Written for a friend, surrenderdammit on dA and reflecting on ff. The pairing is SpockKirk.

Disclaimer: I do not own 'Star Trek' or its characters, just the story/plot.

Haze

The mission had gone smoothly up until about 1.8 minutes before they would be prepared to beam up, Spock mused. The attack had been completely unexpected and unforeseeable: an ambush.

Data had not shown that the people of that particular planet were capable of even small acts of violence, let alone of gathering a group to jump the unsuspecting men. The landing party had consisted of only three men: Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, and Ensign Chekov; that's how confident they were that the job would pass by without incident.

And now Spock found himself seated in Sickbay beside the bed that the captain occupied. Jim's breathing was shallow and difficult; he made pained wheezing sounds with each inhale. The gash in the side of his head was considerably large, but thankfully was no more than a few millimeters deep. Spock's eyes kept darting from the monitor just above the bed, to the man, and back.

Despite the shock of the attack and of seeing the condition his dear friend - his dear t'hy'la - was in, Spock thought that what haunted him the most was when Doctor McCoy had informed him that "His goddamned heart stopped. It... It stopped. He was fucking dead."

For a whole 3.2 minutes, James T. Kirk was officially dead.

That was a reality the Vulcan had hoped to face much later in life, when Jim was an old man. Right now he was far too young, far too healthy and vibrant and full of life. He wasn't supposed to be able to die. Not yet.

As he stared down at the unresponsive blonde, Spock tried his best to piece together his hazy memory. He knew that it had taken him several precious seconds to render the enemy unconscious. By then Jim was on the ground, bleeding and nearly unconscious. He remembered Chekov pulling out his communicator as he shouted in Russian, then in Standard demanded that Scotty beam them up right away. The younger man's tone must have conveyed what had taken place, for when they appeared in the transporter room, McCoy and a good chunk of his medical staff was waiting.

That's where things started to get hazy. Spock knew that he had insisted on carrying Jim to Sickbay and, bless his grumpy old heart, McCoy had let him without argument. The next thing he could remember was several of the crew members having to pull him out of the medical room so they could work on Jim.

Before the doors 'swooshed' shut, Spock had caught one final glimpse of Jim's pained expression. He felt his heart break.

He had sunk down into a chair, leaning over and clutching his head in his hands. Jim was reaching out to him and he wasn't able to be there.

"Spock, please... I-I can't feel your hand. Where's your warm hand? I'm so cold... Please!"

"Jim, you must calm yourself. I... I cannot risk getting in Doctor McCoy's way. I pray you understand."

"They're panicking, I think. Am I going to die, Spock?"

"Do not think like that, Jim. I will not tolerate it."

The chuckle that reached his mind was so weak, so tired. It couldn't have been Jim's chuckle.

Spock jumped slightly when he felt somebody's hand on his shoulder. He looked up and found himself staring into bright blue eyes.

"Spock... you need to get some sleep." McCoy said gently, the worry on his face making him look so much older.

"I will be fine, Doctor. Vulcans do not require the same amount of rest that humans do."

"Yeah? Well, you're half-Vulcan, half-Human, so don't gimme that bullshit. Just humor me and at least lay down in the bed next to him."

"... Very well, Doctor." Spock crawled into the bed.

In spite of himself, he soon dozed off.

-...-

When Jim came to, he didn't have the slightest idea as to how much time had passed. He wasn't even sure he knew what had happened. All he knew for sure was that his head hurt.

"... Spock?"

No response. Perhaps he hadn't said it loud enough.

"Spock!" And shit, there was the pain in his chest.

"Jim." A warm hand suddenly engulfed the captain's.

A small smile graced his face. "Hey."

"Greetings, Captain. ... How do you fair?"

"Definitely been better." Jim risked opening his eyes. It took him a minute to focus.

Spock stared down into those beautiful hazel eyes, hit by the sudden thought that he might have never been able to see them ever again. He laid his head down on the hand he was grasping and took in a deep breath. He couldn't allow himself to lose face, no matter what.

"Spock..." Jim's voice was soft and full of understanding. "I won't tell if you won't."

A few drops wet the back of Jim's hand.

"T'hy'la."

"I love you, too, Spock."

-...-

I wrote this for a darling friend, yet I found that it helped me a bit as well. I hope it helps her, too.

It may seem a bit jumbled, but believe me, if you have suffered the loss of or come close to losing someone close, that is exactly how things seem to happen. I just wanted to convey that.

NOTE: It has been brought to my attention that a few things about this story can be/has made it confusing, so I would like to take a moment to clarify. The reason I called Kirk's hair "blonde" is because, to me, it seems more like a dirty blonde than a light brown, so I took liberties with it. If I am in fact wrong, please inform me so that I will not make the same mistake twice. I also realize that the characters using cuss words could be seen as non-canon. For me, I took liberties with that because I assume that the only reason it is non-canon is because it was a television show in the 1960s.