[He's tempted to linger on the ship, afford Jim some measure of joy, even when things were quiet aboard, there was still something to do, some new place to explore or monitor. Something was happening.]
[Another day.]
[He follows the memory, forming a cohesive chain, watching himself and McCoy through Jim's eyes. That Spock is falling apart, chips and blocks, struck by a blunt instrument, his hands bloodied, a recollection of beating Khan surfaces, and Spock carefully places it together with what's playing. Jim deserves to see, even if it's shameful. Spock had wanted to be the one to avenge him, even if that seems so hollow, and so pathetic. Then, it had been real. That Spock, the one Jim is trying to be brave for, considered it real.]
[You are dead, says the Spock, in the memory. Yes, says the Spock, sitting in the chair in an empty apartment. He was dead, and it hurt. McCoy is soothing him. How strange, that he should understand the man in a moment of such terror and loneliness, rather than weeks of serving next to him. The image shifts, briefly, and they are looking at Jim from the other side of the glass. It is all shifting, blurry, they are crying and it hurts, everything hurts. A black hole has opened inside them and is swallowing the joy, the wonder, the newness of home, all of it is fading and slipping. I'm scared, Spock.]
[His hand slides away from the glass. In Jim's memory, his hand reaches for Spock's knee. Grey changes to blue, they are both in the forest, hunting for different people. But at least, there's both of them now.]
no subject
[Another day.]
[He follows the memory, forming a cohesive chain, watching himself and McCoy through Jim's eyes. That Spock is falling apart, chips and blocks, struck by a blunt instrument, his hands bloodied, a recollection of beating Khan surfaces, and Spock carefully places it together with what's playing. Jim deserves to see, even if it's shameful. Spock had wanted to be the one to avenge him, even if that seems so hollow, and so pathetic. Then, it had been real. That Spock, the one Jim is trying to be brave for, considered it real.]
[You are dead, says the Spock, in the memory. Yes, says the Spock, sitting in the chair in an empty apartment. He was dead, and it hurt. McCoy is soothing him. How strange, that he should understand the man in a moment of such terror and loneliness, rather than weeks of serving next to him. The image shifts, briefly, and they are looking at Jim from the other side of the glass. It is all shifting, blurry, they are crying and it hurts, everything hurts. A black hole has opened inside them and is swallowing the joy, the wonder, the newness of home, all of it is fading and slipping. I'm scared, Spock.]
[His hand slides away from the glass. In Jim's memory, his hand reaches for Spock's knee. Grey changes to blue, they are both in the forest, hunting for different people. But at least, there's both of them now.]