Come death if you will. You cannot divide us; you can only unite us.Death was a curious sensation. Spock recalled when Doctor McCoy had asked him what it had been like, after his rebirth. And he had rebuffed the questions, stating that there was no suitable way to speak of his experiences without common ground.
K/S by Omega
You mean I have to die in order to hear your thoughts on death? The memory of that fond, exasperated retort caused his mouth to quirk slightly, even at the last moments of his life.
Categorically, he could not answer his friend's queries, for he had not truly died. His katra--what humans would call his soul--had resided within the good doctor. In that respect, he knew nothing of the metaphysical realities of death at that time.
He could feel his heart slowing, his breaths becoming shallow. He had lived a full life and regretted very little, save the absence of his beloved in the latter years of his life. His mind turned towards the next phase with anticipation.
T'hy'la, it has been a long drought without thy presence. I pray for rain to bless the desert once more.
He gazed around himself curiously. The heaviness that had surrounded him was gone. He stood, habitually straightening his robes.
His hands were smooth. He no longer rested in the inferno of his homeworld's Forge. He was surrounded by trees and the air was crisp and cool; birds softly chittering overhead.
He could hear laughter some distance away, and despite himself, he started. Those were familiar voices, familiar brushes upon his mind. Many of whom he had not heard in a century's time.
A hand, cool and heartwrenchingly familiar, rested on his shoulder. He turned, met the golden gaze of that beloved face. His voice was a whisper. "Parted from me..."
"And never parted. Never and always--"
"--Touching and touched. We meet at the appointed time." His voice failed and Jim pulled Spock into a tight embrace.
"Welcome home, t'hy'la. Welcome home."