Hello, lovelies, and welcome to the final chapter of The Moment It Breaks! It's been a wonderful, fun, emotional ride (for me, at least!), and I'm glad to have had the opportunity to share and talk with all of you!

For this chapter I took some elements from an episode of TOS, The Devil in the Dark, in which Spock mind-melds with a creature and is emotionally charged to a startling extent.

Enjoy!

"Mr. Scott? What is it?"

"Mr. Spock instructed me to inform you…"

"Inform me of what?"

"Jim…"

Bones refused to believe it. He ran.

Sure enough, there he was. A body slumped awkwardly against the glass. Cold eyes staring at nothing.

Surely Spock had been more controlled; but Bones, regrettably, was only human. He pounded on the glass with all of his strength, bellowed profanities at Scotty and Chekov and whoever would listen and commanded them to open the door, because certainly there was still a chance of saving James T. Kirk.

The worst part was, they didn't even try and stop him. They watched, they cried. The door did not budge. Where was his friend to hold him back, to make a wise-ass comment and tell him to stop worrying?

Bones sank to his knees, and all at once there was awful, stagnant silence. There was still one minute before the doors could open and nothing that could be done before then.

Bones wished he could close his friend's eyes. There was nothing more to see, anyway.

And finally, when the doors did open and Jim Kirk's body collapsed into the arms of the doctor with the body bag, Bones couldn't watch. The Captain looked so small, and Bones knew that if he looked at that now-placid face, the weight of knowing that he couldn't simply shake his friend awake would be too much.

He walked away from the warp core feeling more weary and more numb than ever before.

Bones started, blinking away the stinging heaviness of sleep deprivation as he brought his surroundings back into focus.

"It would appear you are unable to sleep."

Bones swiveled his head in the direction of the Vulcan, putting on his best snarky face. "Yeah? What would give you that idea, smart-ass?"

"By my observation, you have briefly lost consciousness four times in the past thirty minutes," Spock began, "and yet each time you wake as if startled."

"Thanks for that break-down, Sherlock," Bones said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's hard falling asleep in a sitting position." Yeah, and the nightmares didn't help either.

"Perhaps you should retire to your quarters for the night."

The suggestion was, admittedly, appealing, but there was still a nagging part of Bones that didn't want to give up. If his best friend was lying there fighting, Bones was going to fight right alongside of him. Cracking his neck, Bones stood and glanced at the time. 0426. He sighed. "Fuck it, it's already morning. Just…let me shower. Spend too much time around sick people and you start smelling like one."

Luckily, he'd been granted an adjoining room to Jim's, typically reserved for visiting family members as a place to stay close to patients in critical condition. As Jim's now full-time doctor, Bones was grateful for the space. Sleeping, while still undesirable, was becoming increasingly necessary, and Bones at least felt a bit at ease being so close in case of another emergency.

Bones eased out of his standard-issue white medical uniform, his back aching. Seven days of fighting. Seven days of emergency treatments, surgery, paperwork, and waiting. Always the waiting. Waiting for Jim to show any signs of life. Waiting for the indication that the Captain was at least making an effort to return to the living.

For seven days, Jim's body had been failing. It was a constant battle to keep him alive, even with Khan's miracle blood. The truth of the matter was, Bones had come to realize, that the battle was no longer in the hands of the doctors.

All he could hope was that Jim would fight. Bones would keep waiting.

Waiting.

Yes, a shower would do nicely.

It was fortunate that Vulcans could go so long without sleep, for surely seven days without rest—save the small pocket of unfortunately-timed meditation—would have destroyed a lesser being. It was a small mercy that Spock could still function under the circumstances, as his days had been rather tightly occupied. Paperwork, meetings, dealings concerning the Enterprise and her crew; and, of course, the hours spent in hard silence in Jim Kirk's hospital room, usually through the darkest hours of the night when Bones would retire to his bed.

Spock stared at Jim's pale face and wondered incessantly how one could sleep so much.

The steady sound of Bones' shower barely registered over the light hum of the medical equipment, but it was strangely soothing in the space. More than anything, it was comforting to hear evidence of any life in the room.

Still, Jim's lifelessness struck something in Spock. It was the way his condition had hardly changed in the span of days. It was his lack of response to the world. It was Bones' increased frustration, the sense of uselessness the doctor exuded every time he paced through the room.

Always, always the curiosity grew. It took root somewhere between despair and hope within the confines of Spock's emotion and began to sprout.

Finally, tranquil, he stood.

Jim's vitals were steady. Good. No use risking another episode now. Spock wasn't sure Bones would forgive him an interrupted shower.

He'd only done this a few times before, but it came naturally. As if on instinct, Spock's found the pulse points on Jim's face and pressed his fingers lightly to the fevered skin.

The mind-meld was slow in coming, like diving deep into a lake and watching the surrounding world grow darker and darker.

Then, as he reached the darkest point and he felt himself relax completely, it all hit him at once.

Fire.

Every inch of his skin and everything underneath was burning with such intensity that Spock nearly tore away from the mind-meld that instant. Though the world was dark, every sensory detail was alight.

And so weak. Muscles refused to budge. In a rush of understanding, Spock knew suddenly what it meant to be trapped in one's own body.

Despite everything, he pushed further.

Fire. Doubt. Khan.

Everything was a rush of jumbled sounds and images and feelings and memories. Echoes.

Pain. I'm scared Spock. Scared of dying. This is what I wanted. The glass isn't that thick….please, Spock.

But then, fighting against the noise: Let go. Let go. Let me go. It's over and I died. I can't go back. Scared to go back. I'm not a Captain now. I dare you to do better. I dare you to do better.

Fire.

Spock fought through the haze and the pain, and he understood.

Bones found him there a few minutes later, crouched in a tight ball on the floor and trembling with dry sobs.

"Good God," Bones said, though his tone was lacking the usual levels of biting condescendingness. "What happened?"

"I attempted a mind-meld with the Captain," Spock said through his hands, steadying his voice. "I was able to feel…" His sentence trailed off and he swallowed, visibly leveling himself out. There was silence as he collected himself, blinked a few times, and stood. Bones poured a glass of water and offered it awkwardly to the Vulcan, but Spock refused.

"In addition to the physical, I was allowed access to some of Jim's emotional processes," Spock continued, infinitely more steady now but still dangerously quiet. "It seems that, on a subconscious level, he is…indeed, giving up."

Bones swallowed thickly. "What does that mean?"

"Be believes his duties as Captain are filled," Spock went on, "because he feels he is no longer adequate for the position."

Bones burst, turning angrily on a still-unconscious Jim. "Well of course you are, dammit! You think just anyone could—"

"The events leading up to his death were emotionally…revealing, to Jim." Spock glanced sideways at the hospital bed. "He still believes that his fear was a failing on his part."

"He saved the entire crew," Bones said quietly.

"I am aware of the weight of his actions," Spock said. "But he is not. He does not believe his actions outweigh his emotions."

Bones stared at Jim for a long while, chewing his lip. Finally he looked back at Spock. "Well, there's only one way we can let him know that what he did was right, isn't there?"

It was Spock's turn to study the doctor, to see every shadow of uncertainty layered in his eyes. The Vulcan knew, and he understood.

Gently, tenderly, he pressed his fingers again to Jim's face.

Again, he dove into the darkness and felt it envelop him.

The purpose, he conveyed, of the Kobiyashi Maru is to experience fear.

Through the blinding mist, he felt Jim stir.

Fear in the face of certain death. To accept that fear, and maintain control of oneself and one's crew.

This is a quality expected in every Starfleet captain.

Deep down, through the sickness and the aching and the shattered exterior, the Captain's mind found a foothold.

Spock resurfaced, blinking in the dim hospital light.

"He knows," he said simply, wearily. "He's coming back."

The Vulcan collapsed back into a chair, and, for the first time in seven days, Bones knew everything was going to be fine.

Seven days later, the pace of the heart monitor quickened almost imperceptibly, and a long sigh cut through the monotony.

"He's waking up," Bones said, and the emotions tumbled and cracked audibly through his voice.

Spock and the doctor waited.

Then, with stunning clarity, Jim Kirk's eyes opened.

And that's a wrap! I just want to take a moment to acknowledge and thank all of you who have faithfully read/reviewed/favorited/followed this story. It means so much to me, and it absolutely blows me away to see how much exposure this piece has gotten. I mean, really, I never could have imagined approaching 100 reviews on a single story. I can't wrap my head around it, to be honest!

Now that it's over, I would love to hear impressions of the fic as a whole—it is how I know what works and what doesn't! If you read this story and liked any part of it, let me know! You all have given me such confidence with your kind words, and I cannot thank you enough for that.

As for future projects, there are two ideas in the works. One is the spin-off I referenced earlier. The title? Five Times Spock Attempted to Comfort Bones (and the One Time He Couldn't). The other project is also SUPER angsty (I guess I'm in that mood?), with either the title or description being "In the end, the tribble died."

I love you all, and I can't thank you enough for taking the time to read my work.

Till next time,

-Penn