The BLTS Archive - Broken by Midnight Topaz (ravaged_rhapsody@yahoo.com) --- Published: 06-14-07 - Updated: 06-14-07 --- A/N: I don't normally write fics like this. . . but I was feeling really depressed the other night, so it wrote itself. And because it was about midnight when I wrote the majority of this, it may be a bit confusing and OOC. . . though I really hope not. It's in second person, but it should become obvious within the first few lines whose POV this is. (Well, hopefully, lol.) Admittedly, it is a songfic, but only a partial one. My inspiration was the song "Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley. I know that numerous artists have done their own unique renditions, but Buckley's version is the one I listened to and took the lyrics from - and that verse is in italics at the beginning/end of the fic. And, in defense, it seems to be fanon (especially in the slash community) that Kirk and Spock share a bathroom that connects their cabins- I've lost count of the number of fics I've seen it in. So I didn't make it up on my own. Oh, yes, my usual obligatory slash disclaimer- this is m/m romance, if you haven't figured it out by now. If you object, don't read this fic. Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, Paramount, or any other entity/company involved therein. --- Well, baby, I've been here before I've seen this room and I've walked this floor You know, I used to live alone before I knew ya. . . --- Staring unblinkingly at the familiar nameplate on the bulkhead, you wonder yet again at the irrational and reckless impulse that led you to his cabin. Admittedly, it would be much simpler to enter through your shared bathroom. . . but as your hand tentatively depresses the door buzzer, you are grateful that you chose this route. After all, he could refuse to answer the summons, especially as the hour is late. . . but the door slides open, as you knew in your heart it would. You slip inside, thankful for the absence of light. The dark disguises the slight tremor in your limbs, the flush of color that infuses your cheeks, the heaving of your chest as each breath becomes shallower than the last. As the door closes behind you, a quiet voice reverberates through the room. "Spock? Is something wrong?" You feel his presence before you see him, a golden spirit that seems to surround you in precious warmth. Even through the black, your eyes focus on the delicate curve of his welcoming smile, the details of his cherished face that will forever be etched into the deepest recesses of your mind. "Jim. . . " you murmur breathlessly. "I. . . I must speak with you." Spreading his arms in a gesture of acceptance, he casually draws closer. "All right, then. What is it?" Your throat constricts as all the logical, prepared arguments dissolve before they can be said. Abandoning all prudence and all the self-imposed boundaries of your heritage, you grasp his hand tightly and press it lightly to your lips in a silent act of homage. "I. . . I love you." His eyes widen incrementally. In the space of a few agonizing heartbeats, you both remain utterly motionless, gazes locked in endless scrutiny. Slowly, he withdraws his hand, resting it lightly on your shoulder. "Spock. . . " he says gently. "I. . . I'm sorry." With two simple words, your world shatters. "I've never been as close to anyone as I am to you. . . but you're my best friend, my brother. I do love you. . . but not like that." The pain overwhelms you, consumes your very spirit. His touch, meant to reassure, to comfort, only burns through to your skin. You recognize, far too late, the sheer enormity of the risk you willingly took without a second thought. Belatedly, you acknowledge the truth, realized only now but suspected for so long- nothing will ever be the same between the two of you. Never again. Deeply ashamed of your bitter lapse in judgment, you recoil from the contact and turn your face away. You cannot long endure his expression. Sympathy, pity. . . these are too difficult to accept. Fleetingly, you yearn for scorn, hatred, revulsion. Although these would irrevocably splinter your heart, they would almost be easier to bear- it is something you are accustomed to, emotions you have oft seen reflected in dark Vulcan eyes. "I'm sorry." This time, it is repeated in a near whisper as his arm falls to his side. "If it could be different. . . if I could be different. . . " You barely hear the words. The thunderous roaring in your mind supersedes all rational thought, all semblance of equanimity. With your control in shreds and a maelstrom of conflicting emotions drowning you, suffocating you, you choke out, "Forgive me." Before he can respond, you stumble through the bathroom and into your dimly lit cabin. Even through the haze that restrains you in an inexorable grip, you manage to navigate your way to the bunk and collapse upon it. A second, a minute, an hour later, his voice echoes through the dead air- calling, beseeching. "Spock, can I come in?" In anguish, you fold in upon yourself, unconsciously wrapping your arms around your trembling body in a futile attempt to stifle the painful memories and longings his soft voice evokes. "Spock. . . please let me in." It takes every scrap of your tattered willpower to resist that siren call. Acrid tears blur your vision and you shake your head violently. A pause- then his footsteps fade to nothingness. Yet he still haunts you mercilessly, a spectre of reality you cannot possibly exorcise. A bittersweet addiction, entwined in every fiber of your being, that you cannot ever hope to break. In despondency, you stare at the Watcher for uncounted fragments of time. As your eyes gradually close, a weary surrender to the darkness that clouds your soul, you wish illogically but fervently that you had never heard of Starfleet, of the Enterprise. . . or of James Kirk. --- And I've seen your flag on the marble arch And love is not a victory march It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah. . . --- The End