Bones

He always knew he was right about the whole space thing. Space was a death trap, airless and freezing, and yet people were so arrogant as to think they could tame it. It was all something of a joke. Little men and women in their little metal coffins, soaring through an abyss. Jim had always said he overreacted when it came to space, but he was right all along. It was a sour irony, bitter and gritty on his tongue.

He checked the readout on his suit. Only a minute left of oxygen. They all should have known. But waiting, watching the second tick by before his lungs began to crumple, that was the worst. Knowing that death was only breaths away, that's what he'd been scared of all along. Not the blackness, but the knowing. There was nothing scarier than knowing you would die.

"Bones, we'll get you! I promise. Just hang in there." The voice was garbled over the com system, but he could hear the emotion behind it.

"Not this time, Jim. I'm not gonna pull through this time."

"You shouldn't be talking, stupid. Conserve your oxygen."

"Captain, the probability of his surv-" the transmission was cut off before Spock could finish. It was just as well. He knew he was never going to make it.

"Jim, I loved you like a brother. And dammit, Spock, you might be a pointy-eared bastard but I loved you too. I love everyone. Make sure they know, okay? Can you do that for me, Jim? Can you tell them I loved them all?"

"Bones…Bones, don't talk like that we'll get you-"

"He has ten seconds left, Jim. McCoy, I appreciate your sentiment. I will miss you." He almost cried at that. He never thought he'd see the day the Vulcan would say something that sentimental. God, he'd have to be dying…wait, he was. But there was no use in crying. Everyone died sometime. Apparently, it was just his time. The thought felt unfair, but he supposed he was channeling Jim. But there were no-win scenarios, and this felt like one of them. God, he'd miss them.

"Don't say that, Spock! Shit…Bones, I love you too, okay? Please, hold on. We've almost got you." A loud series of beeps told him that his time was up. He closed his eyes as his lungs searched for oxygen that wasn't there. A minute after his heart stopped for good, they locked on his coordinates and beamed him back, but he was gone.

Jim

Spock had said something about their position being hard to defend earlier. Something like a four percent chance of survival, but he hadn't been listening. Now he wished he had. The Velgoths had an arsenal of primitive weapons at their disposal, including the barb that was lodged firmly in his shoulder. It was Spock who noticed the green liquid dripping from the wound, but he'd written off the tingling in his extremities as bloodloss. Now he wasn't so sure. His vision began to swim before his eyes, the sharp face of his First Officer fading in and out of focus. Deep brown eyes darted to him and stopped.

"Jim? Are you well?"

"I think so. Things are just going a little purple and fuzzy around the edges. Wait, and my feet feel weird. My whole legs, actually. I'll be fine, though."

"I think it would be best to let me have a look." Jim watched as greenish fingers deftly rolled up his pant legs past his boots. A finger touched his shin and he felt fear from the touch. Pure fear, for him, tinged with the familiar, but vaguely different ache of love. It was one of the strongest emotions he'd felt from the other man. "Spock? Spock, what's wrong? I'm okay, right? I'll be okay, won't I?"

"It is a poison. I…I seen it before." The Vulcan's voice was shaking and low.

"But people get better from it, right?" He looked into Spock's eyes, which were unusually shiny, and saw his answer. A tear rolled down the green-tinged cheek, and that set Jim off. "No! I'm not going to go like this, don't even think that! I will not go down from some shitty alien poison on this godfuckingdamn planet! Not on my watch." He tried to stand, and wobbled a bit on fairly unresponsive legs. He could feel his hands growing stiff and looked at them. He almost gagged at the blotchy purple color.

"You should not try to stand."

"I'm James Tiberius Kirk! I will go down fighting! Not from this. Definitely not from this. Please, Spock, tell me this won't be it."

"The survival rate, with immediate treatment, is only 0.73 percent. You should lay down. If your heart rate increases, the poison will spread faster." Spock was avoiding his eyes now, ashamed at his outburst of emotion, even though he had long since been quite open with his emotions around Jim.

"No. I can't just die like this. It isn't going to happen! There is no fucking way I'm going to die from this, never. It's just not fucking possible!"

Spock spun to face him. "Yes, it is! Please, stop and sit down before the paralysis forces you to. Jim, please, for me, just stop." The trembling in the normally solid, unwavering voice made him obey. He fell to the ground, his legs to stiff to bend. He could see Spock breaking before his eyes, breaking into tiny pieces like he'd been shattered and now gravity was pulling all the little bits to the ground. Where had his composure gone? Spock was his rock, his emotional anchor. When he was freaking out, Spock would be calm as usual and he would use that to ground himself. But now there was nothing to hang onto. His friend, his love, his life, his other half was just as compromised as he was.

"What's going to happen to me?"

"Your limbs will become paralyzed, though still conscious, and eventually the poison will burn through the wall of your arteries and veins. The pain will cause you to go into shock and die." Jim's lip trembled. The suddenly detached tone was somehow worse than his previous emotional one. It was as if he was preparing himself for his death, which, he knew, he was.

"I don't have long then, do I? Watch the Enterprise for me. Make sure she's okay. And her crew. Tell them I love them." He paused, feeling his chest tighten from the paralysis. He could feel it creeping up his body, the speed increasing. It was only a matter of time. "Meld. With. Me." His vocal chords succumbed to the paralysis and went silent. Spock nodded, placing his fingers on his Captain's face. Jim sent him a quick message, filled with everything he had left in him – all of his emotion, memory, and thought.

Don't worry. We'll meet again. The afterlife and all that. But remember, I love you. To my last breath.

Thank you. I love you as well. Forgive me. I cannot stay here any longer. Grief, distress, pain, and fear washed over Jim in an almost numbing wave, followed by a slower, gentler tide of the soft, warm feeling he recognized from their previous melds as love. I will grieve for you until I die.

Spock retracted from the meld and stared into the eyes of his t'hy'la. With a soft cry, he nerve pinched him. He withdrew his phaser and, with as much Vulcan detachment as he could muster, shot him, to end his life before the pain would take hold.

Spock

It was strange, he reasoned, the nature of humans. He had once thought that when a person died, they died alone, but that was not the case. When they died, they took with them pieces of everyone who had ever loved them, small pieces that had no logical reason for existence. Spock himself had felt the first part of him die with his mother, then a larger piece with his planet. Just when he thought he'd filled the space those pieces had taken up, another was ripped from him with McCoy. He had not imagined in all his life that he would miss the cranky human, but there was an emptiness that refused to be filled, a void, when he found himself in the sickbay to be treated by the new CMO.

Then there was Jim. With Jim, he lost everything. Every emotion inside of him had been locked away at that point, because, for some illogical reason, he feared that if he let them go, the tidal wave of grief could drown him. He would be caught in the current of his own emotions, but there would be no going back. Composure would be gone from that point on. He would be a broken man.

Another thing he noticed was that the things people said as they were about to die were always messages of love. There was no room for anything else, no other agenda. It was strange that the most illogical of emotions was also one of the strongest, most persistent, most universal. He knew that well, having seen his share of love and death. He was the oldest of all of them, and he should have been prepared to outlive them all, but he had always hoped that it would be old age that claimed them in the end. Instead, it felt like they were stolen from him.

The computer told him that collision was in seven seconds. He had shut off the com unit, knowing that he didn't want anyone to speak to him. There would be no one who could say anything to talk him out of his duty. There were a thousand ships with million lives on board that depended on his life. The needs of the many outweigh the need of the few or one. Before Jim had died, he had not believed in the phrase. He would give worlds, universes, for the life of one. But now there were no ties to bind him to anything. He had closed himself off from any sort of love from that point on. There would be no feeling, only duty.

One second. He left worlds behind him. There was only the illogical hope that Jim had been right, that they might meet again in another dimension or universe, whatever it was that humans believed in. The word on his lips as his ship and body made contact with the enemy craft reverberated throughout his entire being.

"Jim."

Wow. That was a bit angsty...sorry, I was just in the mood, I guess. I'd appreciate your feedback, though!