping down his sweat-slick cheeks,
"I do not know. Right now, I am failing." My breath comes in strange gasps, my eyes burning, blurring my vision with tears that I do not understand. Guilt erodes my control, guilt for his pain, guilt for the sadness I see welling up within him as he finds the strength to speak yet again.
"I want you to know why I couldn't let you die," he says, and my lungs seize for a moment. "Why I went back for you."
He can no longer breathe enough create words, but I know them in my heart, know them though I have sought to deny them for so very long, clinging to my 'stubborn Vulcan pride,' as McCoy would say.
"Because you are my friend." Though I have not exactly been yours. My cheek burns as a tear falls from my eye, with another slipping along slowly behind. I am unused to tears, yet somehow this feels correct, as though I should be weeping, as though some part of me recognizes a loss beyond my comprehension. He nods, just slightly, and places his hand to the glass.
The look in his eye tells me that he's not seeking a simple gesture, poignant as it may be. He coughs, trying to gather enough oxygen to stay alive, and has none to spare for speaking. I place my hand along his, and as he slides his fingers to match mine, I look him in the eyes and reach for his mind.
More than a century spirals through my thoughts in a single second, decades spent in the company of a single man highlight as though a colored scene overlaying a story made in black-and-white. I see him smile time and again, see him bleeding and angry, see him old and laughing, see him scared, him calm, him sleeping, him full of life and movement.
Whip marks score his back, and he bends forward that I may climb upon him. He trembles, but does not falter.
My hands release the an-woon wrapped around his throat, shame and sorrow beyond measure filling me. McCoy shoves me off of his still body...and then I am ecstatic, seizing him by the now-warm shoulders and calling his name in joy.
He insults me, strikes me, then holds his arms up in submission. I return to myself, aware of who I am once more because of him.
We are older. He is Admiral, now, not Captain, and has lost much that can never be regained. We are in danger, and though it will be my last act, I am the only one strong enough to undertake the task before me. When it is complete, and the ship safe once more, he is there. His hands press against the glass, his voice breaks with disbelief and rending pain.
"I am, and always shall be, your friend."
I awaken and much is different, lost. It takes time, though less than it should have, and his face appears again. I recognize him, and yet, I do not.
I see him one last time, and when death finally takes him, it is as though part of my soul has been lost. My brother, my friend, my companion through many adventures, many dangers, many joys, is gone.
The tears coat my face now, much as they do his. I understand, understand his surety at my actions, understand the depth of his feelings for me, understand my elder counterpart's words about the friendship between this man and myself. I feel Jim's pain, his fear, his loneliness, and I reach out to him again with my mind.
"You are not alone, Jim. I am with you. There is nothing that can keep our minds apart, our thoughts. Here, there is no glass."
He tries to smile at me, and almost succeeds.
One cough, then another, and the vibrant blue of his eyes is somehow duller.
His breath rattles in his chest, then ceases.
His hand falls.
Disbelief and aching loss overwhelm me; as my hands drop, I stare, empty shock taking up residence within my chest.
And then, slowly, realization dawns.
The elder Spock must have melded with Jim; this is what he showed me as he died. He gave me a glimpse of the friendship we could have had, would have had, had all gone as destiny said it should.
The friendship that was stolen from me.
From us.
By Khan.
Fury overwhelms me, fury that comes from a man light-year away, a soul that is mine, yet not, one that still aches over the loss of this same man who I now mourn, and I scream the name of the one I must kill to bring destiny back into balance, late though it is.
KHAN.
Sadly, not mine. I wrote this because someone somewhere wrote a fanfic about Kirk and Spock melding during this scene, but her story was slash. I wondered what it would be like for them if they weren't a couple – and then I watched this scene again, and realized that Spock looked utterly appalled when Kirk said "This is what you would have done," as though Jim had accused him of something horrible.
Anyway, hope you liked it, and if you're the writer who inspired me, thank you so much! I wish I could remember who you were to credit you.