Hello, everyone! Just a little oneshot for you. All mentions of the planet Sylon and its people are, as far as I know, made up. By me. Enjoy!

You know that feeling you get when you're sad; like the emotion itself has taken a physical form? A coldness starts in your jaw and makes you shudder, moving its way down to your legs and seizing every muscle along the way. No amount of blankets helps, and you feel like your internal temperature is slowly dropping, one tenth of a degree at a time. You think about taking your temperature, because maybe you actually are sick. Then you could blame the chills you feel on your body instead of your mind.

And when your sadness is your own fault, well, there is no room for any other feeling. You can't get mad and swear revenge because what are you going to do? Hurt yourself so badly that maybe your past self will feel it, will feel punished? Even with all the technological advances you've seen, you know that's still not possible.

He looks back on it now as an act of embarrassingly immature defiance. He knew when they had been given the mission to initiate peace talks with the Sylonians that it was pointless. The Sylonians were in the middle of what was basically a world war, but the Admiralty wanted to offer the Federation's help in ending it if it meant Sylon would join. Jim has agonized so many times over the idiocy of that train of thought that he simply cannot feel the emotion any longer; like a virus that you don't even know you've caught because you've been vaccinated against it.

The away team consists of himself and a security guard. Jim scoffs. He doesn't want a security guard when he has a Vulcan at his disposal. He asks Spock if he would like to take the guard's place, preparing himself for a very Vulcan letdown. He grins stupidly when Spock agrees.

Scotty beams them down out front of a foreboding concrete building. Jim introduces them both to the goblin-like guard at the front door, and they are let in.

The inside is drab and dirty: dust covers the floor and clings to the walls. Rusty spears and shields are mounted above staircases as if they were family photos. A rather gory depiction of someone's beheading is hung on the opposite wall and, squinting, Jim realizes it's been sewn, as if it were a massive area rug.

They are met by the planet's leader; Jim isn't sure of his name, but Spock addresses him as Minister Androv, so Jim guesses that's it. Jim knows if he'd brought one of the guards instead of Spock they'd both be standing there like dumb mutes. The minister's eyes light up at the word "captain" in Jim's introduction. He snorts like a Pamplona bull at Spock when he introduces himself as First Officer. He seems to brighten, though, turning back to Jim, looking as if he's forgotten Spock is even there. He asks Jim in a growling voice to follow him to his personal chambers, as if the whole building wasn't designed specifically for him. He makes it quite clear that he does not wish for Spock to follow, and Jim's first instinct is to protest. However, he feels a childish defiance settle inside him, and he says nothing. If the Admiralty wanted him to handle the negotiations without his first officer then that's what he would do. For once he would follow their instructions to the letter, proving that he wasn't just some insubordinate kid who thought the Enterprise was his own personal plaything. (See transcript from the hearing after said starship crash landed on Ranza V, stardate 2245.4.) So Jim, as Bones would say, "shut his goddamn mouth for once before he was jettisoned into deep space with a hypo in his neck as one more fuck you."

He barely has time to grip the minister's desk to balance himself after being practically dragged into the room when he hears a sound that anyone else would mistake for the scream of a feral animal being stabbed. But Jim has heard this sound once before: the day Vulcan was destroyed, it echoed through his and Spock's shared bathroom, seeming to go on forever. It is a cry of anguish, of utter betrayal.

He bolts from the room, the minister's protests bouncing off of him as he rushes to his friend's aid. The rusty spear that just moments ago hung above the staircase is now protruding from Spock's side, and there is green blood flowing like when Jim's mom used to dye his milk on St. Patrick's Day.

"Speaking out of turn," the guard from outside says by way of explanation. Jim is out of his mind with rage and adrenaline. The Sylonians' weapons are primitive, and Jim stuns them easily with his phaser. He rips off his gold sweater and uses it to mop up the blood as best he can. He thinks maybe Spock is trying to say something because he keeps opening his mouth and looking Jim in the eye, but the words never come. And Jim wants to shush him, cease his efforts, tell him he's so fucking sorry and that it's going to be alright, but instead he screams, "Scotty, NOW!" He doesn't realize he's clutching the sleeve of Spock's shirt until they're already materializing and he can't move.

McCoy rushes to the transporter pad. No matter how many times Jim gets hurt, he thinks, he'll never be any less worried. It's sheer professionalism that keeps him from gasping when he sees Spock prone on the floor, while as milk and almost as cold. He rushes Spock to an operating room, and it takes the combined strength of Scotty and Sulu to hold Jim back from following. He is struggling against them, growling and baring his teeth like a caged tiger, and Scotty and Sulu are losing steam when, surprisingly, it's Chekov's voice that halts Jim's struggling. Maybe it's the accent. "Keptin," he says, panting. He is flushed and he has the same look on his face as he did when he figured out how to beam up Jim and Sulu even as they were hurtling without a parachute towards the cliffs below. "It is, as Commander Spock vuld say, illogical for you to follow. You vill only cause more chaos." Jim can't decide whether he thinks Chekov's crossed a line or not, but his lips twitch upwards, and Chekov smiles back brilliantly.

The surgery is a tentative success; for now, Spock is stabilized. McCoy is keeping him overnight, just in case. Jim wants to ask, "In case of what?," but either he doesn't want to hear the answer or he already knows it, he's not sure which. He perches himself in a plastic chair beside Spock's bed. Sickbay is quiet, save for the beeping of the monitors and the occasional dry cough. Jim feels like he's in Purgatory's waiting room. That's when he starts to feel the sadness, the cold. "It's my fault," he whispers when McCoy finishes his rounds and joins him. The doctor quirks an eyebrow. "I had a feeling leaving him alone was a bad idea. I just...had an instinct. But after that last report I wanted to show the Admiralty that I could follow all their dumb rules, that I could play the part of Perfect Captain." He shakes his head. "I failed him."

"Dammit, Jim," McCoy sighs. "You can't blame yourself for something a psychotic warrior race did. And trust me, the Admiralty doesn't expect perfection. If they did, we'd all be thrown off this ship by now. Even him," he replies, nodding towards their first officer.

JIm sighs. My fault, my fault, my fault repeats in his head. He sadistically hopes the Admiralty will punish him; he deserves to be punished.

"You need rest," McCoy says, helping Jim up and slinging an arm around his shoulders.

Jim doesn't want to go back to his quarters. He remembers the chessboard is still set up, stuck waiting for them to continue their game. The sudden urge to upturn the pieces and smash the board to bits rushes through Jim with a heat like white lightning. Maybe doing so will break this feeling of suspended animation. "Can I...?" he asks instead.

McCoy sighs dramatically, though they both know he feels only a sliver of the annoyance he displays. "Yeah, why not?" he says resignedly, and moves an empty bed over next to Spock's.

He lies down, shifting against the mattress before Bones threatens him with a hypo full of sedatives, and eventually falls asleep.

He wakes up the next morning to find Spock's brown eyes staring at him and struggles to form an apology and force it past his sleepy tongue. He doesn't actually manage it, but that's OK, because Spock is holding up the Vulcan salute and Jim is doing it back. Live long and prosper. Indeed.