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fic: shatter

realized i put this on the kink meme 7/09, and never posted it here. there's probably plenty of fics tht fall into this category, but someone commented on it recently, and it's a piece i'm really quite fond of. angst.

name: shatter
rating: pg-13 (angst)
fandom: star trek 09
word count: 1494
pairing: kirk/spock
prompt: here



There is --

crashing and shattering around him, and he can feel consoles falling and crumbling and there’s screams, screams because people are dying, alarms are screaming, life support down on decks seventeen and below and he thinks fuck because med bay is deck twenty-two and Bones is there, and fuck that guy for dying before he did, how the fuck is he supposed to be smug? Who the fuck is he supposed to be smug too? He can see Uhura, all dark skin and panic, throwing calm she’s always had to the wind that shouldn’t be here, the rushing of air through the damaged pipes and Jim realizes that if the ship doesn’t blow apart from this fucking ambush then it’ll be life support or bad air or being drowned and fuck if he gets out of this live. Fuck no-win scenarios and fuck this and fuck romulans and fuck cloaking and fuck Zyr VIII because they fucking hate humans.

Hindsight’s 20/20.

Uhura gets clotheslined by a piece of one of the science consoles and whacks her head good and hard on the floor, and Jim wonders if she’ll ever get up. Probably not, probably because she’ll have melted or boiled in space or been disintegrated by thorough romulan weapons or something equally fucked up. There’s Sulu over there and he’s already reached that point because a piece of the bridge door got loose and tore his face open and he’s just about finished bleeding to death and even if he wasn’t the guy would be blind and deaf for the rest of his life and Jim would die before he had to do that. Chekov is fucking weeping in a corner and trying to survive and he can’t blame the kid, only nineteen and this is what happens to him. It’s a nice constant, Chekov’s weeping and muttered Russian, a language Jim can’t understand. Uhura would but she’s on the floor and unresponsive and might be dead but he’s not checking. He’s not checking because he’s yelling something; he can’t even hear his own voice because he’s having some kind of psychotic breakdown while being captain of the ship, and where’s Spock, because Spock should be here to tell him that he’s having a breakdown and relieve him even though he’ll say he’s all right even though he knows he’s not and Spock has enough balls to say in his oh-so-eloquent way that captain you are unfit for duty, allow me to relieve you.

Fuck you, Spock, I’m dying as captain of this ship.

Spock would - is, right now, and this is happening, and really is it? He’s not sure. If Bones was here, he would be able to give some snap diagnoses regarding the fact that time doesn’t really make any sense, and sensory input makes any less. Sure he’s hearing things like the tearing of the ship in two, and seeing things like corpses everywhere and a nacelle drifting away and hearing things like alarms and his first officer’s voice but none of it makes sense in context. Of course, Bones is dead because there’s no life support on the med deck and as such without that kind of diagnosis he’s perfectly fine, Spock, perfectly fine and just get out of here. Escape, there’s still shuttles, I know, and you can get on one, really, and they won’t get you (he knows they will) and just run, run, run --

even as he talks Spock doesn’t move, just pushes him and --

A sharp scream cuts through his dull haze and it takes a while for him to locate it because it doesn’t make sense. Spock can’t scream, has no emotions, needs to remain calm and passive because that’s Spock does, what Jim depends on him for and what makes him so god-damn awesome and good and the best first officer a man could ever ask for. But even running through the inputs, when they don’t make sense, is hard. Put two and two together, Jim, because here Spock is, pinned to the floor by some awry debris and Jim’s eyes, his vision - they say that half of Spock is pinned good and green fluid seeps out from under there, the perfect viscosity of vulcan blood, along with little white chips that might be bone and black shreds of cloth. There’s an arm too, slinking under there, leaving Spock with a chest and an arm and the rest of it is just gone, disappeared under the mess, a part of the ship. It’s like pieces of Jim crumble too, and he might apologize for crashing on Spock like that but he’s not sure really what’s going on. Life support down on decks six and below. Major hull breaches recorded. Main and auxiliary power failing.

In the absence of stimuli that make sense, Jim’s brain provides him some, something about the mess of Spock’s hips, which are probably now a soupy mass of muscle, bone chips, blood and black cloth. They probably pancaked better than human bones and muscle, probably are still together like silly putty rather than slicing cleanly or crunching messily apart like human tissue. Spock’s probably in one piece and Jim wouldn’t be but honestly he isn’t now either. Spock might have saved his life but it’s fucking gone anyway.

A technicality. Spock’s good at those.

“Captain,” Spock grunts and Jim might be staring at him but he can’t really figure it out, because there’s some guy on the floor whose face looks filled with pain even though it’s so calm and Spock never has any pain, never lets anything get to him, and the vulcan’s voice never cracks desperately. “It has been my honor serving with you. There is no more noble a death.”

what the fuck, Spock, he might be saying and he’s not really sure (more of that stimuli problem, and that’s a nice crack in the main screen, spidering and fracturing like his mind, because he’s crumbling like his ship, and of course he would) -- what’s going on. Spock you can’t fucking die on me, not yet, not like this, I love you, I love this ship, and it’s all dying, it’s all dying, everything’s so --

“Captain.”

Jim looks at him and he can see, really, now -- can see those dark eyes, impenetrable to everyone but him, can see those narrow, arched eyebrows, carrier of a thousand expressions, of a thousand little twitches and arches, Can see those pointed ears, one that’s bleeding where it’s been whacked by debris, one flushed green from pain and hi thin face, narrow cheekbones, solid expression and that’s more like Spock, not so much pain, even though it’s obvious. He takes a breath and the stimuli clear and settle into organized bins and when he tries to reach forward to hold Spock something falls and there’s a sickening crunch and he wishes he didn’t understand because oh fuck pain, pain, his bones are shattered - the delicate metacarpals that Spock would run his tongue over, the palm where he’d bite, nails crushed -- his hand, in front of him, reaching, has become a dull pulp and Bones would know the biochemistry that’s threatening to make him pass out and dulling his pain but Bones is dead, All life support systems failing. Power at 0% on all non-bridge decks. Hull status is at critical.

“Jim,” Spock says and his voice cracks again, and Jim screams, screams because even when he tries to reach he can’t reach Spock, because one hand is destroyed and pinning him, even when he stretches over this piece, his hand can’t reach that one that’s reaching for him, the thin masterful fingers, capable of taking anything they wanted from him - a low moan, an orgasm that could knock him out, a laugh, a roll of his eyes - he can’t get them. He can’t get them and no, no no no no give those fingers to him and the world returns to that shattered glass fracture and it’s more comforting. It’s a trick of his mind he can’t hold Spock, can’t touch Spock as they die together. It’s just because he’s going insane.

“Jim,” Spock is still staring at him, “I love you.”

Bridge power failing.

I love you, too.

Something in him shatters, but who the fuck knows what the hell it is. The hull, maybe, or the trash that smashes his skull, or maybe it’s that dull shatter of the engine that makes it impossible to breathe or maybe it’s the shield that holds him together, fake gravity so he expands but whatever it is ------

Spock’s eyes close.