Leonard's mom have always told him that life is full of colour if he would only allow himself to look at them and savour. She was right, he thought watching the sky change outside Jim's hospital window, only Dr Leonard McCoy had his own palette of them, and much like the old modernist Kandinsky attributed them to notes and music, Leonard gave them feelings.
People kept telling him the colour of love was Pink like the first baby blossoms of spring, but Leonard knew better. He had seen the tarnish in that pretty soft pink, the real colour of love was the Magenta Crayola that muddy, foggy violet that was half way between the softness and gentleness of the baby pink and the bright pure passion of the purple. It was neither here or there, forever looking dulled. It was the tragedy of watching the first bright purple colours of the passion of love at first sight, tamper down with getting to know your love better and dull down to the muddy violet.
However, he always agreed on the common convention that the Green was the colour of jealously and of hate, he had suffered them both. That little monster that stirred in every human bearing the toxic colour of poison and spite running through your veins and heart with bitterness and disappointment. Although, Leonard was sure that a passion like this could easily turn Red, the colour of vengeance and the spilled blood of the enemy or the unfaithful lover.
The thought of blood made the doctor tear his gaze away from the darkening sky and look at the recumbent captain in the medical bed. It has been four days since the transfusion of Khan's blood, bud Jim haven't moved so much as a muscle to indicate what was happening in his body. If it wasn't for the beeping machines, he would look as dead as he was four days ago.
Ever since Leonard was a boy he had learned to associate the colour of Black with the death and mourning, only when he became a doctor did he learn that the colour of death was not black, but the deep, deep cold of the blue. The deep winter blue like a frozen mulberries that Jim's lips had become when he opened the body back brought to him by Scotty. The cold, sickly, ugly grey pallor the skin turns when the blood frizzes in the veins. Leonard never wants to see that, ever again, not on Jim.
Leonard had to admit that he too has a favourite colour. It's the clear azure blue of Jim's beautiful eyes, like a cloudless sky on a beautiful summer morning, or the most purest of spring waters.