Kirk knew he shouldn't have let the young Russian leave his side. He knew the boy would be safer with him. And yet he still allowed Pavel to go off and fight the Klingons on his own. He felt his eyes begin to moisten at the sight before him- Pavel Andreievich Chekov, laying in a pool of his own blood; his chest punctured in two places. Kirk ran to his side, gathering the teenager in his arms. "I'm so sorry," he continuously mumbled to the younger, bringing his face down to his body. Pavel was still breathing, but only just. Jim head a weak mumble from beside him.
"It's... not your fault." Jim looked up, his eyes meeting Chekov's. "At least I won't be holding you back any longer."
Jim's throat constricted, and he bit back a dry sob. This wasn't how it was supposed to turn out. "You... would never hold me back, Pasha," he choked out. "If anything, you made me strive to be better- to be a proper role model. To be the best lover I could be. I've failed you. I shouldn't have let you go alone."
Pavel weakly lifted his blood-covered hand and rested it on Kirk's face. "No, don't beat yourself up over this. It happens." He grinned feebly, unable to do much more.
Chekov's breathing began to slow, his heart pumping rapidly to make up for the lack of oxygen-laden hemoglobin circulating in his veins. His hand slid off of Kirk's face- his strength was fading.
"No!" Kirk's tears were freely falling now. "Don't leave me!"
Pavel just smiled wistfully at the thought of the life they could have had. "I..," his breath hitched, and he exhaled. He was fading fast, now. "I love you..."
The young Russian stilled, his hands turning cold. His skin took on the pallor of death.
Jim just sat there, tears rolling down his cheeks and falling onto his fallen friend. He stroked the younger's matted brown hair, wishing, demanding that it wasn't true. "Come on, Pasha. Quit playing games with me. Wake up." His voice completely broke with the last syllable.
Two hours later, McCoy found him. Not seeing the body in Kirk's lap, he assumed the blood was Jim's. When he walked over and placed a hand on his Captain's shoulder, though, he spotted the source of the blood. His eyes watered and he shakily said, "No..."
Jim turned around and looked at McCoy, silently pleading for him to do something. All the doctor could do was shake his head. It was too late.
Jim was numb. He couldn't move. He was vaguely aware of someone taking Pasha's corpse from his possession, and someone spoke to him, telling him something about returning to a ship. Jim felt someone lift him up by the armpits and basically drag him somewhere, no idea where to. Jim truly felt as if this was the end of everything.
Back on the Enterprise, Pavel's death was logged and announced to the remainder of the crew, along with the other casualties.
Spock was named Acting Captain, under the circumstances. Nobody had opposed, seeing that Jim Kirk was indeed in no shape to be the head of the Enterprise.
Every day of the long trip back to Earth, Jim's friends had come by sickbay to see him, talk to him, offer their condolences. He didn't respond. He was thoroughly broken. Doctor McCoy had to force feed him, just to keep the man alive. He had lost the will to live.
Left alone to their thoughts, most men would go mad. Jim was definitely already at least halfway there. Thinking back on the way Pavel had lived, Kirk decided that he couldn't just give up. Pasha sure hadn't. He began eating more. Talking more. Smiling more. He was sure that he would never be the same again, but he would continue living. If not for himself, for Pasha.