Broken

Storyshark2005

~-O-~

Chapter One: Dark Days

~-O-~

"I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken - and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as long as I lived."

-Margaret Mitchell

-O-

Starship Enterprise, en route to Planet Earth

One month out from Galacia Prime

-O-

McCoy studied Spock. He stood just inside the doorway. The lamplight haloed his figure from behind, a silhouette of discipline- spine rigid, hands clasped at the small of his back. He could just make out Spock's dark, wide eyes in the dusky light.

Spock averted the Doctor's probing gaze, still sharp despite the thin sheen of alcohol damping his senses.

He cleared his throat and glanced back down to his drink. Staring into its amber depths, he spoke.

"What's on your mind, Spock?"

He glanced back up at the stoic Vulcan, who seemed be faltering at the edge of speech. It was subtle- a slight tightening of the eyebrows, an almost imperceptible drop of the mouth, and a small, quiet intake of breath.

"Well why don't you sit down first? You're driving me nuts standing there like a goddam lady in waiting."

Spock complied, sinking stiffly into the armchair next to McCoy's. He folded his hands neatly in his lap, and Leonard could almost feel the Vulcan fighting the urge to wring them together, stilled only by a focus honed with years of discipline and suppression.

"Look, Spock," he poured the Vulcan a drink, probably and act in futility, but these were dark days and Spock was half human, after all. "If you want to talk about…" he paused on the unspoken name, but just for a moment. He was getting better at it. "..about Jim, then I'll listen. I know you think you're handling it, but keeping it all bottled up like you're doin, Spock…you'll die."

Spock's placid gaze hardened and he lowered his eyes. His voice was dry, dead.

"I assure you, Doctor. Vulcans are more than capable of dealing with their own grief." He paused and swallowed. "It is perhaps, a different process than the human equivalent, but a natural one all Vulcans are adept to handle."

McCoy snorted, voiced laced with sarcasm. "All Vulcans, Spock? Even those of tainted blood? I suppose I should thank you, then, for showing up at my quarters at four in the morning just to help me deal with my grief."

Spock remained silent, still staring down at his unmoving hands.

McCoy tore his gaze from his friend and took the opportunity to top off his glass. Silence filled the room, and the lack of a third's presence was palpable, heavy in the space between them.

"We don't work without him, do we Spock?"

Spock's only reaction was a deeper intake of breath.

McCoy swallowed, fighting down the aching hurt that had sat curled deep in his chest since that dark day on Galacia Prime, a month ago. His eyes started to water, and he knocked back a burning gulp of the stinging hot drink, hoping it would somehow loosen the knot of coiled iron, spasming and pulling tighter whenever his thoughts ventured too far back.

He let his head rest in one hand, and his loose hold failed on the empty glass, falling to the floor with a dull thud. Shattering glass might have made it better- it might have broken something, changed something. Instead the thud echoed through his core, knotted and wounded and painful. He gripped his head, and a choking sound of anguish was yanked from his throat, unfamiliar to his own ears.

Bright flashes burned his retinas, playing on the back of his eyelids…blue flashes…eyes so blue they could break you…gold hair, gold light, light flashes burn, smile, smile like a warm Georgia sun, dangerous smirk, dangerous boy, beautiful boy, laugh, laugh like music, singin' in the rain, rain, pouring down, flash, flash lightning, storm, flash, dark, flash- there's the body, it should be moving, its Jim's body but where is Jim? That's not Jim's hair, caked in mud and blood, dark and dull, not at all like Jim's golden bronzed , shiny, soft, no, that's not Jim, flash, dark, dark, dark, so dark now, can't even breathe, cold, like space, everything's still here but something's gone, gone its empty here, it's the same but dull, duller without the light, those flashes of blue and gold, its too dull, too dark to see worth a damn and he's gone now, Jim's gone and he's not coming back, he's gone, he's not coming back, he's gone…

McCoy's eyes flew open, and he struggled to catch his breath. His fingers still dug into his temples, raking hair away from his face. The empty glass lay overturned on the floor, glittering dimly in the low light.

He found Spock beside him still in the chair, but he was hunched over, hands heeled to his eyes. He was breathing hard, jerky and irregular puffs of air, shallow and stricken. He let out a low groan and slid forward, knees folding under him on the carpeted floor.

McCoy had never seen the Vulcan like this. In the month since Galacia Prime, Spock hadn't broken down. He had simply ceased all unnecessary speech, stopped going to the rec-halls Jim had so painstakingly coaxed him to venture into. He worked his shift efficiently every day, and immediately shut himself in his quarters, whether for deep meditation or to crawl down the dark shaft of grief, nobody knew. That low moan of agony was the first real admission of pain Spock had made.

He hesitated a moment, then crossed the couple of steps to Spock's chair and knelt carefully at his bowed form. His hand hovered over Spock's shoulder for a moment, but alighted on the chairs' armrest instead.

"Jesus, Spock, I'm sorry. I should've…Well we've all been dealing with this our own way I suppose. I've been a fucking mess. I should've asked you if, well I am the goddamned ship's doctor." He paused, waiting for Spock to reply.

None came.

"Spock, look at me."

And he did. He lifted his head from his hands. Deep bruises underneath his eyes told of days without sleep, maybe weeks if his physiology was to tell. But it was the eyes. Spock breathed heavily as those wounded, bottomless dark eyes bore straight into his own. He wondered how they had ever seemed so cold. His mind flew backwards, tipping down into the depths of memory, memories he had been trying to keep at bay…

Light…he felt strangely light. It was a feeling he had almost forgotten. It was existence without the heavy burden of grief and pain wrapped inside him.

Jim was here.

They were sitting in Jim's quarters…drinking some kind of liquor and watching the stars as they talked.

Bones felt an easy laugh fall from his lips and he glanced back up at Jim. He had said something funny, he knew, but he didn't remember what.

A comfortable silence rested between them, and he watched Jim's eyes dancing with amusement as he took another drink. God, he had missed him…missed everything about him. His eyes…that voice, so dry, amusement constantly undertoned with something like fate, inevitability.

Words came to his mouth now, words he remembered speaking at this same moment, god it had been at least a year ago, maybe two.

"So I assume you've heard the news, then. Of your pointy-eared First Officer."

Jim looked up and nodded, all amusement fading from his eyes.

"Yeah, Sulu and Chekov keep me in the loop. Sulu thinks it's only right that 'the Captain should be apprised of the well-being and morale of the crew'."

McCoy nodded. "Yeah, Sulu's a damned gossip queen. That's how I heard. I was just doing his physical yesterday and I say 'Open your mouth, Lieutenant', and he just blurts it out. Right out of the blue! I told him it was damned well none of my business or his, but it doesn't make a difference now."

Jim settled deeper into his chair and took a drink.

"Yeah, I mean, it was quieter on the bridge the other day I guess, but I had no fuckin idea." He gazed down into his glass. "Damned shame, too. They were good together."

Bones raised an eyebrow. "Can't say I'm surprised though."

Jim's eyes shot back to his friend and he sat up a little.

"Why? You knew they were having problems?"

He shrugged.

"Well not exactly, but when you're dating a Vulcan, how much is really there for you? Emotionally, I mean? Hell, I know. I was married to the coldest ice queen in the state of Georgia. Uhura's a beautiful, vibrant emotional young woman. Spock is, well, he's Spock. He wouldn't blink if someone sat in front of him breaking the necks of puppies and kittens. He probably told her 'dumping you is only logical, Lieutenant. We can increase our work efficiency 6.8% by terminating this relationship'." He snorted. "Damned fool probably can't even see she's the most beautiful woman on the whole goddamned ship."

Jim muttered something into his drink.

"What?"

"I said, how do you know it was Spock who broke it off?"

Bones shifted, now vaguely uncomfortable. "Well, I suppose I don't. I just assumed. She was so obviously in love with him. I can't picture Nyota ending it."

Jim was silent for a minute. After studying his glass, he downed the last half in one gulp, wincing as it burned its way down his throat.

Abruptly, he stood.

"I'm going to bed, Bones."

"What? Its only 2200!"

Jim set his glass down loudly, causing Leonard to jump in his seat.

"I'm tired."

He turned and walked back to his bedroom.

McCoy shook his head, confused, but collected their glasses and dumped them into the replicator's matter recycler and turned to leave.

He reached the door.

"Bones-"

He turned to see Jim poking his head back into the main room, shirtless and ready for bed.

"What?" he asked, tired and faintly annoyed at Jim's mood swings.

"Just…just give him a chance, Bones. You know, its all an act anyway. Underneath, he's really…"

He paused, trying to put into coherency vague thoughts and ideas.

"His eyes, Bones. You can see it. He's got human eyes."

McCoy looked incredulous. "How much did you drink, Jim? What the hell are you talking about?"

Jim looked away, biting the inside of his cheek. He fisted his hand on the doorframe, turned, and walked back to the shadows of his bedroom.

"Never mind. I'll see you."

Bones rolled his eyes.

"Fine. Night Jim."

The memory faded , swirling colors turning gray, and he had a sensation of being pulled forward, into the dark.

He slammed back into lucidity with a jolt.

The first thing he noticed was nothing.

Spock-

Still crouched on his knees, McCoy whipped around to the door to see Spock standing at the threshold, his back and shoulders tense, one finger on the door control. His head turned halfway back towards the Doctor. The corridor light glinted in Spocks' glassy eyes.

"Goodnight, Doctor."

Bones managed a hoarse 'G'night, Spock' as the doors shut on his retreating back.

A/N: So this is a story I'm rather proud of. It could just stand alone like this, but I've got a few ideas for a plot to extend it to a full story. It's a story without Jim physically present, but really, its all about Jim, and the love between him, Bones, and Spock. And how Jim can never really die as long they live on. If I extend it, it will be very angsty, but not tragic. It will have a happy ending. I shouldn't have said that, but I don't want everyone to be bummed at the end of a story. I HATE that. I love angsty stories, but they shouldn't just depress you. They should uplift and inspire. Anyway, review if you want more.