The BLTS Archive - The First Five Steps by Midnight Topaz (ravaged_rhapsody@yahoo.com) --- Published: 05-23-07 - Updated: 05-23-07 A/N: Wow, I finally got another fic up! It’s been waaaay too long since I last posted for my liking, but I have a bigger project that I’m working on at the moment. Okay, now about the fic- this just sort of popped into my head the other day. The concept is based off some famous study or something about how there are various stages to the grieving process. This is post-TWOK, by the way. (Yes, another one.) Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, Paramount, or any other entity/company involved therein. --- Denial. --- His eyes drift to the science station of their own accord, an action that has become an ingrained habit after so many years. Expecting to see the quietly confident, reassuring dark eyes, he once again experiences the jolt of harsh reality. Unease grows in his mind as he notes the empty chair, the unmanned console. But he tells himself that it is only temporary, that the absence is only for a short time. Because Spock is alive. He has to be. --- Anger. --- The blood pounds in his temple. Seizing the glass that still contains the rich amber liquid, he hurls it at a nearby wall in blind rage. He finds a perverse satisfaction in the piercing shatter that echoes through the throbbing stillness. Reckless fury poisons his spirit. Fury at Khan and his insatiable thirst for vengeance. . . at Spock for unreservedly living by the axiom that ultimately caused his death. . . and, above all, fury at himself for not preventing the whole situation years earlier. He curses and screams until his throat burns from misuse. Soon, the floor of his cabin is littered with broken, jagged shards of glass that emulate his heart. --- Bargaining. --- He does not consider himself to be an overtly religious man with defined ideas of heaven and hell, but the mere possibility of Spock suffering in the afterlife leaves him cold. As his tired mind barely clings to consciousness in the depths of the night, he addresses any and all gods or divine beings that could be listening in a fervent, desperate plea. Perform a miracle. I’ll do anything- give up the Enterprise, give up the stars, give up my life. . . just bring Spock back. I’d give anything. Please... --- Depression. --- He curls up on his bed, hugging his knees to his chest. As he huddles toward the wall, an impenetrable cloak of anguish settles on his shoulders. At moments like this, it is a great temptation to give in to the welcoming darkness. His empty soul, existing only as an endless void without purpose, cries out for completion, for fulfillment. Yet the void could so easily be filled. . . But the part of his mind still capable of rational thought rebels at the dangerous longing that can only lead to a point of no return. So he languishes in the consuming blackness, retreating deeper and deeper into the black recesses of his own spirit. --- Acceptance. --- He feels young. Like a child learning to walk without assistance. . . repeatedly falling, but always getting up to try again. The falling. . . hurts. But though the ache will haunt him for the rest of his life, he comes to realize that nothing can erase Spock’s gentle touch upon his soul. He is an ongoing testament, proof that Spock lived and breathed and existed. And as he studies the Genesis planet- a place of new beginnings- he knows this with a calming surety that cannot be ignored. It is this surety that prompts him to make not a goodbye, but a farewell. Godspeed, my friend. Wherever you are. --- The End