"We're not separated," says Jim with a shake of his head. "Spock didn't leave me, he wouldn't do that. He was taken." Horrible as it is, widower feels most right - Jim's lost someone before their time, to call it anything else would be a disservice to what they'd pledged to one another.

He sighs, only managing to get as far as taking the spoon in hand before his stomach gives another turn, and Jim goes green. It's been days since he ate, and now the smell of even soup seems too rich. "Bones," Jim gasps, miserable. "Maybe a hypo first?"