Hey Trekkies! This is going to be a random collection of Tribbles, Drabbles, One-shots, occasional Two-shots, and all around rambling of a hopeless Kirk/Spock fangirl.

Some will be blatant slash, others implied, most non-physical interactions (probably no sexy times, sorry folks) because that is just the nature of the T'hy'la relationship.

This is listed as Star Trek: 2009 fanfiction but will also be taking elements from TOS. It's all one fandom and every new trekkie should watch TOS because it's the most wonderful thing ever.

I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing!

I don't own Kirk, Spock or anyone else in these fics. That right belongs to the genius mind of Gene Roddenberry himself, may his soul find everlasting paradise.

This drabble is set during the events of Star Trek: Into Darkness. It DOES contain spoilers so if you haven't seen it, go do so right now!

Spock POV.

Drop a review if you find the time.

Enough is Enough

I am not an emotional being. That is the basis of the philosophy which governs my life and action; control, suppression, intellect over impulse. To give in to anger is to be overcome by my people's former barbarism. To give in is to lose everything I am.

But this is too much.

"The ship?"

The voice comes out strained, weak. He is trying to be strong. I feel my jaw clench-if Jim can be strong in this moment then Gods dammit so can I.

"Out of danger," I reply, waves of emotion crashing and raging against the barrier which I have worked so diligently to construct.

The thin barrier separating us might as well be a thousand miles thick, and his blue eyes glisten with fear. I cannot help him, nor can I take his place.
"I'm scared, Spock."

Another shard of ice hot emotion slices through the shields of my composure. I have never seen my Captain afraid. That he is admitting such weakness would be an expression of the utmost trust in my culture, in most cultures.

"Help me not to be."

And he needs me. This elicits a different streak of traitorous sentiment, the plea in my dying Captain's voice causing fear and anger and sorrow and desperation to rear up within me, a veritable cocktail of feelings that sets my judgement-and sanity-dangerously on edge. Now he is gazing up into the dark eyes of a Vulcan's, breath fogging the glass as fear wells up in the icy blue depths of his own. I can only wonder if he finds the comfort he desires there.

"How do you choose not to feel?" he implores, and I swallow hard, realizing with sudden clarity that I am absolutely powerless to help my captain. My friend.

"I do not know," I admit, and feel the hot burn of impending tears stinging my eyes. It is absolutely shameful for a Vulcan to cry-and right now I cannot care any less. My Captain is dying; I can feel ashamed of this emotional display later. If there is a later.

"Right now I am failing."

This admission is pulled from my lips before I realize what I am saying, and Jim draws another painful breath, the radiation in his skin granting him a nearly Vulcan complexion. Strange...even in death he is noble, stubborn, handsome, so very human in every way and so much more.

"I wanted you to know...why I couldn't let you die...why I went back for you..." he gasps, and I move closer instinctively, wishing for him to cease his struggling and lie still, to ease his pain.

"Because you are my friend."

Jim coughs, his forehead pressed against the glass that had saved the ship and sealed his fate. His hand moves painfully, slowly, and presses against the glass. One last goodbye, a final plea. Take care of them, Spock. They're in your hands now.

I reciprocate the motion, my palm just centimeters from Jim's, fingers spread in that Vulcan salute of respect and camaraderie. Live Long and Prosper. It is a useless gesture, and I know this. And yet I do it anyway, because I feel it is necessary. A purely emotional response.

And then James Kirk dies. Inches away from me, so close I can almost feel the radiation heat rising from his skin, close enough to watch the light fade from his eyes.

The turmoil swells violently in my chest, a single burning tear tracking down my cheek. Rage and disbelief and sorrow and loss and a staggering amount of grief hits me like a rampaging Sehlat. He have lost too much. Too fucking much. This is the final straw; enough pain, enough death, enough sorrow and anger and fatal emotion.

"KHAAAAAN!"

Enough is enough.

Thanks for reading bros and broettes. Stick around for some more drabbles coming your way ASAP.

Nemaiyo

I'm bleeding out
So if the last thing that I do
Is bring you down
I'll bleed out for you
So I bare my skin
And I count my sins
And I close my eyes
And I take it in
I'm bleeding out
I'm bleeding out for you, for you.