This is the last chapter, it's also the death scene (nooooooo). I hope you can bear with me on this. Let me know how you liked it. Let me know if I actually managed to bring tears. I had a bit of fun with the timeline though, so if you see 'Deneva', which you will, understand that I'm putting this at about two years after Nero's big thing, they're all around upper twenties to lower thirties. I hope it's decent. It's been a difficult chapter to write, which is the only reason it took so long, so apologies for that. That said, I hope you enjoy. I am not sure about the rating, if you believe that T is too low, let me know and I will change it. I really wasn't sure, so I apologize if it might be a bit much for a T.

The next scene was the only one to open on the bridge of the ship. McCoy took a moment to simply stare at it, eyes trailing over the place he had spent almost as much time in as the sickbay, taking in the positions of all the people he remembered. Chekov and Sulu were smiling and laughing over some joke that the captain had told, Scotty moving to stand next to the three of them as Jim leaned closer, whispering another one. This time the Scott laughed as well. Nyota was shooting them amused looks, but when Jim turned to look at the rest of the bridge her look turned disapproving. Jim just stuck his tongue out at her.

It was something McCoy could actually remember with fondness, true contentment, and the moment when Jim hopped up and headed over to Spock's station, or snuck over to Spock's station (the two of them had begun a game, or Jim had, he'd try and sneak over to Spock's station and surprise him without the Vulcan noticing) the memory was complete. Spock didn't even turn around, simply gave a quiet, "Captain." Jim slumped on the railing in defeat.

Scotty laughed at that, "Got ye again, laddie."

"It's those damn Vulcan ears of his," Jim grumbled a twinkle in his eye.

"My apologies, were you attempting to be unheard? I was unaware."

Jim's mouth dropped as the rest of them cracked up, "Oh come on! I wasn't that loud!"

Spock paused, and turned to face him, raising an eyebrow.

"Shut up, Spock," Jim grouched.

"I did not say anything…"

"Not true, I could hear your eyebrow calling me a dumbass from here," Jim interrupted, smiling at him widely, the rest of them laughed, Spock's eyebrow raising all the higher in response.

McCoy sat in his chair and watched as the bridge crew bantered back and forth, a quiet scene that displayed nothing more than the connection that the crew had with one another. The way they clicked, and the fact that it was Jim who held them all together. "Who would have guessed that the hobgoblin would be so sentimental…" He mumbled quietly, watching the scene in unblinking concentration, wishing to turn the clock back, wishing to revisit those years.

Wishing to change them so Jim would never…

McCoy closed his eyes, unable to watch the scene any longer, hunching further when he heard his own voice leave the speakers. He didn't want to think of those times of peace and joy, the moments of friendship and family he had had with those people.

He didn't want to think of what he had lost.

The thought of it was enough to drive him to ruin. But he couldn't follow that path. He had to hope that Spock…

He couldn't think about him either. Not of that kid that lost everything, that finally lost himself. He couldn't handle it.

When the word 'Deneva' came, he was almost relieved. It would be over soon. He wouldn't have to torment himself any more of thoughts of what could have happened, what might have finally pushed Jim over the edge. He would know.

He already had a pretty good idea.

It started the same way as any other horribly butchered mission. Spock discussing something to do about the mission with Jim. In this case it was something that they also talked about with McCoy, asking him about the mass insanity that had spread through that part of the galaxy in a line, taking over planet after planet. Deneva was the next spot, and it also seemed to be making Jim fidgety in a way that McCoy remembered not understanding. He still didn't. Not truly. What made Deneva so different?

The conversation was quiet, and Spock hadn't edited the sound, but McCoy could still recall what was said, the fact that the madness went in a linear direction, that there was no medical reason, how they were unable to contact the planet, and the fact that all of this made Jim very nervous. Nervous wasn't even the right word. Terrified might have worked better, terrified and desperate to hide it. But he didn't know why. Spock had even looked confused, whatever Jim had been scared of, he hadn't broached the topic with Spock yet.

McCoy watched as Jim became more frantic with worry, and the moment when a ship was reported to be flying towards the sun was the only thing that drew him out of it. Leonard was silent, simply watching the young man in his element as he ordered them to follow, see if they could pull him out. Just when they had to stop the words, "Free, they're finally gone, we're free!" sounded from the link that had been kept open. They burned up not even seconds later.

But that had been the clue they needed in the hell that had followed.

They turned their heading to Deneva, the suicide of those on that ship quietly mourned. But there was nothing they could do. They had to continue.

The scene changed, this time to Kirk as he sat in front of his desk, recording another log. "Sam's there, as well as his family. My brother's on Deneva…" His voice was barely louder than a whisper, his eyes wide and his expression haunted. McCoy swore viciously, things clicking into place.

"We're getting ready to beam down. I don't want to think that Sam's… Sam was the only one who was ever there for me. Who helped me when Frank… If he's…dead, I don't think I could bear it. I haven't talked to him in a month, I've never told Spock about him, never told Bones… But I do still contact him. He's married to Aurleen, has a son named Peter, they have another baby on the way. They can't be… They can't."

The log cut off, leaving McCoy to sit in silence as the cameras in sickbay showed their new arrivals, people McCoy now knew to be Jim's sister in law, and his nephew. Jim was talking to Aurleen quietly, the woman in such pain that she was barely coherent, could barely understand. But still she talked, still Jim listened, replying to her quietly, trying to make her comfortable, and trying to be there for her. When she died it was as though a light that everyone had taken for granted turned off.

McCoy remembered the look on Jim's face when he told him that the man they had found lying under his desk was dead. Sam. Sam was dead. Jim's brother had died, and neither Spock, nor McCoy had known that. He swallowed, closing his eyes and shaking his head, if they had known, if he had told them, would they have been able to save him? Would it have even mattered?

As he watched, and as Spock was infected with the same parasites that created the madness, and he watched Jim's slow spiral into despair and confusion, he realized it would probably have not mattered. When Spock lay prostrate after attacking the bridge, stretched out on the biobed, restrained, jerking and moaning, pain running through every vein, Jim sat next to him, head bowed, eyes closed. The moment Spock came to and began regaining himself, promising that he was in control now, that he was fully capable and desperately asking that Jim "Let me help…" it was almost more than Jim could bear.

But McCoy figured that what finally started it was this conversation shortly after Spock returned with a live specimen and they began trying to kill it:

"Should we not find a way to remove the parasite, it is logical to destroy it before it has a chance to spread further."

"Spock, that would mean…you, all those people, the only way to destroy it is to destroy them. Are you suggesting that I bomb the planet, and my nephew, and you?!" Jim shouted out, standing bolt upright, glaring into the brown eyes that were so cold, so emotionless. The first time they had truly been such, and McCoy knew that that scared him.

The doctor on the screen stood up as well, anger flashing, "You pointy eared bastard, what good will that do?"

"It is the lives of six billion people compared to the fate of a galaxy, doctor. It is logical, the needs of the few, do not outnumber the needs of the many."

"You heartless bastard."

"Doctor, I do not think you understand. I do not wish to die, but this pain…this…madness… Doctor, were I to choose, I would choose death over insanity, my death over the will to hurt and kill what has become my friends, my family and take this ship. For that is what it wishes me to do, doctor. That is what it wishes me to do, and it is difficult to resist." Spock seemed to sag on the screen, and the words 'I would choose death over insanity' were branded into McCoy's mind like a hot poker, making him sag, making him curl and hunch in the chair he was sitting on, eyes closing and his heart twisting in pain. The McCoy on the screen just glared, spitting out,

"And what of the rest of them, would they choose death as well?! Would that boy?!"

Spock's eyes followed McCoy's pointing finger and he hunched, the brown eyes finally turning back to stare at him, "I do not wish to die, doctor, but I believe there is no other choice."

"I won't accept that," Jim finally said, voice quiet, dark. The anger that he was feeling was palpable, and they looked at him in surprise. Jim glared at Spock, blue eyes spitting fire, "You aren't going to die, none of them are going to die. I will NOT kill billions of people. I will not become like Nero. I will not do that to you, I will not do that to them."

At the mention of that Romulan, Spock flinched, perfectly visibly; eyes turned away, pain written in every line. "I do not wish to make you like him…" he finally whispered.

"Good. Then find another option. I leave it in your capable hands." He stalked out, but the camera angle changed. As soon as he was out of sickbay, and realized he was alone, he collapsed back into the wall, and sobbed. "I can't kill them, I can't kill them… Oh, God…Sam, was that pain something you had to put up with?"

McCoy watched, wishing to reach out and wrap his arms around that man, if only for a second, just to comfort, just to offer his shoulder. But he knew it would never happen. That he never could.

When they reported back later with no progress, even using the clue the man had given them when he had shouted out that he was free of it when they had went into the sun, he watched something inside Jim curl up and die. When he finally hit on what it was that would destroy them, and whispered it out the first time, McCoy remembered wanting to put his head through the wall, and knew for a fact that it was only due to Spock's focus on control that they had forgotten something so obvious: light.

"What if they're killed by light?"

They had a small argument on the matter, but when Spock agreed that it was plausible… McCoy remembered hope sparking to life when he had had none. They worked on it, testing it on the creature by subjecting it to the same amount of light it would be exposed to with the satellites.

It had died. The relief that passed through them was short lived when they began questioning its effectiveness when it was inside a host. Spock volunteered. McCoy was protesting, trying to insist on protective goggles… Jim and Spock had been adamant against it.

When Spock came out of that chamber and walked into the table and admitted to being blind, calling it an 'equitable trade', Jim stumbled back, something else tearing. But then the results came in, and McCoy read with a look of absolute despair on his face that it was the ultraviolet light that had done it. Spock wouldn't have needed to be blinded.

It was too much for Jim.

The hours that happened next were some of the worst in McCoy's memory. Spock was staying in sickbay with the doctor, sitting on the biobed quietly, when all of the sudden a warning blared out. Life support was off. They immediately tried to get out, finding the door locked, McCoy's override didn't work. Something had tricked the computer into believing something in the room itself was contaminated. McCoy stumbled back, shock and horror on his face as he realized something, someone, had done this deliberately.

But McCoy remembered thinking that wasn't the worst of it; the worst of it was, he thought he knew who it was. But at that moment in time, that hadn't mattered, what mattered was this: they were trapped in the dark, they were trapped without contact, they were running out of oxygen, and they were running out of time.

When Spock had somehow managed to tear the vent off the ceiling while blind, his eidetic memory providing him with the area, after he stumbled into almost every surface attempting to get there he acted as a ladder to get the patients, nurses, and one doctor into the way out. The scene changed then, Spock stumbling down a hallway, ears perked for Jim, finding him arguing with McCoy, anger and fury and desperate sadness filling those blue eyes as he shouted that he was sorry, that he didn't know why.

McCoy had backed away, fear and despair in his heart. He left before he could say anything, Jim falling to his knees behind him. Spock stumbled forward, and Jim looked up, seeing those listless brown eyes that focused on nothing and backed away, fear and horror the only expressions on his face.

Spock heard him, and he stumbled forward, dropping to his knees after tripping on an indent in the carpet, "Jim…please, do not leave me in the dark. Do not leave me." Jim crawled away faster. "Please, Jim." He reached a hand out to his brother, out to his friend, and Jim stood up and ran away, leaving Spock to kneel in the middle of the hallway, nerves wracked with pain, and sightless eyes staring into nothing, one hand outstretched, desperately, illogically hoping that he would come back. That he would help.

He never came, and the scene changed once more.

McCoy watched with his fingers digging into the chair as Jim began toying with the knife he had taken out of his desk drawer on screen. Hazel eyes remained locked on every twist and turn of that knife until he held it in one hand, blue eyes hollow and worn. Next moment the knife had been dropped to the desk, his head falling into his hands and his shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs,

"What did I do? What did I do…" His voice was choked with tears, "Bones…Oh god, Bones… What is wrong with me?" He finally whispered, "What is wrong with me…why am I always left here, with this option, why must it always end in death…why must I always hurt the ones I care about? I'm so sorry Bones… I know you didn't mean it, I don't know if you'll ever watch this… I don't know if you'll ever understand… But… I'm sorry. I can't do it anymore. Spock's…he's blind, Sam's dead…all those people… It's my fault..."

He straightened slightly, finally looking at the recorder, eyes red rimmed and face flushed, misery in every line as he took the knife up. "I should have never existed. This universe was never supposed to have a James T. Kirk. I've finally figured that out. I just don't know why it's taken me so long. I was almost killed at my birth, I was stuck in an abusive home life, I almost killed myself at twelve… I've almost killed myself so many times, almost been killed by others… I think it's about time that I finished the universes job, right?"

"I'm so sorry…you probably won't ever understand, but I want you to know that I wanted this…" Jim whispered out, and with a flash of crimson tore the knife through his wrist and up the arm, directly through the artery, and followed it up through the other arm. He had known where to cut for years, how to have it happen in the shortest amount of time possible, how to keep it clean and free flowing.

He would bleed out in less than four minutes.

Jim placed his head on his desk and waited, falling into a half dreamlike state as more blood flowed down his arms, down his hands, splashing to the floor.

McCoy could only stare in horror, eyes tearing, his mouth moving soundlessly, quietly asking 'why, oh God, why…'

Five minutes later, something happened that made McCoy's heart clench, and Jim's head rise weakly; someone pounded on the door. From the brisk, yet still controlled falls, there was no doubt as to who was actually behind that door, and Jim seemed to perk slightly, eyes brightening even under the haze of death that was creeping over them.

"Jim?" Spock's voice called out, an air of pleading and desperation in his voice, and Jim had never been able to resist that. Never for his friend, never for his brother, he weakly pushed himself out of the chair, taking a shaky step forward, only to collapse, the recorder skidding across the floor to get lodged in place by a pile of clothes, focusing on Jim as he struggled.

There was no knock on the door, Spock was never one to give up easily, but McCoy's heart twisted, "Don't go in there hobgoblin, don't go in there, please…don't make it so I lose both of you, don't take yourself away too…"

The bathroom door was broken open; Spock silhouetted there in sharp relief, his face at first showing Vulcan proper levels of concern, only to fall into shock, which melted directly into horror. "Jim…"

"Spock…you can see…" Jim whispered, his face pale with blood loss, but somehow managing to smile. There were tears trickling down his face, and Spock snapped out of his stupor momentarily, paging the doctor, pain visible in every line of his face, his eyes seeming to age. He tore strips out of the blanket, creating makeshift tourniquets and tying them above the gaping wounds, but never once did he look at Jim.

"Spock…Spock, look at me please…"

Spock didn't, his eyes focused on his own hands, staring at the red blood there, his eyes half focused and dead. "How could you do this, to yourself Jim...how could you do this?"

"I'm sorry, Spock…" He whispered, "I'm sorry…"

The Vulcan's hands placed pressure on the wounds, eyes focused on the blood.

"Is it as worth it as you thought it would be?"

Jim's eyes flooded and he gave a sharp inhale of air, but he didn't answer.

They were silent, one fighting to keep the other alive, one trying desperately to keep breathing, "Spock… I don't think I want to die. I think you were right…you were right, I don't like it now that I have it, in fact, I don't want it at all. I'm so cold."

Spock bowed his head, his forehead resting on his captains, his mind snaking in, trying to comfort, trying to help, trying to tug Jim back to the surface. But no matter how hard he tried he slipped farther and farther away, "Jim, do not go where I can't follow. Please, do not leave me, do not leave us, it wasn't your fault, can't you see…"

Jim was weakening, but even then he could feel the soft plip of something falling onto his face, "Spock…Spock, are you crying? You can't cry, Spock, you can't cry…not for me, not for such a waste, I'm not worth it. I'm too stupid to know that what I always wanted was right in front of me."

"Jim, you were never a waste. You always knew, you always knew, you were just too afraid to take it, and I was too afraid to push. I am sorry, Jim. I am sorry…"

Jim seemed to struggle against the hold of something that clung to his chest, clung to his mind, clung to his nose and mouth, "Spock…it's…no- your…faul-"

The younger doctor burst in on the scene a few minutes later to find a stunned half Vulcan huddled over a bloodless corpse, the knife fallen near the desk. He stumbled back, the team behind him that had been too busy saving the rest of the people who had beamed up from the surface to spare for a quick call that held no real details falling into wails of shock and horror. But none of that compared to the doctor who fell into a rage.

The McCoy in the chair watched in sorrow as that doctor shouted at the half Vulcan, the words that had been held with such playful intent before now used to truly cut and tear, the medical team leaving in fear and despair to spread the rest of the news.

Spock looked up at McCoy from where he sat on the ground, his brown eyes green rimmed and shattered, "Please, doctor…I…"

"It's your fault you green blooded bastard. I hope you suffer as much as he did."

Spock flinched, and the McCoy in the chair clutched his chest, his eyes welling up, mouthing "you idiot, you idiot…you don't mean it, why'd you have to say it?'

Jim's body was taken from his grasp, and Spock was left to huddle up on the floor, red blood staining the blue of his torso as he stared at the red on his hands and wept.

There was one last entry, the half Vulcan sitting in front of his desk. "This is Commander Spock of Vulcan and of Earth. I have done all it is I have set out to do, in this chip is the full story of what happened to the captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise, and it is my fault. I can never hope to make up for what I have done. I do not deserve life, just as I do not deserve death. But death has never seemed so appealing to me."

The screen went black, leaving a doctor sitting in a dark room, his head in his hands as he wept, bitterly and profusely, Damon stood up, leaving the room, leaving the door open for a figure that stood just outside the door. The recorder kept rolling.

"The hobgoblin tried to kill himself two days after that log. I was the one to find him, half bled out all over the place. I couldn't talk to him, he wouldn't listen. We took him to a psyche ward, he's been there ever since, and this time it is my fault. Oh God…Spock, Jim…why did I have to mess up so bad, why did I have to let you go? What did I do to deserve this burden, what did I do?"

"Doctor…"

"Don't doctor me, you pointy eared bastard!" The words he said seemed to catch up with his brain, and Dr. McCoy looked up, tears sliding down his face, into the haunted black eyes of a man, Vulcan, that he thought he'd never see again. "Spock…" He breathed out, looking up at him in shock, "Spock!"

The half Vulcan gave him the barest hint of a smile, his face a little more hollowed than McCoy had remembered, and his eyes were blacker, but he recognized him. McCoy stood up slowly; aging joints making him take more time than he wanted to. When they were face to face, McCoy's eyes trailed up to the white hair that sprung from the Vulcan's head, product of a life spent in the psyche ward and the stress of seeing your friend die and believing it to be your fault. "Your hair's different."

"It is…"

"Spock…" He reached out slowly, grasping the thin Vulcan warm shoulders covered in a long black robe, "Spock…" With that one word he pulled him to him in a tight embrace, the two men clinging on each other in the throes of reopened grief and despair, tears running down faces as they clutched at each other, trying to bleed their grief out. Trying to make it hurt less by finding it in the heart of another.

"Doctor…Doctor, we have lost Jim…"

"I know, Spock, God do I know…"

"But Leonard…"

"Yes, Spock, what is it?"

"You will never lose me."

McCoy hugged him tighter, burying his head in his shoulder, "Thank you Spock…"

"One does not thank the truth, Leonard," and there, in the arms of a half Vulcan who had dealt with more pain than a being should ever have to, McCoy found he still had the ability to smile, and find a reason to laugh.