Pathetic did indeed just about cover it. He liked to think better of himself, and he tried to (very careful to avoid reflections if he could), because the delusion helped keep him strong, helped him keep his sanity. Ridiculous, but it worked. He thought. Maybe.

"Of course I know you're from Starfleet, you're..." he trailed off, finally taking the men in.

The dark air, gently pointed ears, severe eyebrows and the impassive face he knew so well. That he could have drawn in his sleep if he so wished. The other less familiar if only because he not keen on looking at himself in the mirror so long as to memorize it. But he knew. Because who's side would Spock be by but his own? Except if that was him then... oh stars above.

A crushing weight pressed in on his chest, felt tight and made breathing hard. Already aching from his wounds, the sprung to life anew, burning as he called up the wizened fact of a friendly, though sever looking Vulcan, and the story he told of falling through a wormhole...

Oh stars above.

"Of course it would be you, Spock..." he smiled, tired and forlorn before the weight crushed him and he collapsed, the world going dark, not a star to be found.