"He's dead, Jim."
The words shocked Captain Kirk into awareness.
"What? Who?" he demanded blearily.
"Spock, he's dead," Dr. McCoy reiterated, his voice dull, "I tried everything, but I couldn't save him. I'm sorry Jim-"
"What? How? Are you sure?" Kirk sputtered, "There has to be something else you could do! He's a Vulcan, can't they heal themselves? Isn't there some 'Vulcan mind trick' you can try?"
"Jim, he's dead."
Kirk's mouth opened, but no words came out, so he let it fall shut. There was a long moment of silence as the words sunk in.
"Let me see him," he ordered at last.
Dr. McCoy obeyed, leading the captain from his room where he had been waiting, out into the medical bay. One of the assistant nurses was cleaning up around the only occupied bed. It had been covered with a blanket, but the impression of a humanoid form was still visible beneath it. The young nurse froze as the door slid open and ran off as soon as Dr. McCoy gave him permission. Then, they were alone in the sick bay. Nurse Chapel had already paid her last regards - if she had been able to.
Kirk rushed over to the bed and tossed back the sheet without invitation. Beneath it was Spock, still wearing the pale blue patients' uniform. He was eerily still, his skin strangely pink without green blood flowing through his veins. His eyes had been closed and his arms crossed over his chest, almost like an ancient Egyptian mummy, so that they were not left dangling at his sides.
Kirk took one of Spock's hands, but it was cold to the touch and he nearly dropped it in shock. He could be preserving energy! The vain hope kept him from collapsing in despair.
"Spock! Speak to me!" he slapped his friend's face to pull him out of the Vulcan healing trance.
He shoved Spock's cold hand against his face, "My mind! Even if you can't speak! Mind-meld with me! Just show me you're alive!"
Kirk squeezed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate, searching for any disturbance in his consciousness, any sign of another mind trying to enter his own, but there was nothing, just the feeling of a cold, dead hand on his face.
He let the hand drop.
"Spock's katra!" he called out into the room at large, "Can you hear me? Are you here? Please!"
"Jim," Dr. McCoy put a comforting hand on Kirk's shoulder.
Kirk spun around to face him, his eyes wild with desperate hope that dimmed the instant his eyes fell upon the interrupter.
"Jim," McCoy forged on, "Spock's dead. There's nothing I can do to bring him back."
For an instant Kirk's face twisted into an expression of terrible anger. And then he deflated.
"Of course you can't," he said as though the words themselves were painful, his eyes fixed upon the ground, "You did what you could, Bones, didn't you?"
He barely looked up to pat McCoy on the shoulder in a weak attempt to comfort him.
"Do you need to stay in the sickbay?" Dr. McCoy asked, maneuvering to support the captain. "I don't need you getting sick."
Kirk shook his head.
"At least go to your room and get some rest."
"I have a ship to run." Kirk attempted.
Dr. McCoy interrupted him mid sentence, "Not in this state you don't. The crew will understand."
With that he guided the captain back to his quarters and left him there with orders for bed rest.
Note: This story was edited in June 2018 for cross-posting on Archive of Our Own.