Spock looked around, breath slightly shaking. But that is to be expected at a time like this. Only moments ago himself and 215 other beings were inside the main government building on Mayus IV. And then the explosion took out the support beams for over half the building, and the solid cement like structure came crashing down.
He managed to make it out, Kirk just in front of him. They herded out 50 Mayusians, the 4ft cat like creatures able to keep up with them, and the ones who couldn't were carried. Emergency teams showed up immediately, but Kirk ran back into what was left of the unstable structure, Spock close behind. In the chaos and rubble and fires of the remains, he and Kirk were seperated. He calculated only a 26.2% chance that the rest of the building would collapse, and helpped gather the injured. He could not hear Kirk, and so he emerged from the rubble, 4 more Mayusians clinging to him. He looked around for his Capitan.
McCoy stood close by, tending a Mayusian with a torn ear and barking orders, but there was no Kirk. He reached for his communicator... That was when the rest of the bombs went off, and the rest of the structure collapsed.
Spock felt a sharp tearing at his senses, a scream ripped from him in the form of Jim's name. This can not be happening, his human side refuses to accept what was he's seeing and feeling, his Vulcan half having no other choice. All the crew look to him, never having seen such blatant emotionalism coming from him. But he has good reason.
His Capitan, his friend, his bondmate, his... T'hy'la, is dead.
Someone grips his wrist, but he pulls away, his emotions getting the best of him, and he runs for the rubble. As does ever other member of the Enterprise. Everyone they can spare.
The debris tear and burn and slice Spock's hands, but he could care less in this moment. He searches, and searches. It could be hours, it could be days, it could be minutes, but when he hears that yell from Chekov, his voice pained and tight and disbelieving, he's never moved so fast in his life
There he lays, half still under rubble, three men trying to dig him out, Spock feels a part of him disappear. A very large, very substantial part. But he still refuses to believe he's dead.
Spock is weak, pain deep inside of him, heart, mind, and body. And yet he lifts a solid slab of cement in order for Chekov and Bailey to pull Jim out. As Spock kneels at his side, the crew gather in a circle around them, shielding them from the other horrors. Dr. McCoy sent for more personal during the frantic search, so it doesn't matter that they remain to keep vigil.
Blood leaks from his left temple and his lip. It coats most of the hair on the left side of his head. There are numerous rips and burns on his once golden regulation shirt, now covered in soot and dust. His eyes are closed, his chest isn't moving. He's too quiet, too vulnerable, to still.
Spock is shaking now, tears are slowly leaking down his face. He had once believed he couldn't cry, but he has, and he is. He carefully places his Ashayam's head in his lap, and pushes the hair from his forehead.
"Jim, Ashaya." He whispers, and some people glance at them because they never knew, and most don't because it was always an eventuality. The doctor is there, and he shakes and curses and cries.
"Dont you DARE go before me kid, you don't get that kind of goddamned luxury!" He yells, running a tri-corded over the man who defied death count less times. The man who was always quick to put lives before his own, this was not how he was supposed to die.
"No! Damn it! Your dumbass needs to stay here! You can't leave the damned hobgoblin like that you stupid idiot! He's just becomin normal kid! And do you really expect me to handle all this diplomatic shit!? No! So stop fuckin aroud!" The doctor cusses, and Spock smiles lightly at the normalcy, at the doctor hiding his fear with anger. Jim had always said he had a big heart, and this is the proof.
It hurts Spock, to see Jim so still, so cold, so lifeless. He isn't smirking, is t laughing, isn't smiling like the sun he was so fond of. Spock's hand twines with his own, he brings their foreheads together and openly weeps. There is not one dry face.
A coldness is seeping inside of Spock spreading outward from his chest to his finger tips to his toes. An icyness that reminds him of the winter he spent in Iowa with his beloved. But so much coldet, and with nothing to fend it off with. His heart is nothing but shattered glass, leaking out his eyes with the tears he thought he couldn't shed.
Pain, lonliness, aching fear flows through him, shaking him, wrapping tightly around his bones and suffocating him. How badly he wishes to follow his T'hy'la. Follow him to death, to nothingness, until their souls, their katra reside with the star's that they loved to chase and explore. He feels empty, truly empty. There is nothing left for him at all. His sun, moon, center of life and gravity is now gone. All he is, is now focused on that of his beloved, his Ashayam.
He pushes through their torn bond, and feels something it is like nothingness, but bright. He pushes his being into it, determined to follow his love.
Slowly he fills with warmth again, warmth of the sun, of love, of
"Jim!" He whispers in reverence and awe.
His chest rattles, and the Doctor pulls his hands from his face where he had been breathing. Jim coughs and splitters and gasps. He groans, and every one is looking, crying, relieved. His eyes, glorious and foggy and ALIVE, open.
"S-sp-pock." He rasps, and Spock can't help but kissing him on the lips, lightly, firmly, lovingly.