When they finally make it to Vulcan, McCoy feels like a tangled bunch of nerves. This is it. The crossroads. Either Spock lives or dies… or worse, but he tries not to think of that. McCoy is a doctor - life and death, at least, he understands - anything beyond that… the less Vulcan mysticism in his life the better.
"I'll bet you chose me just to be difficult, didn't you, you green blooded Vulcan?" McCoy accuses the silent figure on the bed. Spock makes no reply, but McCoy imagines he looks guilty anyway. "You could've chosen Scotty," Bones mutters, retrieving the stretcher from where he's found it stashed away.
"Your mind is probably made up of so many nuts and bolts you two would've gone together nicely."
…
"And don't give me any backtalk about how 'my mind is perfectly organic, doctor', you know what I'm talking about."
…
"No I don't care if I'm being illogical, Mr Spock, so if you'll kindly-"
"Bones?"
McCoy lookes up to see Jim striding into the medbay, the others trailing behind him. Jim's eyes stray to Spock's lifeless form, and he gulps, looking back up to McCoy as though Bones has some sort of answers for him today.
McCoy just holds up the stretcher. "Let's see what Vulcan mysticism has in store for us next."
They carry the stretcher out together, all of them, with McCoy taking the front-right corner. The scorching Vulcan air stings his skin, even at sundown, although the relief from the stink of the Klingon vessel is welcome. He doesn't know what he expected, he supposes, but he had thought everything would be… smaller.
Perhaps a group of mindhealers, accompanied by Sarek and Amanda. Maybe with a few priestesses or something, like at Spock's fiasco of a wedding. No, apparently all of Vulcan was required to turn up for this occasion. They were making a proper party of it.
The mountain staircase was outlined with solid rows of Vulcans, all silent, and dressed in formal robes. Were they all related to Spock? Was this meant to be his funeral? Why were they here? Were they supposed to… share their strength, or whatever it was Vulcans did?
Even Jim seemed taken aback by their reception as a horn sounded, somewhere, and McCoy's hand tightened around the stretcher. Everything was so foreign, so strange… he hadn't felt this out of his depths since the beginning of the five-year mission when he realized he hadn't a clue how Spock's hybrid anatomy worked and that he needed to learn it all from scratch.
But at least he hadn't cared about Spock, then.
Jim starts them forward again, and even if Bones knows the man is just as out of his depths as he is, he is glad to be able to follow someone's lead. They are met by Uhura, who carries herself with a total confidence that sets some of McCoy's nerves to rest.
Jim pulls her into a hug, and she murmurs - "Sarek is waiting above, sir" before moving to take Saavik's place carrying Spock's stretcher. Well, here, at least, is something to do.
After an indeterminable amount of stairs, and bypassing a seemingly infinite amount of stone-faced Vulcans, they reach their destination; a huge platform suspended hundreds of feet above the depths of the ravine. The gong that sounds, over and over again, reverberating through the desert does nothing for McCoy's nerves, nor does the imposing figure of T'Lar, cloaked in pure white and burning red.
Soon, Leonard knows, something will be asked of him, something that he cannot predict and does not understand, but must perform perfectly for Spock's sake. His heart is in his throat and his palms are slick with sweat.
Spock has been taken from them, placed onto an anti-grav stretcher guided by the priestesses, and McCoy cannot even see him properly anymore. When Spock is carried before T'Lar, McCoy comes up short as he and Jim are blocked by the Vulcan guards, and he can only watch as Spock is taken away to be laid on a slab of stone at the top of the stairs.
T'Lar places a hand on Spock's face - (Is it a mind-meld? Can she sense something McCoy couldn't?) and her strong, reedy voice rings out - "Kaltorfalikal."
Her voice echoes against the mountains and is punctuated by the ringing of the gong.
"Sarek. Child of Skon, child of Sokar - the body of your son breathes still. What is your wish?"
Sarek does not waver in his response for even a moment - "I ask for fal-tor-pan. The re-fusion."
McCoy wishes he could be reassured by the confidence the Vulcans exude, but instead he feels adrift, without the emotional anchors and milestones he needs to orient himself in the discussion. He glances at Jim momentarily, as if the man has any answers for him, but Jim's face is a mask of complete concentration on the speakers at hand.
"...What you seek has not been done since ages past - and then only in legend. Your request is not logical."
This is not reassuring. Even the Vulcans don't understand what they're doing?
"Forgive me, T'lar. My logic… is uncertain where my son is concerned."
This should have been even more concerning, but in a strange sort of way, McCoy wants to laugh. Do you hear that, Spock? We've corrupted even your father, now. If we get you back you won't have a single argument against our emotionalism then. Somehow, standing on this grandiose platform in the deserts of Vulcan, surrounded by the regal forms of the most important beings Vulcan has to offer, Bones feels like he's finally won his eternal argument with Spock.
All that's left, then, is to make the stubborn hobgoblin see it…
And then it comes. The moment he's been longing for and dreading.
"Who is the keeper of the katra?"
Sarek turns to face him then, and McCoy feels his heart stutter as he straightens, ready for every eye to fix on him. The human carrying the Vulcan's soul. What was going on in those logical minds, he wondered, when they looked at him?
But whatever happened now, he must be perfect - in thought and deed. They're dealing with Spock's soul now, and McCoy cannot risk his illogical human emotions somehow… hurting the transfer. As much as possible, his thoughts must be clear and his resolve firm.
"I am," and he steels himself. "McCoy, Leonard H," and he draws himself up. "-Son of David." The Vulcan intensity is oppressive, but Leonard has had practice. Let them do their worst. He's here to be illogical and save his friend, no matter what the pointy-eared hobgoblins think about it.
"McCoy, son of David… since thou art human, we cannot expect thee to understand fully what Sarek has requested."
McCoy rankles at that - an instinctive bristling at the idea that a mere human can't understand their lofty Vulcan concepts, and a flaring offense that there is any amount of danger he wouldn't undertake for Spock.
"Spock's body lives. With your approval, we shall use all our powers to return to his body that which you possess. But McCoy, you must now be warned; the danger to thyself is as grave as the danger to Spock."
McCoy glances away, feeling his tongue flicker out over his dry lips. 'As grave as the danger to Spock?' But Spock is… already dead, in all the ways that matter. How can he be in danger? What could be worse than death? McCoy remembered his visions of a Spock trapped between life and un-life; eternal suffering without respite. He imagines now a future where he and Spock share this un-life together. Or perhaps they simply mean that Spock's katra would be… lost, like how the human soul is lost after death, unguidable and unreachable by the living.
"You must make the choice."
McCoy does not truly understand the danger, he knows… but he also knows that it does not matter.
"I choose the danger."
His voice is strong, though he feels he is too loud, overcompensating for his ignorance and unsurity in the face of expectations thick enough to be tangible. He feels more than sees Jim's gaze on him, the young admiral's eyes clouded with worry.
Jim has lost too much, too quickly. He does not want to risk losing Bones too. Well, McCoy doesn't intend to be lost. He has a mission, now, and a healthy dose of indignation at the world's most ostentatious group of Vulcans… all that's left is to keep Jim reassured with a dose of humor, and he turns to Jim to remark on what a time it was to ask. Just once, McCoy wants to visit Vulcan and not be surprised by danger at the last minute.
Sarek gestures McCoy forward, and he catches Jim's gaze once more, the admiral's worried eyes following him as he moved forward. A priestess leads him forward with a hand on his elbow, and he is secretly glad for the guidance, to know for certain that he isn't somehow doing the wrong thing. She releases his arm, and he moves beside the second stone slab, settling down to mirror Spock, lying headfirst.
Then there is the disconcerting feeling of motion, as inhumanly strong hands guide the slab of solid rock beside T'Lar, and he attempts to calm his racing nerves before the process begins.
Remember Leonard, you can't let your emotions ruin this. Just once in your life, keep everything under control - his stomach is doing cartwheels and his throat feels dry. He tries to immerse himself in the forced calm of an operation, but he doesn't know what he's going to do, and he can't convince himself that he's the doctor in this scenario.
T'Lar speaks, ancient Vulcan that feels perfectly at home in these ancient planes, and then the gong sounds, harsh and ringing, sudden enough that McCoy actually flinches with his whole body, despite trying desperately to hide it.
Spock, Spock, you're in my head, aren't you? Where is that Vulcan serenity now?
McCoy's eyes are wide as T'Lar's hand slowly, so slowly drifts over his face, settling over his forehead - he squeezes his eyes shut as her mind brushes against his, probing, inquiring, assessing. He tries to open up, to let her in, but she just hovers for now, a swirling air of alien energy pulsating at the edges of his consciousness.
When Spock had melded with him before, on so many other occasions, it had felt warm, as if Spock was constantly explaining himself to Leonard's subconscious every step of the way. He had felt new and confusing… but somehow safe and reassuring.
This is nothing like that. Leonard's hands tremble at his sides. Are these his last few moments of sanity? Of life? He reaches for Spock's presence in his mind; tries to cradle it, protect it.
'Save yourself', he tries to tell Spock. 'Whatever you have to do, save yourself. Don't worry about me - we didn't come here to lose you again. That's an order from your doctor, you hear? Whatever happens, you ditch me and go - take whatever strength you need, do what you have to… get back to Jim.'
Suddenly there is a void, a dark pit on the other side of that alien presence, that force, that bridge hovering on the edge of his mind. The pit is Spock, or what should be Spock. Will be Spock.
McCoy tries to imagine scooping all the pieces of Spock together to hand to T'Lar… he doesn't know how this works, but he needs to try. Come on, Spock. Come on.
Suddenly the presence on the edge of his mind joins with him, wraps around and through him and it is as though T'Lar has grown roots into his mind and soul, as though every thought and memory he has ever had is entangled in her, preserved in her with crystal clarity… an entire life consisting of memories in amber.
His mind flounders, unequipped to deal with the sensation of alien minds bursting him apart at the seams, the overpowering presence of T'Lar pulsating against the ethereal essence of Spock, somewhere in him, everywhere in him, deep in his mind where even he has never consciously gone, scattered along his muscle memory and unconscious thought.
He feels very small in his own mind, caught in the presence of giants, and he calls out for Spock, for T'Lar to tell him what to do before he goes insane, losing his grasp on a meaningless world.
He gets the feeling that she wants him to calm; to relax for her, but he doesn't have anything to hold onto, and he can't be calm without something solid, something real.
A single memory, then. A memory with a solid tranquility for him to hold onto.
A sunny day, relaxing in Georgia. Sitting under a peach tree and soaking in rays of sun. The grass is soft, and the air is sweet with earthy smells.
McCoy clings to that memory, holds on to it like an anchor in a hurricane, and T'Lar does not move until he has control of himself again.
But they cannot stay this way forever - three minds, bound together in so many bodies. He is ready. What must he do? He must help her find Spock, of course, every piece of him, so that he can be taken to his own body.
A long process. A taxing process. He must not let himself slip, or he will be drawn under and lost. A surgery. Yes. A long surgery, removing Spock from his own mind.
He brightens at the realization, and feels himself grow stronger for it. McCoy begins his search for Spock.