Title: Contemplating The Death Of An Old Friend

Author: Jungle Kitty

Series: TOS

Codes: [NR]

Rating: PG-13

Feedback: Yes, please. Your comments are greatly appreciated and frequently spur me on to write more and hopefully better stories.

Archive: ASC, BLTS, and WWOMB yes, all others please ask.

Summary: A response to the 1999 Halloween challenge: write a story about a ghost, blood, and chocolate.

Thanks to Nesabj for the challenge and Wildcat for beta-reading.

Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters and universe are the property of Paramount and Viacom. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe upon that. The copyright applies only to the author's original characters and creative content.

CONTEMPLATING THE DEATH OF AN OLD FRIEND
(c) Jungle Kitty 1999

I love watching you. I've switched over to others from time to time, but I always come back to you. You know why? The dead crave life, we hunger after the living. Oh, not in that grab you by the throat and drag you into hell sort of way. But we do covet what you have.

Whoever equated death with eternal life had obviously never been dead. Death is eternal death. Eternal nothing new. Eternal boredom. And this is boredom on an astronomical scale. No surprises. No highs, no lows. You can't even get a good poker game going. What's the point, when everyone knows what's in everyone else's hand?

Yeah, there's perfect knowledge, but who wants that? Maybe your first officer. He'll love it here. Spock will probably enjoy being dead a lot more than he ever enjoyed being alive.

After I died--well, after you killed me, if you want to get technical about it--I hung around because I didn't know what else to do. I found out later there isn't anything else to do. Most people watch their own funerals. You never forget that, believe me. Every one of us can tell you who attended, how hard they cried, and how big the flower arrangements were. And we heard every word that followed, "Not to speak ill of the dead, but..." Well, not to speak ill of the living, but isn't that the ultimate in kicking a man when he's down?

Not that the dead are much better. Biggest bunch of gossips you ever met. But we've got nothing else to do! Just watch the living and talk about what they do and how we'd do it much better if we could.

The first time I saw you eating a candy bar after I died, I wanted to kill you. How the hell could you gobble that chocolate down without even thinking about it? You didn't even stop working on that damn report! I've got news for you, kid. Once you're dead, you regret every piece of chocolate that you didn't treat like the treasure it is. There are a lot of aliens here who say that chocolate is mankind's greatest contribution to the universe. I don't think so. It's the one that is most undeservedly taken for granted, but it's not the greatest.

No, our greatest contribution to the universe is sex. I've seen it all now, and no one does it quite like us. An awful lot of them are just procreating. Can you imagine not loving that need, not anticipating the moment when the tickle you've been feeling becomes a demand, not wanting to do it every way it's ever been done and inventing a couple more of your own? Can you imagine regarding sex as some tiresome interruption that keeps you from doing what you really want to do? You learned the hard way about Vulcans being seasonal. Jim, I have to tell you. There are a lot more of the seasonal kind than there are of us. At some level, we're always in heat, always wanting it, always needing it. You no sooner finish one fuck than a part of you starts planning how to get the next one. It's one of the best things about being human. As long as you're alive, that is. Once you're dead, the whole thing changes. You still want it, but you're never going to get it. That's why we watch.

Sometimes we try to do more than watch. Sometimes we try to participate. Some of us are successful. The stronger ones can get inside someone, become a part of him. Mostly they go along for the ride, but sometimes they even manage to control things a little.

I've gotten in a couple of times when you were asleep. I couldn't do it when you were making love, though god knows I tried. It's just too great a distance between the living and the dead. Death and fucking are polar opposites. No common ground at all. But in
sleep, the distance closes just a little.

What a strange experience, to be someone else while he's sleeping. I really had to fight the urge to just curl up in a corner of you and drift off. But I wasn't there to nap. Remember those dreams you had that weren't like dreams at all? Where you relived every good time you ever had? You were pretty embarrassed when you woke up with cum on the sheets, but the women you were with were always impressed. That was me. I didn't want to possess your soul or take over. I just wanted to be there for a little while.

It was kind of strange and muted, more dreamlike that I would have wished, but it was close, very close to what I remembered. And when you came--god, you're strong, Jim. Did you know I was there? Because you sure as hell tried to kick me out. You were hard to hold onto, even in your sleep.

Sex. And chocolate. What I wouldn't give...

Remember that play about the girl who died? My sister was in it, so we went. Do you remember? You brought Ruth, and I brought that little redhead from USF. God, it was boring. Nothing happened, except this girl grew up, got married, and died. I remember
thinking, "Shit, if that's all it comes down to, what's the point?" But then at the end, when she was dead... Well, whoever wrote that play got it right. Clocks ticking. That's what she
missed. Clocks ticking.

I never heard a clock tick, except once. Remember Pilar, that girl from Madrid that I dated for a while? She had an antique clock on the wall of her bedroom. I remember lying in bed with her, listening to it after making love. I wouldn't mind hearing that again. Especially if I could hear it after making love. Especially if it didn't start cuckooing. That's why Pilar and I broke up. The damn thing woke me up once too often and I threw my boot at it. Knocked it off the wall, Pilar knocked me on my ass, and that was it.

I wouldn't mind doing that again either.

Ha ha ha.

Damn. I was trying to laugh, but that's another thing we can't do. No laughter, no tears, and no one ever gets knocked on his ass. No one has an ass.

Remember all those brawls I got into? You used to ask me why I was always picking fights. I didn't know then, but I know now. I think it was one of those flashes of insight I used to get. I think I knew how much I was going to miss all that when I was dead.

You said one of those fights would get me killed one day. You were right, weren't you? ESP got me into those drunken scuffles, and it got me into that last fight with you.

Sex and chocolate and fights.

You've had a lot of all three. And I've watched it all. I think my favorite fight was the time that you and Spock fought over the Vulcan girl. I went back later and checked her out when she was fucking her jug-eared boyfriend. Trust me, kid, you didn't miss anything when you passed that up. Like I said, procreation.

But the fight, that was exquisite. I knew you'd come through. That's the trouble with perfect knowledge; you know how everything comes out. But knowing the plot isn't the same as reading the book. When you realized you were going to have to kill your friend in order to survive... Was it different with Spock than it was with me? How did it feel? I was desperate to get in. But all I could do was watch. Even so, I imagined I could feel your surprise at the sight of your own blood. Jim Kirk mortal? Impossible.

After Spock beamed up, there was a little sandstorm on the sacred ground, courtesy of yours truly. I'm not very good at physical manifestation, but I did manage a little action that day. I wish you'd seen it. There was a puddle of your blood on the ground. It was the richest color I'd ever seen. I couldn't just let it lie there, soaking into that hot, disgusting sand. So I... Well, if you thought it was a good trick when I levitated that cup of water, you should have seen what I threw around after Spock's wedding. For a Vulcan, T'Pau can sure get emotional when you spatter a little human blood on her.

It looked so beautiful when I swept it up into the air. For a moment, the drops were suspended, bold and ripe and sparkling with life. When they started to fall, I whipped them up again and again. I danced in it like a kid in the rain. Your blood, your life...

You won't bleed today, Jim. I promise you that. It will all happen very quickly. Cold, bloodless, painless. That's as much of death as you'll ever know.

You're so alive, Jim! Too alive. Is it any wonder I can't break away?

You'd hate it here. Most of us manage. We find a living person and stick close, but you'd never be happy as a voyeur.

After the fight on Vulcan, I stopped sneaking into you. Your dreams have been your own since then. I've watched and I've waited and I've done a lot of thinking. You've been close to joining me many times, and each time, I found I was more sad than happy about it. I think we could shake this place up, but I don't want to see you here. So I'm coming in one last time.

Harriman is looking at us. He's panicky. You never looked that way, Jim. I've been studying you for thirty years, and I know. Harriman knows, too. He wants you to step in. He's turning it over to you. They're all watching you, just like ghosts, waiting to see what you'll do. Look at Harriman's eyes. He knows he can't be you, so he wants you to be him. And you're hungry for it, Jim, aren't you? Hungry to get back into that life.

Want it, Jim. Want it one more time. To command, to take charge. Want it just enough to hesitate for just a moment...

God, this is tough. You're quick on your feet, quick to make decisions. It's like reining in a bronco.

No, don't go yet! Jim, remember! You haven't been away from it for that long! Remember how it felt to be the man in the center seat! Remember--

'No, I'll go.'

Run, Jim. Run as fast as you can. It won't be enough. You'll save the ship--that's what you're meant to do--but you won't get into the airlock in time. Because thanks to me, you hesitated. You're going to be blown into the vacuum of space and you'll think you're dead. But you won't be. I made you hesitate, and now you're on a different path. I don't think I could have done it if I hadn't been almost a god when you killed me. You hesitated then, too, remember? But you won despite your hesitation, and you'll win now because of it.

You're supposed to survive today. You're supposed to return home to a hero's welcome and then live quite a bit longer, but I know what's coming up for you, and it doesn't include anything that will really mean something to you. Sex and chocolate, sure, but you've never really been driven by those. You'll get to the point where you'll long for death, because you think it's the last great adventure. You're wrong, Jim. There's only one great adventure, and that's life. I intend for yours to last.

I'm putting you outside of time, outside of death's reach. Outside of my reach, too. I can't go where you're going. I won't be able to watch you, I won't know what you're doing, and I guess wondering about that will be my new hobby.

It's going to be a long eternity. I'm not sure what I'll do for entertainment. But I keep remembering what you said to Elizabeth.

Above all else, a god needs compassion.

I'll miss you, kid.

[The End]