A/N
A huge thank you to my awesome beta reader, RandomFandomness. Without you, I probably would never have published this.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Star Trek or anything associated with it. I wish I did, but sadly I am but a lowly college student.
Waiting.
How many times in the past had he waited? Waited for news, for a start, for an end, for nothing? How had he been able to do it in the past, wait and sit patiently, stay calm, remain still? How had he been able to quell his emotions, to keep the mask in place. How had he done it?
Waiting had been easy then.
Waiting this time was agony.
He had not slept, had not left the hospital in days and had only eaten after incessant prompting from Nyota and McCoy. Every day without change broke Spock's impassive mask further. He could tell that the others could now see through the cracks in his shield and to the turmoil of emotion that roiled beneath the surface. He saw their concern, their pity,but he had recoiled and had tried to bury deeper within himself. There were no clocks in the room, and the only indication of time passing came from the light filtering through the shaded windows.
Four weeks.
Four weeks since the transfusion and no indication of life came from the captain.
The emotions that had flowed through his body during his fight with Khan had truly startled and frightened him. His anger, grief, fear and determination, had all fought against his adrenaline for dominance in what influenced his actions more than the other. One had stood out though, one that had scared him more than any other emotion he had ever felt…
He was brought back to reality by the soft swoosh of the door to the room sliding open, followed by the characteristic purposeful stomp of the doctor entering, with a nurse in tow. Leonard McCoy payed him no mind as he analyzed the machines clustered around the biobed, checking the readouts and adjusting the various tubes and wires connected to the Captain's body. Spock wished he could be useful in some way, but his expertise was too limited to do anything in the medical field other than basic first aid. Spock caught bits and pieces of the medical jargon the doctor had barked for the nurse to write down on her PADD, but most of the words merely buzzed around his head like flies around fruit.
As far as he could tell, Kirk was stable for the moment, his body having mercifully fought off an infection that had put the man's already near non-existent immune system even closer to complete failure. Kirk appeared to be gridlocked, his body seeming to weaken as fast as Khan's blood could repair it. He had to reach a tipping point sometime though, and it was that time that everyone feared the most.
Spock felt a pair of eyes on him and braced himself for the doctor's coming tirade. He heard the door's whisper-quiet opening and closing, before finally sighing and looking up into Leonard McCoy's face, finding a mixture of pity and concern there before it gave way to stern determination.
"So, Commander", he began sarcastically, "are you planning to go another week without fulfilling any basic needs, or will you finally listen to my goddamn recommendations and actually get the rest you need for your own recovery?"
He shrugged off the bite in the man's words and regarded him coolly, his face as stoic as he could muster.
"I am merely doing my duty to the captain, as I have told you sixteen times already, docto-"
"That's a crock of shit and you know it, Spock!", he cut him off in frustration. "First you refuse medical attention after having the shit kicked out of you by Khan, then you broke up with Uhura for no apparent reason, and now you won't even sleep more than twice a week, and even when you do, it's only in that goddamned chair!"
The doctor gave an exasperated, almost defeated huff before he continued.
"I know this is hard on you, man, I...I feel the same way…"
His piercing gaze dropped from the Vulcan's face, taking both himself and Spock by surprise; It wasn't often the man spoke in anything but his curt sarcasm.
"Just...promise me you'll get something to eat and sleep more than an hour every couple of days…if not for me then for Jim", he said before exiting the room. The last part had been so quiet, Spock had almost missed it.
Spock blinked and settled back into his chair, pondering the meaning behind the words. A slow blush had crept onto his face as he analyzed the words. Had the doctor guessed? he wondered, anxiety creeping through his already frazzled nerves. No, purely coincidence...I hope… the thoughts plagued him as he rose stiffly to his feet and exited the room for the first time since the captain had been placed there. He needed to get out, he needed to think for himself somewhere he wouldn't be disturbed.
"Open it...no...Jim...Jim…" He bolted upright, gasping for breath as the dream left him. Spock was drenched in sweat, shaking from the sheer realness of the memories that had haunted him since the day the captain died. He began to regulate his breathing and heart rate, calling out to the room's computer to increase the temperature before rising shakily to his feet.
He made his way to the bathroom, stopping suddenly to look in the mirror. He looked exhausted, his hair disheveled, clothes rumpled, and his eyes bloodshot. He ran a hand down his face, surprised at the stubble he felt, noting the clamminess of his skin. It is no small wonder the doctor was so concerned, he thought to himself as he entered his bathroom to freshen himself up before returning to the hospital. He shed his clothing and stepped into the sonic shower, letting the pulses work the knots out of his shoulders and he gradually felt himself relax.
Once again he had been plagued by the dream. The same one that had kept him from sleeping for more than a couple hours at a time the past few weeks. Every instance he had heard those words leave the Captain's lips, his nose begin to run red, his skin yellow, his lungs collapse from the radiation...the beautiful, piercing blue of his eyes go dull...had destroyed him.
It was enough to keep anyone from sleep.
Spock growled and punched the wall of the sonic shower, running his fingers through his hair as if he could rip the memories from his mind. If only, he thought hollowly, if only I could have taken his place...
Spock walked smoothly through Starfleet Medical, ignoring the eyes that followed his progress as he stepped through the door that led into the near-silent intensive care unit. When he rounded the corner into the hallway that led to the captain's room, however, he was caught off guard by the sight before him. There, seated in front of Kirk's room, was nearly every member of the bridge crew. His stride faltered slightly with surprise, before his usual mask slid into place and he continued onward. Before he could reach the door though, his path was cut off by a concerned looking Sulu and McCoy, the latter holding up a hand to block him from entering. Spock stood his ground. "Excuse me gentlemen, but I must insist that you allo-"
"Spock…", he heard Nyota say soothingly, feeling her place a gentle but firm hand on his arm. He turned to face her, noting the silent plea in her eyes that accompanied the tears leaving tracks down her face. He glanced around and saw similar tears in all of their eyes.
"No…" he heard himself say, whipping to face the doctor with unguarded and pure fear in his eyes. His mask fell away, revealing the truly exhausted, starved, broken man that lay beneath to his shocked crewmen.
"Spock, wait!", he heard Scotty shout, but he had already pushed past them and into the room.
No, was the only thought racing through his mind.
No.
No.
NO.
Kirk was still lying in the bed, but silence now replaced the usual hum of the instruments, the leads disconnected and the components switched off. Spock, refusing to acknowledge the deathly paleness and stillness of his chest, brought his fingers gently to rest on each of the captain's meld points.
"My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts", he spoke with force.
He fell through the blackness, searching, hoping, begging for any sign of life.
There.
It was weak. Barely a flicker in the frightening abyss of Kirk's consciousness, but it was alive. Slowly, careful to not use too much of his own strength, Spock fed the spark, a fuel to a flame. He ignored the rush of fatigue and pushed on, giving more and more of himself to feed it. Not enough, he thought, pushing his limits, fighting the darkness that was threatening to consume him.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he won against the darkness, feeling the light expand rapidly. All at once, the abyss was gone, replaced with images rushing by him too fast to make anything out of the substance. Spock was slammed, gasping, back into his own body. He was vaguely aware of hands on his face, his arms, and his body, before he gave into exhaustion and was consumed by oblivion.