#anotherdayinthefleet

Chris allows the question to break over him without changing his posture or expression of intense concentration as he hovers over their chess match. He already knew he was going to move his rook to try to force a move out of Jim’s queen and make the young Captain reconsider the play with his bishops, but that wasn’t the point. Just like his first immediate answer, why yes, of course, who in Command hasn’t? wasn’t the point in Jim’s asking. Not really. The hesitance in the boy’s asking, the edge of nervousness when he managed to blurt it out, spoke of other questions. Normal questions. Human questions. Am I doing well? Am I doing as well as I think I am? Am I making the right decisions? Etc.

@anotherdayinthefleet  x.

He shakes his head when he puts his PADD away and walks over to the door, casually leaning against the wall before he opens the door. When he does, Bones is greeted by a bare chest. He did say he only put on pants. If one can count boxershort as such. “Hey there, grumpy.” he says with a smirk.

fingers trembling, the vulcan’s shoulders wane in his dying breath. he hadn’t meant to do it, not so forcefully. not so angrily. the remnants of his soup, slick all over the floor and the wall. and the silence then, is deafening; Spock, turned away in what looks like shame, ❝ leave. ❞

A SUDDEN DEATH, is an unexpected death. it should be obvious in its description. a logical one. nothing prepares you for it. no amount of knowledge or extensive care. it didn’t matter. not what details they put in. the amount of reassurance – - an accident to occur in this environment is approximately three percent, doctor. or how much they told him it would be alright.  it is unanticipated, just as its feeling. something like pins and needles, piercing and biting and tearing at his skin until what’s left is only FIRE. not hot, but cold. a dry ice, stretching across his chest, filing his lungs, like billowing smoke. it’s suffocating him. though, it’s not what eats him. what acts to slow down the vulcan’s cells, shuffling his feet like the dead - –                      he’s dead. he’s gone. he’s dead. stilling muscle, stalling his feet. no, it’s kirk. eyes like glass when they look at him. those blue eyes, blue like earth’s skies. wet with tears and false hope. wide and wishing, as if by daring to emerge ( alone ) from what lay behind him, from death - – he’s dead, jim - – Spock was telling him it was okay. that the truth won’t tear them apart, splitting them; heart, mind, and soul. but he isn’t. he’s said nothing at all. because kirk already knows. they both do.  and it shakes from Spock, a frigid breath. frozen. he hasn’t moved since then, since HIM, he realizes. maybe he can’t, only vaguely aware of someone calling his name. over and over and over. what do they want? his vision, muddied by a blur of gold and blue. blue like earth’s skies. he blinks – - there’s fingers digging into his shoulders. deep. desperate. they are desperate. until finally,