Something inside McCoy's mind snapped...
A Bitter Affair
Chapter Twelve
McCoy was shaking as he rematerialized in the Enterprise's transporter room.
"Wake up, Leonard," he whispered, his voice shaking.
"Bones. He's dead," Jim said, patting the kneeling man on the shoulder.
McCoy said nothing.
"We'll have a nurse conduct the autopsy."
"No."
"Bones, you're in no shape to-"
"Jim." The normally gruff doctor looked up at the captain with watery blue eyes. "I have to do this."
Fifteen minutes later, McCoy was scrubbed up and staring at Spock's lifeless body.
"Doctor? We're ready to begin," said a nurse.
McCoy didn't break his gaze.
"Doctor?"
"I'm ready to begin," he said finally. "The rest of you, get out."
"Sir?"
McCoy's glance in her direction was so full of pain that she immediately gathered the rest of sickbay crew and left.
It was still inside the sickbay. Slowly, McCoy picked up a laser scalpel and immediately his stomach churned.
Broken, he fell backward into a chair.
"Spock," he bleated.
There was, of course, no reply.
"Spock, something's wrong," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You're supposed to outlive me."
He gazed at Spock's neck. The hole had stopped bleeding, but his clothes were soaked with green blood. His hands were still wrapped tightly with strips of his uniform.
"You lost your fingers, Spock," McCoy whispered, rising and taking Spock's bandaged hand in his own. "S'okay. We can grow new ones. We'll get you some new fingers. That way, you can keep making that Vulcan salute."
Choking back a mixture of laughter and sobs, he slowly unwrapped the unmoving hand. In a bit of selective irony, Spock's index and ring fingers were missing.
"Now Spock, that's no way to treat your doctor," McCoy said, shaking his firmly-attached finger at Spock. He unwrapped the other hand.
"Spock, you saved your fingers for me. You're so smart. You knew that it would take a week to grow new ones."
Quietly, he worked.
"Now you're whole again," McCoy whispered.
He picked up the laser scalpel again and twirled it in his hand.
"Now I have to do the autopsy."
McCoy frowned as his mind searched for the sequence of events he had unfortunately performed many times.
"Spock, I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Where do I begin?"
McCoy strained his mind.
"This is because of the bond, isn't it? You said I could go insane if you died."
He leaned over Spock's body until he was almost nose to nose with him.
"Well Spock, you're dead. So I guess I'm crazy."
Tenderly, McCoy traced the lines of Spock's face. The skin was pale, since the usual green tint provided by his blood had been soaked by the thirsty ground.
"You're cold, Spock," he whispered, pressing his lips to the still ones.
"We've barely kissed, you know that?" he asked, placing his forehead against Spock's. "We were so busy fighting."
He lay his head on Spock's chest, hoping to hear a heartbeat.
"Half the time, I let you win, you pointy-eared hobgoblin. You were smart though. It's why I love you."
Sobbing, he buried his face in Spock's chest, seeking comfort in the familiar smell of his skin and the sensation of Spock's shirt rubbing against his face.
"I should have died too. I'm no good without you, Spock."
"That is incorrect, Leonard," came a faint voice. "You are...most satisfactory."
McCoy froze. Spock was dead. He was not supposed to be talking to him.
He wasn't supposed to be looking at him with pain-filled eyes either.
"I really am crazy."
"You are not crazy. However, I am still dying."
McCoy bolted upright. "You need blood!"
He slammed his fist on the communications panel. "Medical team, get to sickbay!"
Bridge
Jim sat up in his chair. There was only one reason McCoy would have called for a medic.
Only the epilogue left!