Sorry, don't hate me. I know I'm a horrible person. Also this has been my first completed multi-chapter fic (yay!). I still don't own Star Trek.

Spock sat in his room, perfectly still and impassive to anyone watching. In his mind, he was drowning. He was thrashing in waves of agony that threatened to overtake his entire brain. A call from his communicator painstakingly pulled him back to his cold reality.

"Sulu to Spock," The voice hesitated. "The work crew is going to start cleanup on the enterprise wreckage, but um, well, Captain Kirk's room was mostly unharmed, and they told me that I should ask you if you wanted to go through his belongings." Sulu paused awkwardly. "I mean it's mostly just protocol, you don't have to come, it's fine, of course, if you don't want to."

There was a pause.

"Please tell them I will be there in twenty minutes. Spock out." He turned off the com before taking a shuddering breath and closing his eyes.

Ever since Jim's death, Spock had been an empty shell. Everyone knew he was mourning, but only Doctor Mccoy knew it went deeper than that. A deep bond had been shattered in his mind, and it was made worse by the fact that Spock had never said anything about his true feelings to Jim. Kirk had been oblivious and now it was too late to say anything. The knowledge that it would have never amounted to anything anyway was almost worse than the empty hole in his mind where Jim used to belong.

The cleanup crews stayed out of his way as he entered what was left of his captain's quarters. The crash had caused part of the wall to be destroyed, but most of the room was intact. The shelves held a variety of books, a few of Kirk's favorites and even some Spock remembered recommending. His gaze fell on a broken chess board, the sides burnt, and the pieces scattered across the floor. Spock stepped towards the closet. The doors were broken, but clothing still hung inside, mostly charred. He unhooked a uniform from its hanger and held it to his face. Spock breathed in the smoky smell of fire and ash, but he could just barely make out the sweet, caramel scent of Jim. His throat started to burn and eyes started stinging as he desperately tried to memorize it, taking in lungfuls of air through his nose.

The captain didn't have many personal items in his room and what was left was in disrepair. Spock felt and uncontrollable surge of panic and knew he needed to get out of there as soon as possible. He carefully replaced the uniform and was walking out, when his foot dislodged something from underneath the bed.

A thick storage box had been jammed between the floor and the mattress, hidden from view. Spock knelt down and pulled it out completely, his hands working blindly while his brain whirred. He pried off the burnt lid of the box and stared at its contents. Inside was an envelope, with his name scrawled upon it. He pulled it out and opened it with trembling fingers.

Dear Spock,

This isn't something I would normally do. You know I'm not the romantic type, and right now you're probably thinking this might be the first letter I've written my entire life. You'd be correct (surprise surprise). Why write a letter when I can just send a message instantly? (You're probably thinking that right now as well. It scares me how well we know each other.) Well, anyone can hack into messages, but a letter is sturdy. The flimsy paper can't be copied unless someone broke into my room and scanned it. So now you've found the reason why I keep changing the security protocols in my room. That also means if you're reading this either you've done some very un-Vulcan snooping and hacking or the mainframe security of the Enterprise has been destroyed and you've been granted access to the wreckage. If the latter is true and I'm not there with you in my quarters, it's likely something has happened to me. I mean, it was likely to happen soon anyway. I take too many risks, I don't plan far enough ahead, and I don't back down when it's logical, so you've told me. If thats the case, then here's where I say what I honestly should have told you years ago.

I have been doing some research on Vulcan bonds and how they worked. I always thought love was just two people that liked each other a little too much, but on Vulcan it's very different. It's a deep connection of minds, one person always understanding and feeling and reaching out for the other; the melding of their very souls. If I had known what was happening to me then I would have said something. You know I'm not very great with commitment or communication, for that matter. But all at once it was too late and I couldn't tell if it was love or lust or something far deeper. All I knew was that my illusions of what had been important were gone, and all that was left was you.

Spock, I love you.

What I feel is more than I've ever felt in my entire life. Maybe this isn't an actual bond, maybe I'm just crazy and you're reading this with one of those damn eyebrows arched in incredulity. But I can feel my mind pulling me toward you when you're not next to me and it hurts when you're not around and some of the corniest words I've ever written are becoming the most honest I've things I've said in my entire life. Wherever you are now, for whatever reason you're reading this, know that I love you. From your stupid brown eyes, to your immeasurable intelligence, and your constant question of my so called authority. You are as much of the captain of this ship as I am. Without you, there would be no James T. Kirk. You made me who I am and I owe you everything.

Ever yours,

Jim

Spock has been wrong.

Knowing what they could have had was far, far worse.