McCoy: (to Spock)…you’ll never know the things that love can drive a man to - the ecstasies, the miseries, the broken rules, the desperate chances, the glorious failures, the glorious victories. All of these things you’ll never know, simply because the word “love” isn’t written into your book. Goodnight, Spock.
Spock: Goodnight, Doctor.
McCoy: I do wish he could forget her.
(Spock initiates a mind meld with the sleeping Kirk after McCoy leaves)
A dull ringing in his ears
muffles the sounds of the battle raging around him. Yongguk pulls at his armor
haphazardly, letting each piece drop to the ground as he stumbles closer to his
target. With each step his body grows heavier, his muscles weary and pleading
for a moment of rest. He sinks to his knees and falls forward on to his hands,
his sword lying tossed to the side. His breaths come in ragged gasps in the
hopes of forcing more air into his lungs, but the blood that pools in his mouth
blocks the way. His eyes become fixed on the bright spots of crimson that adorn
his dirtied hands; tokens of war he wished did not have to be paid. His heart
twinges at the thought of all the men that left their stains on him, men who
now lie broken on the barren soil.
This is not how it was supposed to happen, he thinks, digging his
fingers into the black soil, I have
failed my people.