Title: Dearest Blood
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy, brief Scott and Uhura
Rating: K+
Word Count: 925
Spoilers/Warnings: Title taken from SFS, no spoilers.
Summary: If the other half of your soul was wounded and bleeding, dying on a stretcher in a sterile Sickbay, would you hold on to the only thing you had left of them?
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, or anything related…. and would have given Kirk and Spock a better destiny together if I did.
Scotty was used to unpleasant sights, beam-ups that took ugly shape on the transporter pad. And when he had heard Kirk's voice call for immediate transport with a medical team on stand-by, the near-frantic edge to the captain's voice warned him that what he would beam up would not be pleasant. But the sight of the captain, materializing on the transporter platform, kneeling and cradling the unconscious, bleeding form of the Science Officer in his arms, still sickened the veteran engineer. In an instant, McCoy quickly took over the situation, scurrying with Chapel close behind, to relieve Jim of his burden and whisk the wounded Vulcan off to Sickbay. Without a word, a dazed Kirk had passed his phaser and communicator over to the transporter chief and hurriedly followed, leaving the engineer to watch his retreating back, a grim frown flitting across the Scotsman's features.
Twenty minutes later, Lt. Uhura entered the empty exam room in Sickbay and paused hesitantly in the doorway, her dark eyes scanning the area for any sign of the captain. Sighting him, her eyes softened; Kirk sat motionless in a chair by one of the exam beds, dull eyes fixed on the floor. Considering the probability that the man was nearing a state of shock, the communications officer approached quietly and bent over her commanding officer, laying a hand gently on one golden shoulder.
"Captain," she began, her soothing voice breaking the silence of the room. "Please, sir, I am sure everything will be alright. Dr. McCoy is with Mr. Spock right now; he's doing everything he can."
She paused, and her eyes swept over the stricken C.O., noting several scratches and a superficial burn that Kirk had no doubt refused to have treated. "Captain, why don't you take a break and let one of the nurses tend to you? Or at least go down to your quarters and clean up a little, change into a fresh uniform?" She glanced at the bloodied yellow top, the green contrast disturbing. "You'll feel better, and by then Dr. McCoy may have some news."
The captain continued to stare blankly at the floor, unseeing, unhearing, his senses closed off to all but his own thoughts. With a sorrowful look and a shake of her head, Uhura gently squeezed his shoulder and left the Sickbay room, conscious that she could not fill the place of the one who had always been able to reach the tormented soul within.
Kirk blinked, and his eyes moved to look at the golden uniform, stained with a drying green that had been spent to protect him. A part of his mind told him that Uhura was right- he could not help Spock now; he should go to his cabin, change into a clean uniform, be the captain.
But he was suddenly, fiercely reluctant to do so. Blood was the life-force. The green on his shirt was what had kept Spock alive... Spock, who was now in all probability lying dead in the midst of McCoy's operation, that warm, gentle being now cold in a sterile, metallic Sickbay O.R. But the green blood on his tunic had once kept Spock alive, had been Spock, and now was the only thing he had left of the Vulcan. Kirk closed his eyes, feeling the still warm fluid against his skin. It was the last time he would ever feel the Vulcan's warm touch, the reassurance that the brother of his heart would make everything that was wrong, right again. This time, there would be no righting of wrongs; the Vulcan would not pull some magical mathematical equation out of his too brilliant mind, and Kirk could not use his bravado to bluff his way through the situation. His Vulcan was gone, and McCoy had just not been willing to yield to defeat yet, or was simply afraid to come tell him the bitter truth.
And life was now over. He would attempt to go on, to command the most amazing crew any captain had ever been entrusted with, but he knew full well that he had grown too accustomed to his XO's presence on the bridge. He needed that steady voice to calm him during moments which required a presence of mind and steeled nerves that he did not always possess on his own.
Now that was gone, and he was alone. Already, he could feel the emptiness in the back of his mind, the absence of that comforting "something" that always let him know of the Vulcan's existence. The incredible loneliness frightened him, as nothing had since they had first encountered the Klingon party on the planet below; and his chest began to rise and fall in panicked terror. Raising a shaking hand to touch the green on his sleeve, Jim closed his eyes and fought the dizzy feeling that swept over him.
"Jim." A voice in the distance called his name. "Jim!" Wild eyes opened to focus unsteadily on the surgeon standing before him.
"Jim, the surgery's over," Bones continued gently. "Now, Spock is still unconscious and hasn't entered a healing trance yet, but Dr. M'Benga thinks that will come soon." The CMO looked down in concern, suddenly aware that his friend was trembling, and cold. "Jim, did you hear me? Spock is going to be just fine."
As those words registered through the chaotic disorder in his mind, Kirk slumped down, eyes closed and head dropped wearily into quivering hands, his world having just been resurrected.
He then stood to face McCoy, captain of the Enterprise once more.