Hola amigos! Here's chappie four! How many times do I have to tell you? I don't own them!
.~*Four*~.
I shall do Neither, for I have killed my captain… and my friend.
Spock sighed, in an uncharacteristic release of pent up tension. He had no reason to be tense, it was illogical to be tense, yet here he was; tense. He also appeared to have misplaced his control, or broken it. The smile from the afternoon remained printed in his retina.
It was difficult to accept that Jim had died, and even more so to accept that he was yet alive. It was amazing how the mind could refuse to accept what it could not believe to be true, despite evidence being presented.
Jim's body had been warm, which Spock had attributed to the still warm blood coursing through his veins as his heart didn't stop. One brush, and he could not bear it any longer. The brush had not allowed him a sense of Jim's mind, and consciousness or lack-there-of. He could not bear to think of the mind, once so lithe and luminous, dead and never to think again.
He had quaked to think of never seeing Jim's radiant smile, again.
He knew that under normal circumstances Jim would outlive him. It was logical, and it would happen. In that case he would compose Jim's v'hak and follow him to the Realm of Reah without a second thought. It was where he belonged. It would be his place by Jim's side, through time, history and infinity. He was most certainly not being maudlin; it was honest truth.
Jim had stood there, on the scorching planes and fought him, thinking that they would both live. T'Pring had tricked Jim, betrayed the trust which Spock had bestowed upon every remaining member of his race. For the first time in his life he found himself regretting that T'Pring had survived what had come to be known as the Narada Incident.
Jim had sacrificed everything for him; for Spock. What had Spock done to deserve it?
Even through the cloud in his mind, the adrenaline and erratic thrum of his heart and the burning sun which he was no longer accustomed to, he saw this man, his friend standing in front of him. He knew of the danger and pulled out of himself, loyal to a higher cause than biology, to warn him. To beg that Jim leave, on behalf of his own cowardice. But it was not to be.
The sun shone off Jim's hair, the colour of the sun stars, and kin-tukh, a colour he had never quite seen before he met Jim. It reflected off his comparatively fair skin, to Spock's sensitive eyes bathing Jim in gold dust from the stars. The very idea that this was what Jim would sacrifice for him—but the blood-fever was too strong.
He would have blood, and Jim stood in his way, the prince that he was.
Spock had never met anyone so Golden, someone so obviously vaksurik. People who did not speak the language never realised, but it was not a word applied casually. Vaksurik was not applied to non-Vulcans, and even amongst them it was rare. But Jim was. He was truly vaksurik. Truly beautiful.
He sat there and watched the man slumber, grateful for every time his chest moved. Thankful that his Golden man lived yet.
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Yeah, rambling. I know. Well, sorry. I couldn't help it. I had a point but couldn't get to it, so I beat around the bush until I figured out a way to beat the damn bush itself. Either way, I hope it's good!
V'hak--a poem or a song for the dead, traditionally composed by the man closest to the deceased
Vaksurik--having qualities that delight the senses, esp. the sense of sight
kin-tukh--gold as an element
Also I realised I never acknowledged help from the Vulcan Language Dictionary. So, THANK YOU!
REVIEW!!!
For the world is hollow and I have touched the sky
Love,
Lady Merlin