This is fic number 4 for me in this fandom! Disclaimer: I own nothing. Thanks everyone!
Spock stood quietly over the sleeping man, surveying him with a careful eye. The white hair was thin and whispy, the face lined and wrinkled with age, but when the eyes finally opened there was no mistaking that sharp, icy blue.
"Spock?", the old man on the bed grunted, feebly.
"I'm here, Captain." Spock replied, looking down at his old friend.
Kirk shook his head, the lines around his eyes crinkling deeper as he managed a feeble smile. "When am I ever going to get you to call me Jim?"
Spock pulled a stiff backed wooden chair closer and sat down facing the Captain. Though it had been years since they had served on the Enterprise together, he still felt duty bound to address Jim Kirk as 'Captain'. Over their years together, it had become a habit, and, to Spock, the title spoke of respect, loyalty, and affection.
Kirk chose to interrupt Spock's reverie with a weak, wet cough. The cough was followed by another, and soon the man's body was being wracked by a coughing fit. The cough's seemed to shake him, and his lips turned a worrying shade of blue. Spock reached quickly for a towel that rested on the bedside table. He carefully gripped Jim's shoulder with one hand, and with another hand wiped his mouth with the towel, ignoring the bloody sputum he was wiping away. The fit finally stopped, and Kirk lay back on the bed, his eyes closed. He drew in shallow rattling breaths, looking weak and exhausted.
In all their years serving on the Enterprise, Spock had expected the Captain to die in midst of some illogical, but oddly heroic act. He had been nearly certain at times, that the Captain would die in such a way, with all the times he had come back from away missions bloody and damaged. He had never expected to be in this situation now. Kirk was now 100 years old, an age considered quite an accomplishment for a human. He was dying now, though. The headstrong, stubborn Captain was not going out in a 'blaze of glory', he was slowly succumbing to lung cancer. Kirk, despite his perchance for insane, illogical, and life-threatening actions had outlived nearly every member of his crew. Nearly every member. Spock, of course, was half Vulcan, and thus had a much longer natural life span than a human.
Spock set the towel down, trading the blood spattered one for a clean one that he proceeded to wet in a small water basin that was resting on the bedside table. He carefully sponged Kirk's face. Kirk sighed a little, leaning into the gentle touch. Spock put the wet cloth back in the basin and returned to his sitting position. He knew it would not be long now. Kirk's time was coming, his life was ending, and it would happen soon.
Spock suddenly, and most illogically found himself wishing for Doctor McCoy. The gruff southern man's kind bedside manner would probably be more fitting for the moment than Spock's own austere, stiff calm. Unfortunately the Doctor had passed some years before. Kirk had been there, by his best friend's side until the very end. And Spock had been there too, when Kirk had called after McCoy had passed and had (most illogically) requested that Spock travel from his current residence on Vulcan II and play a game of chess. Even years after their service together, Spock's loyalty had drawn him to Kirk, and he had stayed with his old friend for two months while he grieved.
Spock wondered, as he listened to his friend's rattling breaths, if he would grieve for Kirk as Kirk had done for McCoy. Would he shed tears? Would he listen to old voice recordings or find himself illogically addressing the air around him as 'Captain'? He wasn't sure.
A rattling gasp brought him abruptly back to the present again. Kirk's lined face was filled with pain, and though his eyes were closed, Spock knew he was not asleep. He was waiting, waiting for the final breath, the final peaceful sleep he deserved at the end of his long life. They were both waiting.
And in that moment, Spock knew he could not let it end like this. He had to show the Captain how much he truly meant to him. The rush of emotion was unsettling, but Spock allowed it to fill him, remembering his own advice: Do what feels right.
He leaned forward, reaching and carefully clasping one of Kirk's hands in both of his own. Kirk's eyes flew open and he turned his head, staring at Spock in shock. "Captian," Spock began in a low voice. He shook his head. "Jim." He said firmly. It felt right. He looked into the blue eyes that were now gazing at him steadily, prompting him to continue. "I want to express my gratitude. Your friendship has made me who I am. You have been a wonderful and memorable part of my life. I believe you should know this. I also wish you to know that I have been proud to serve with you. I have been proud to be your friend. And I have been proud of you Jim, and of all that you have accomplished."
Spock felt Kirk's hand weakly squeeze his own. Spock released his breath in a slow sigh, shut his eyes, and bowed his head. The rush of emotion and subsequent release left him feeling slightly disoriented. However, he felt oddly…relieved, as if a weight he had no idea he had been carrying had been suddenly lifted.
"Spock," Kirk weakly croaked. Spock raised his eyes quickly, meeting Kirk's gaze. Kirk smiled wryly, and squeezed Spock's hand again. "Love you too, Spock."
Spock felt his lips quirk at this most characteristic response. Short, succinct, and lacking formality. That was the Jim Kirk he was familiar with, the man he had known all these long years.
Jim gasped again and shuddered, and Spock knew with a sudden finality, that they were down to the final moments. Suddenly, Kirks whole body seemed to relax and he smiled slowly. He seemed to be staring at the ceiling above them. "Bones…" He sighed. Then he was still.
Spock waited. There was no more movement, no more rattling breaths. James T. Kirk was gone. Spock carefully placed Kirk's hand back on the bed, adjusting the sheets so they covered him up to his chin and smoothing them carefully. He could feel the grief and loss welling up in him, burning in his chest. He made his way slowly to the door, placing his hand on the handle. He paused just before he turned to leave, giving in to his illogical desire for just one more look, one more glance at the Captain's face. He stared for a long moment. "Goodbye, Jim." he murmured quietly. And with that, he left, carrying the memory of his Captain, his friend with him.