Fic: Two Summers, 1-2
They never had a last moment. Or last words. It was just a matter of find Spock dead. Jim didn’t even get to see him die. He didn’t feel it through their bond either. Bones told him later that death was instantaneous. Jim wanted to retort that of course death was instantaneous, Spock’s brains were splattered on the ground. But all he could do was nod and stare at the dark green blood and brain oozing into his hand as he cradled Spock to his body.
They notified Sarek. Jim contacted Ambassador Selek. He doesn’t really remember what was said. He remembers an irrational surge of anger towards the other Spock, that he’s still living while his Spock is not. And the thought that it must be really weird to have to bury a younger version of yourself. With Sarek, he watches as the man’s world seems to fall apart. Lost a wife, a planet, a child. There’s nothing more the galaxy can take from him.
Jim recalls that there were some vague feelings of pride that he didn’t lose it in front of the crew. While Nyota Sulu Chekov Christine Scotty Bones all cried at one point or another, got roaringly drunk at multiple points, babbled incoherently about what they missed about Spock, Jim never did. He was the one comforting them, more often than not, talking about how Spock would want this or Spock thought that or fond memories Spock had of some moment. He and Spock had shared a bond, after all. It left some residual traces in Jim’s mind. Jim didn’t pretend that his words would heal the wounds in the crew, but he hoped that it would ease the passing a little.
He kept it together through the funeral arrangements, through the three services-one for the crew of the Enterprise, one held by Starfleet, the last one done planetside on Vulcan II-he gave different eulogies at each one, emphasizing a different aspect of Spock’s life. No tears, only heavy words like a wet wool coat. He was a little surprised by his own reaction to all this, but didn’t think much else of it.
Starfleet gave them a brief period for rest. He didn’t expect it, given that they are a military institution. But Jim took what he could get. Starfleet had to approve his promotions-he chose Uhura for First Officer, bumped Sulu up to lieutenant commander-anyway. He visited with the crew, talked to them, put in requests for additional psychological services, got really close to the Medical Department in the process. He monitored the psych evals critically until levels indicated that the worst of the grief was over. For most. Then he submitted all the paperwork, waited for Starfleet to give them the go ahead, and they were off in space again. Things proceeded normally. He ignored the looks that Bones gave him, the glances of Nyota and Sulu, Chekov’s hovering, Christine’s frown, Scotty taking him aside to have a Scottish heart to heart, of all things. He was fine.
Then, Jim’s heart gave out.
From there, things fell apart. The center could not hold. (Mere anarchy was loosed upon his world.)
His heart felt like it was breaking.
There’s nothing to describe the pain he felt, like someone implanted a bomb inside him and detonated it. Reflexively, he put his hand to the ache and for the life of him could not breathe. It was like the beat was fluttering and choking at the same time, the organ weak and clawing to keep the blood flowing. When Jim finally gasped for some air, the pain bloomed and spiked through him until there was nothing he could do but cry helplessly.
It happened on the bridge. The crew freaked out, understandably. A few thought he was having a heart attack. They were about to hook up the defibrillators when Bones burst through with his tricorder and stopped them.
“Takotsubo cardiomyopathy,” he pronounced. “Broken heart syndrome.”
Jim really wanted to laugh, but it ended up as more of a gagging sound.
After the diagnosis and the cure, Bones tried to talk him into discussing things, spewing random crap about how his emotions were manifesting themselves in his body since he wasn’t dealing with them and blah blah blah. He stopped listening.
“Jim, are you listening to me?”
“No.”
Sometimes he dreamed. Nightmares, fantasies, those weird dreams that feel completely real. Sometimes he’s wake up with his pillow drenched, other times the sheets. Then there were those terrifying episodes when he felt like his heart stopped or was racing and it was like his lungs were cut off from the rest of his body and he was going to black out any minute now. Any minute now and Spock would be there holding him and telling him not to be afraid because he’d always be there. He couldn’t remember anymore if those words were real or part of his dreams.
“Spock,” he called out and there would be a reply, Spock would be there with raised eyebrow and warm body and he’d answer like he always had.
Instead.
Silence.
And it didn’t make sense but it felt like a betrayal, like being stabbed in his heart through his back. He was supposed to be the one that died, he was supposed to be the one to go first, he was supposed to risk his life and leave Spock with this heartrending grief. Spock was supposed to be the one left alone, that’s always how it worked in his mind. It’s a selfish feeling and totally irrational but Spock betrayed him when he died without a warning, without a goodbye. They made promises never to leave each other and that Vulcan bastard broke his promise and in breaking his promise broke Jim.
He’s supposed to be the one that died because he knew this would happen, that in some way or another he wouldn’t survive Spock’s death. Spock’s always been the stronger one. His alternate self is still alive, isn’t he? Alive and active, despite the years and the experience and the grief Jim felt when they melded in the cave. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, damnit and Spock betrayed everything they had by dying.
And now?
There’s nothing left of him and their love but a heart broken in fifteen ways and the endless grey of Jim’s existence.