Dr. McCoy appeared more irritated than usual. Spock noted the stiffness of the doctor's shoulder muscles through his light blue uniform shirt. He had been slouched over his medical equipment for quite a while. Spock was not adept at interpreting human behavior, but he suspected that his colleague was ignoring him.
Spock was currently the only patient in medical bay. He had just arrived freshly bruised from an away-mission on the inhospitable Kalak-Th'u, and though Spock insisted that he was fit for duty, the captain, eyeing his wounds, nagged and bullied him into a medical examination anyway.
…An examination that had yet to take place. Spock's eyes roved over the empty expanse of the medical bay as he waited for Dr. McCoy to turn around and give him a shot, or order him to inhale deeply, or prod his bruises to check for tenderness in his usual brisk, unsympathetic manner. But the doctor remained at his equipment, silent as ever.
Spock cycled through the list of human offenses he could have accidentally committed to warrant what humans termed "The Cold Shoulder". Did he correct a factual inaccuracy that the doctor believed to be true? Did he undermine the doctor's illogical fondness for Terran alcoholic beverages? Did he forget the doctor's birthday?
Deep in this train of thought, Spock almost did not notice Dr. McCoy pace toward the computer on the far wall.
"Computer, for how long can a Vulcan survive while exposed to the atmosphere on Kalak-Th'u?" barked the doctor.
"[Seven hours, approximately]." responded the computer. Seven hours and four minutes, Spock corrected mentally. Safe on the Enterprise, though, Spock failed to see the relevance of that query.
"And Computer, how much blood can a Vulcan lose before he dies alone and friendless on a savage planet?"
"[Six pints, regardless of social relationships or location.]"
"Then why the hell," The doctor whirled around to face Spock. "are you sitting there, cool as a cucumber, while you're oozing blood like a geyser?" He looked half-deranged, glaring at Spock with an autosuture clutched in one hand and a medical tricorder in the other.
"Waiting for you to begin the examination, doctor." Spock responded calmly. "Had you not been occupied with your equipment, I would not have lost so much blood."
"You don't need an examination, you bonehead, you need an operation. Look at yourself."
Dr. McCoy thrust the tricorder in front of Spock. Through the mirror setting on the screen, he observed his appearance. His usually-tidy hair was mussed from combat. Deep green bruises covered his face, and his pallor had taken on an even paler shade from the effects of Kalak-Th'u's poisonous atmosphere. Having taken his uniform shirt off, he noted that a deep laceration from the Th'ulian spear fight was still bleeding.
"Then I am at a loss as to why you delayed the operation. The quicker it is done, the sooner I can return to my post," said Spock, setting the tricorder down.
The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. "I was waiting for you to express some kind of self-preservation. Tell me Spock, if I never said anything, would you have just sat there until you bled to death?"
Spock opened his mouth to speak, but the Dr. McCoy cut him off. "Or a better question—would you have stayed on that toxic planet for all those seven hours if I hadn't threatened Jim into pulling you out early? Either you don't know your limits, or you just don't care. Well, I can play indifferent, too. Lie down."
Spock complied, eyeing the autosuture. He was familiar with the burn of having wounds melded shut with the instrument and prepared himself for the discomfort. Dr. McCoy was soon standing over him, one hand braced on Spock's stomach and the other hovering over the flank wound with the autosuture.
In the close proximity, Spock could clearly see the signs of weariness in the doctor's face. His brows were drawn together. His mouth was a hard line. He had dark bags underneath his blue eyes. A very different blue from the blue of his uniform. More comparable to the blue of Terran oceans when viewed from space. Perhaps Dr. McCoy would benefit from a vacation to Earth, Spock mused. Humans seemed to overwork themselves quite frequently. In fact, Dr. McCoy was most likely projecting his own weakness onto him. Unlike humans, Vulcans could withstand anyth—
"Uuuuuurgh" Spock groaned as the heat of the autosuture seared his open wound. Dr. McCoy smirked down at him, blue eyes gleaming.
"Not so tough now, are you? Green-blooded, heartless goblin."
"…Favorite color…" Spock muttered through the pain.
"What was that, computer-brain?" the doctor asked, still suturing.
"…Is that not standard medical procedure? To ask my favorite color before a painful operation. You did so after my injury on—"
"Yes, yes, I remember. Yet another time I had to save your ass from your own self-neglect, for all the good it did me."
Spock hissed as the autosuture sealed the last of the laceration and Dr. McCoy prodded it experimentally. "Well, Spock, as soon as I can mop up the blood from your body, you'll be free to leave and find some other way to get yourself killed."
"I can do so myself, doctor." Spock replied, attempting to prop himself up only to be shoved back down again. Whether from blood loss or something else, the doctor's hand, firm on his chest, felt soothing after the intense pain.
"Don't even think about it, devil-ears." Dr. McCoy replaced his hand with a damp rag, and Spock begrudgingly relaxed as it traveled over his stomach and to his side, wiping every trace of green blood from his body. Neither spoke for a small while; the doctor intent on his work, and Spock intent on trying not to enjoy the sensation.
"Doctor McCoy."
"Hm?"
"Regarding my favorite color. As of late, I have been considering the question. If I had to choose," Spock looked deep into the doctor's tired eyes, "I believe it would be blue."
The doctor met Spock's eyes and his hand ceased moving.
"On second thought, Spock, I do believe that the blood loss has rendered you delirious." The rag slipped uselessly to the floor as Dr. McCoy reached up to place his cool hand on Spock's forehead. "In my professional opinion, you must remain here in medical bay for the remainder of the week at least."
For once, Spock could not argue with the doctor's logic.
My first fanfiction! It was supposed to be less suture-y and more sexy, but maybe I'll continue it with more romance. Thank you for reading :)