Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, added to alert list or just read anonymously. I can't tell you enough how much your praise, questions, and just taking the time to read my piece has meant to me. Honestly, it makes my week when I can post on Saturday and watch as you all enjoy my story :) You're all wonderful.

This chapter is probably the hardest one I've ever had to write, including my other story Price of Freedom. I cried, literally as I wrote this. It was so difficult to try to get into the scene and keep myself detached. I almost couldn't do it. I hope that I conveyed the emotion I felt through this chapter. And if I did, then word of warning: keep the tissues nearby.

Only three more chapters to go!

Chapter Seventeen: In Her Heart

"Better hurry."

It amazed her how two words; two inconspicuous, innocuous words could cause such a bodily response. Those two words bounced around her muddled brain, the dejectedness of Scotty's tone sharp and terrifying. Words that imparted urgency, but should not have produced that geyser of fear like Old Faithful firing in her soul. She knew what he meant, what was waiting for them in engineering. After all, Spock was seated in the command chair. Who else could have saved the ship?

Scotty said to hurry but everything plodded along in slow motion. The wide, panic-induced eyes catching Spock's, the turn to the doors, the push off the chair, the intake of air so sharp it stung her lungs. Her heart pummeled the inside of her chest as she tried to swallow the sand in her mouth, wanting to run as fast as possible and instead trudging through mud. Her feet wouldn't move no matter how hard she tried to lift them, sprinting a mile in water was easier than the short walk off the bridge.

"Better hurry."

They were safe. Marcus was defeated. Khan destroyed. Pike avenged. It was the end of the story, the happy ending after the victorious battle, the rainbow following the tornado. They had done what was required. They saved the Enterprise, Earth, the Federation. So why did none of that matter? Why did fear enslave them when joy should have been the product of their victory?

"Better hurry."

Time sped up to normal, urgency replacing insipidness. They ran. Spock and Charlie side by side ran as fast as their legs could carry them. The Vulcan pulled away, his strength and size greater than hers, and she puffed out an irate breath as she tried to catch up, willing her legs to pump faster, to pick up her knees and throw her feet further ahead. They spun around corners like two cars on a track, almost colliding with crews working to repair the damaged ship. Neither acknowledging the presence of the other, their focus on one destination, knowing they had to get to there before it was too late.

"Better hurry."

Spock hit the lift first, shoving his finger onto the button so hard and so fast she was surprised it didn't break. Even from the distance behind, Charlie saw his hand move back and forth as he impatiently signaled the machine to bring them below. She was only feet away when the door opened and Spock slipped in, turning as he began thumbing for the engineering deck. For one panicked second Charlie thought the doors would close on her and she'd have to wait, but at the last moment Spock jutted his hand out and prevented the doors from closing.

Her knees shook when she finally stumbled into the lift, her hand reaching out to brace against the walls as she blinked against the dazzling lights. She couldn't breathe. Why couldn't she breathe? Why was everything so hot and so bright? Charlie shook her head, the world around her a mass of chaos as she leaned over to catch her breath. Her vision spun, her throat was sandpaper, her legs unwilling to hold her up. Her fingers curled against the metal, finding the subtle vibrations as the car took them deeper into the bowls of the ship a solidifying movement. It placed her back in the moment, reminding her that her nightmare was real. The car shook harder as it descended, and it was as if the ship trembled with the fear for what waited below. That she knew what occurred in her core and cried with them.

"Better hurry."

Spock was tense next to her, far more than Charlie had ever seen him. She looked up and searched his eyes, his impatience for the doors to open mirroring her own. She saw them swirling and fearful, an unfamiliar prospect from the normally reticent Vulcan. She didn't know whether to reach out to comfort the man, or hold on to him for her own sanity. They both had the same unquenchable fear of what awaited them, yet also resigned to that fate.

"Better hurry."

The descent of the car was the longest ride she could remember from a turbolift, but it was blessing in disguise. Charlie didn't want the doors to open. She didn't want to face what was on the other side. She just wanted a few more minutes believing they had won, that they had made it, that everything was going back to the way it was. She needed to believe that. Since blinking her eyes open to a two-moon world her life had been an uphill battle, and she was tired from pushing the stone up only to have it roll back down again.

She should have seen it coming. She had felt it in her very being that something wasn't right and should have remembered the sacrifices that were made in the past and future. But the battle between starships, and her overwhelming desire to see the man at the center of her chaos destroyed caused Charlie to forget the core lesson of her principles. She may have said the words of her family, but her heart focused on her own selfish wants instead of the needs of the ship. Now, she might have to pay the price for that weakness. A price that could crush her.

"Better hurry."

The doors opened. Engineering appeared normal. The lights were as bright as on the bridge, the echoing red alerts unchanged. There were no outward scenes of damage or bodies lying around. There was no blood, or burning, or cascading fall of coolant. Engineering was safe because of one person.

"Better hurry."

Spock sprinted out the minute the doors widened, not wasting one moment for hesitation. Charlie took a breath, preparing herself for whatever they found then followed the wide, hurried steps of the taller male. They ran past the large coolant tanks, the abandoned engineering stations, the tool port. They ran around the warp core, slowing to a walk when they saw Scotty standing in front of them, his head lowered and his shoulders sagging.

Both Spock and Charlie pulled in great gasps of air as they stopped in front of the engineer. The deep concern wrinkled on his face as his lips turned down and the pain behind his eyes aged Scotty by ten years. He looked lost and broken, and although his brow lowered over his eyes when he saw Spock, tears clouded his vision when his attention moved to Charlie. Scotty's lips pursed together as he shook his head, the very movement as detached when he voice summoned them.

Spock immediately glanced towards the center of the core, his gaze the most intense as he scrutinized the apparatus. Scotty kept his head tilted away, as if unwilling to even acknowledging what happened. He blinked away his tears, and reached out to place a comforting hand on Charlie's arm as she slowly turned to Spock who had rushed to the door, the door that was their saving grace and the bane of their joy. It was tucked away, so inconspicuous that unless you were looking for it, one could walk right past. If Spock and Scotty hadn't been there, Charlie very well could have kept running and never found him.

"Open it."

Spock's panicked command was thunderous after their journey of absolute silence. They hadn't said a word, hadn't needed to because both Spock and Charlie were feeling the same thing at the same level of intensity. It was a feeling both had had before; they were familiar with the beating heart, the shaking knees, and the sweaty palms. They both knew how it felt when the cloudy haze of instinct takes over, followed by the shinning clarity of run or fight. But there was no running from what awaited them on the other side of the door, and no fighting the unseen killer that was stripping them of hope.

"The decontamination process is not complete," Scotty explained. Both his fear for the ship and helplessness of the situation made his words sharp and callous. "You'd flood the whole compartment. The door's locked, sir." There's no hope.

He didn't say it, but Charlie heard it clear as day. She glared at Scotty as she brushed past him, her steps measured as she drew closer to the clear door and the man lying slumped behind it. Her eyes widened, her brain locking up and unwilling to process the scene in front of her eyes. She felt like she was dreaming that her world was spinning around her but if she became too scared, she could wake up. As her heart continued to thud against her ribcage, she knew there was no waking up from this nightmare.

Spock kneeled down, bracing his arms on either side of the airlock as Jim reached to close off the compartment from the main core chamber. The captain was panting as if he just ran three marathons, his chest filling up with giant gasps of toxic air. His face was covered in a sickly sweat, and there was lethargy behind his movements, his eyes closed as his arm collapsed next to him.

Jim's cerulean eyes blinked opened, shock briefly flickered when he saw Spock next to him, but understanding replaced the surprise.

"How's our ship?" Jim gasped as he struggled to keep his eyes open and his brain conscious.

"Out of danger," Spock reassured, his voice filled with a despondency Charlie had never heard. Although she stood in her own grief watching as the man she loved wilted away from radiation poisoning, Spock's emotions were tangible. The stoic alien was a withering mess of nerves that radiated their own toxin, feeding the growing anguish as Charlie watched as Jim lay dying.

"Good." The captain nodded, sinking back

"You save the crew." It was astonishment, not because Spock didn't believe that Jim wouldn't do it, but more of his own approval by the captain's actions.

"You used what he wanted against him," Jim fired back, his pride lending strength as a smile stretched across his face. "That's a nice move."

Spock swallowed. "It is what you would have done."

"And this . . . this is what you would have done. It was only logical." Jim coughed, his voice beginning to sound horse with fear and pain. "Where's Charlie?"

"Here," she choked, tears falling down her cheeks as she collapsed next to Spock, the Vulcan scooting down so that Charlie was next to her boyfriend. She took in his weakened form, the tinge of his skin and his bloodshot eyes. She tried to swallow back her cries, wanting to be strong for him but his debilitated state tore through her. "I'm right here," she reassured.

"You were right," he choked. "About Khan. I shouldn't have trusted him."

"I didn't want to be," she whispered. "I wanted to be wrong."

"I should have listened to you."

"No," she shook her head. "No. We would all be dead if you had listened to me."

He tried to smile, the small movement of his lips moving caused him to flinch in pain. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Her voice caught, and she had to swallow to clear her throat. "None of this is your fault. You saved this ship and your crew. You saved us; you saved me. You're a hero, Jim. My hero, you always will be."

"I'm sorry, I—" he choked again, the words becoming harder as he was overcome with his own emotion. "I never wanted this for – for you. I wanted to do better than my dad. I wanted to be . . . be there for you. Forever. I love you."

The tears fell. She couldn't stop them as they poured down her cheeks. Tilting her head, her hand reached up and laid again the glass near Jim's leaning head, and she could almost imagine stroking his hair to comfort him. "You'll always be with me. Don't you remember? No matter where we go, I will always find you. Our love, it's stronger than anything." He smiled, a thin brightness coming into his sapphire eyes before they dimmed.

"You have to be strong, Charlie," he gasped. "You have to be as strong as . . . as that woman who took on five Klingons, who put me in my place from a hospital bed. You survived Sagan, you'll survive this."

"You helped," she tried as she rubbed a hand under her running nose, sniffling.

"Maybe a little," he shrugged. "You're strong and it's now up to you. Protect . . . them for me. I did this for them, for you. Keep them safe."

Charlie nodded, sniffling as the tears continued, turning away to stop Jim seeing the amount of pain she was in, how her heart was shredding itself in her chest.

"Take care of her," she heard him order, the command a knife in her gut as she glanced at Spock.

"You have my word," the Vulcan answered, his voice hollow as he caught her eye.

"I'm scared, Spock," Jim admitted, their attention turned on the dying man on the other side of the safety glass who was trying not to cry himself. They were so close; they could almost touch him yet were denied that privilege by a quarter inch piece of translucent aluminum. Jim's faded eyes pleaded as he said "Help me not be. How do you choose not to feel?"

Spock paused with tears clouding his eyes and his slanted brows drawn together, his emotion no longer controlled as he muttered, "I do not know. Right now, I am failing."

Jim knew. He flickered his eyes to Charlie who nodded, confirming what she always felt between the captain and his first officer. Of the brotherly love they had for each other. "I want you to know why I couldn't let you die," he turned back to Spock, "why I went back for you."

"Because you are my friend." One drop of pain fell, then another, the image of wetness on the Vulcan's cheeks startling.

Jim tried to answer as his breathing increased, his eyes dimming as he struggled to stay conscious. His hand slammed against the glass, his palm searching as Spock raised his own palm, his fingers spread in a V; the Vulcan salute. He pressed to the glass, Charlie laying her own on top of the Vulcan. They shared a knowing glance, the solidarity between the human woman and the first officer affirmed for the first time as they acknowledged the battle they were about to face together. One neither could stop no matter how much they wanted to.

Jim's fingers shifted into the V himself, his chin trembling as he shifted his eyes to theirs. He coughed as he smiled, peace replacing his fear until his face relaxed, his eyes settling to straight ahead as he no longer stared at the two people in from of him. His hand slipped off as the light left his face, like a burnt out light bulb where only the bright, shadowy spot remained in its place. Jim Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise and loved more deeply by a half human-half Vulcan hybrid and a woman outside her own time was dead.

Spock glanced down, his breathing rapid as he tried to control himself. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale; the Vulcan's rate increasing with each second, the anger and pain palatable as oxygen was replaced by carbon dioxide. Until with one loud, drawn out scream Spock released the agony in their hearts.

"Khhhaaaaaan!"

Spock jumped up and ran past Charlie, past Scotty and Uhura, and away from the warp core. Once the reality of what was in front of her hit, Charlie echoed the Vulcan, rising on her knees as she hands splayed out on the panel, slapping against it with all her might as she clawed to get through it.

"No," she gasped. "No, no, God no! Jim! Please, please! No, Jim don't leave. Don't leave me! Please, don't go somewhere I can't follow. I can't go with you where you are!" She paused, staring at the lifeless man on the other side of the glass. "You promised me, goddammit!" Charlie yelled as she slammed her fist against the panel. "You promised you would always be there for me, and I'm sorry, I'm not going to let you off that easily. It's just you and me, remember? You and me to the bitter end. I gave up everything: my world, my time, my universe, all of it for you. I stayed for you, for us because I believed in us. You can't leave me, Jim, you can't. You have to stay for me, for this ship. What are we going to do without you? What will I do? Please Jim, please. Don't leave me. I love you. I love you so much. Don't go. Don't go, don't go, don't go!"

She collapsed against the glass, her hand above her head as the wails poured from her very soul. She screamed as she cried, great howls tearing from her throat and slicing her open. She started coughing, the pain from the screams nothing to the great rift in her chest. That pain was unbearable, unimaginable. Her whole body shook by its force and it felt as if her very soul had been shattered. Like a black hole, she was collapsing in on herself.

She didn't notice as Uhura kneeled next to her, pulling her away from the glass and into her chest, holding Charlie as she cried. She didn't notice as McCoy replaced Uhura who chased after Spock. She didn't notice when the doctor pulled her up, dragging her away from the glass once the decontamination sequence was complete and his doctors dressed in white hazard suits could finally get to their captain. All she knew was anguish, a pain so deep her atoms quivered.

"Charlie, Charlie c'mon," McCoy urged. She blinked blearily at him, noticing his presence for the first time.

"He's . . . he's."

"I know," McCoy said, pulling her into his thick chest as the tears erupted again. The blue mesh of his uniform was soft against her cheek, and his pounding heart reminded her that she would never feel the same from Jim. She gasped, shoving the doctor away as her trembling hands reached up to cover her face, her long fingers splayed out. She tried to hold it in, to force the emotion back but it was tsunami against a wooden wall.

McCoy stumbled back, surprised by the voracity of her movement. Running a hand through his hair, McCoy approached Charlie with far more caution, his hand reaching out as he coaxed, "Let's get you to sickbay, Spitfire."

Her hands dropped, her bloodshot, tear-stained hollowed eyes staring at nothing. She knew McCoy was in front of her, knew she shoved him for no reason, but she was losing control of herself. She glanced toward the entrance to the warp core, swallowing as the stretcher with Jim's body was pulled out and placed on a gurney. With a small nod, McCoy wrapped his arm around her shoulders, holding her up as he pulled her along the path she had run twenty minutes before when the universe was still how it was supposed to be.

Before she knew it, McCoy was sitting her down on a bed in sickbay, his concerned eyes not leaving hers as he checked her over, running a flashlight back and forth between her eyes then lightly pressing against her neck for a pulse.

"I'm going to give you a light sedative," he said, pulling out a hypospray.

Faster than anyone could believe, her hand snapped out and she clutched his wrist in a strong grip. "No."

"Charlie, with what happened I don't think –"

"No," she ordered again, her eyes snapping to his from where they rested on the floor. McCoy sucked in his breath, the intensity of her gaze unnerving. "I'm not going to take drugs. Any drugs. I'm not about to be doped up because you don't think I can handle this. Jim told me to be strong, and that's what I'm going to be."

She was tired of crying. She was raw and exhausted, and she knew every second was going to be a struggle to keep her head above water; she didn't need a foreign substance pulling her under. She straightened her spine, Jim's last words clearing a way through her fogged mind, reminding her that her love for him was stronger than her grief. She would do what he asked, protect and serve the Enterprise to the best of her abilities, even if it killed her.

The doors to sickbay opened, the doctors in hazmat suits rolling in the captain with Scotty and other crewmembers following behind. The activity froze as all the crew in sickbay took stock of the body bag and the captain lying in it. McCoy signed, his shoulders falling as he stared at the dark mass knowing what he had to do next and regretting every second of it. Charlie's attention moved between the doctor and the gurney, her lips pursed.

Hopping off the bed, a path was cleared as she walked into the bright light that shined down. It was now or never. She needed to face the truth that laid in front of her. Her hand reached out, running alone the smooth, dark plastic before she grasped the zipper and slid it down the length of teeth. She flipped the cover over, revealing the serene head of the captain. All the lines of worry around his closed eyes and mouth were gone, the sickly pallor replaced by the pale death mask. Choking back the bile in her throat, Charlie reached out and laid her hand on the side of Jim's face, his skin cold under her fingertips. She bit her lip as tears rose again, bending down to lay a gentle kiss on his blue lips. As she stood, McCoy reached up and squeezed her shoulder in support, a silent affirmation that although they were grieving in their own way, they were in it together.

Carol came forward, her blonde bob framing a face that echoed the confusion by those in the room. Charlie knew exactly what was going through their heads. How could Captain Kirk, the man who defined all the odds, who was born for greatness be dead before his thirtieth birthday? The same idea poured through hers. Why?

Charlie turned away, letting the others pay their respects as she wandered to the doctor's desk and the man sitting next to it. The dead tribble was still lying on the top of the table, the remnants of Khan's blood and McCoy's experiment forgotten by the events of the last hour. It seemed insignificant now. A grain of sand on a beach that had just been pounded by a hurricane. Who cared how the augment's blood worked or how it was able to regenerate at the rate it did. Jim was gone and there was no bringing him back. Hope turned to sawdust in her mouth.

But then the tribble cooed.