Hush, Hush, Hush
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Kirk struggles to cope with Spock's death.
Words: ~400
Warnings: Suicidal thoughts
Notes: Written for the comment_fic prompt: When the will to live is greater than following your soulmate into death. Please heed the warning.
It's the night after Spock's funeral and Kirk can't sleep. Not that that's really surprising. Looking back, he doesn't think he's slept for more than a few hours since he boarded the Enterprise what feels like a lifetime ago.
Every time he closes his eyes he sees Spock's face, burnt and blinded, his hand pressed hard against the barrier that separates them. It still doesn't quite seem real, like this is all some horrible mistake and Spock's going to walk through the door at any moment. Their lives have been entwined for so long that it's hard to believe one bad decision could have separated them so completely. But even if he was inclined to self-deception, it would be difficult to ignore the constant wrenching pain of a broken bond that echoes through every cell in his body.
Sighing, he gets out of bed and pads into the bathroom. Perhaps some chemical assistance is in order.
It only takes him a few moments of searching to unearth the sleeping pills, and he wanders back into the bedroom and sits down at the desk to open them. The cap refuses to move the first time he pulls at it, and impatiently he tries again. Unfortunately, he overestimates the strength needed and the cap comes flying off, sending pills scattering across the desk. Kirk sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose in frustration.
Feeling suddenly very tired, he begins to gather the pills together, but something stops him. He picks up one of the capsules and weighs it in his hand, studying the sleeping pill covered desk with new eyes. It wouldn't take much, he thinks. A couple dozen pills, maybe some whiskey to wash it down, and he and Spock could be together again. The pain and grief and guilt that fills his every waking moment would finally be over.
It would be so easy.
He sits there for a long time, staring at the desk, then slowly gathers up all the pills, walks into the bathroom, and flushes them down the toilet. He never has been one for the easy route.
It doesn't make him feel better, but it does clear his mind somewhat. Like it or not, he has a duty. To the ship, to his friends, and even to Spock. Spock, who gave his life to save everyone on the ship, including Kirk. Spock, whose last words were a wish for Kirk to live long and prosper.
He still doesn't know how he's going to live without Spock, but it would be an insult to his memory not to try.
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Kirk struggles to cope with Spock's death.
Words: ~400
Warnings: Suicidal thoughts
Notes: Written for the comment_fic prompt: When the will to live is greater than following your soulmate into death. Please heed the warning.
It's the night after Spock's funeral and Kirk can't sleep. Not that that's really surprising. Looking back, he doesn't think he's slept for more than a few hours since he boarded the Enterprise what feels like a lifetime ago.
Every time he closes his eyes he sees Spock's face, burnt and blinded, his hand pressed hard against the barrier that separates them. It still doesn't quite seem real, like this is all some horrible mistake and Spock's going to walk through the door at any moment. Their lives have been entwined for so long that it's hard to believe one bad decision could have separated them so completely. But even if he was inclined to self-deception, it would be difficult to ignore the constant wrenching pain of a broken bond that echoes through every cell in his body.
Sighing, he gets out of bed and pads into the bathroom. Perhaps some chemical assistance is in order.
It only takes him a few moments of searching to unearth the sleeping pills, and he wanders back into the bedroom and sits down at the desk to open them. The cap refuses to move the first time he pulls at it, and impatiently he tries again. Unfortunately, he overestimates the strength needed and the cap comes flying off, sending pills scattering across the desk. Kirk sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose in frustration.
Feeling suddenly very tired, he begins to gather the pills together, but something stops him. He picks up one of the capsules and weighs it in his hand, studying the sleeping pill covered desk with new eyes. It wouldn't take much, he thinks. A couple dozen pills, maybe some whiskey to wash it down, and he and Spock could be together again. The pain and grief and guilt that fills his every waking moment would finally be over.
It would be so easy.
He sits there for a long time, staring at the desk, then slowly gathers up all the pills, walks into the bathroom, and flushes them down the toilet. He never has been one for the easy route.
It doesn't make him feel better, but it does clear his mind somewhat. Like it or not, he has a duty. To the ship, to his friends, and even to Spock. Spock, who gave his life to save everyone on the ship, including Kirk. Spock, whose last words were a wish for Kirk to live long and prosper.
He still doesn't know how he's going to live without Spock, but it would be an insult to his memory not to try.