Paramount, its heirs and assigns own Star Trek, I receive no profit therefrom.

Breathe

Breathe.

There is blackness in the corners of his mind. He can no longer feel his limbs. Weight presses on his chest, a rock compressing him slowly, relentlessly.

Breathe.

Voices are far away, too far away to understand. They are asking him, telling him, but the sounds make no sense.

Breathe.

A hiss of a hypo spray. The familiar sting is absent. He can feel his arms and legs now, heavy and unresponsive. The rock on his chest grows lighter. The voices become clearer.

"Breathe god damn it!"

Instinctively he takes a deep breath and

darkness fades away. Opening his eyes, he sees the doctor's face, captured in worry. He sits up and sees the seeds from the deadly plant, still embedded in his chest. Jim puts his hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

Breathe.

He touches you and you feel the bright edges of his mind.

Breathe.