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Spock is taken to the hospital wing of the Vulcan Embassy. Leonard watches as the Vulcan medics lift him onto a bed. The situation is serious enough that neither of them so much as glances disapprovingly at Leonard when he grabs Spock's hand again. Just because they look, of course, doesn't mean that they're not silently chastising him for such an open display of impropriety.
He doesn't care if they are or not. He's human, and he needs some kind of reassurance, no matter how 'inappropriate' or childish it may be.
A new Vulcan enters, a healer judging by her white robes, and she spares only long enough to introduce herself. “I am T'Mal,” before going to Spock and sitting in the chair on the other side the bed. She places her hands on his face, murmurs something in Vulcan (the mantra Vulcans recite before mind melds; Leonard remembers Spock melding with him, but he'd recited it in Standard, possibly because he knew of Leonard's discomfort with melds and wanted him to be as aware of what was going on and as comfortable as possible.)
He's never thought of that before, how much Spock bent to accommodate humans and their fears and quirks. Spock was careful with him after his encounter with that rogue Spock from another universe, limited in how he used his melds and touch telepathy on Leonard, only resorting to it when they were in danger and there was no other way.
As he watches T'Mal close her eyes and sink into the trancelike state he's seen before, affection blooms in him. And anger. And desperation. Spock better not leave him. Damn it, he better not even try. If he doesn't come back...
Jim.
It doesn't seem real. Leonard knows he hasn't had time to process the loss and begin grieving. He's been too busy worrying about Spock. But now that it's out of his hands, now that all he can do is sit here and let the healer try her best, it's all rushing in on him at once. Jim is gone, his best friend and brother of decades is gone, and even if Spock wakes up, god knows what kind of condition he's going to be in.
Hours pass, and Leonard is dozing when he feels Spock's hand being pulled out of his grasp. He jerks awake all at once and sits upright in his uncomfortable chair. The healer is no longer touching Spock. She's standing, as upright as any Vulcan, but even her rigid control can't hide the exhaustion. She looks like she's about to drop.
Spock is awake. He's still on his back, but his eyes are open and he's staring at the ceiling. Leonard shoots up, ignoring the way his back cracks in protest, and leans over him, placing a hand on Spock's shoulder.
“Spock? You back with us?” The forced positive note in his voice rings so false and grating that he flinches inside.
Spock doesn't say anything. His eyes flick briefly to Leonard's face and then back up to the ceiling. Leonard turns to the healer, who looks ready to excuse herself out of the room.
“Is he stable?”
“He will not follow his bondmate into death. I did all that I could.” She sounds regretful, and it's not encouraging. She didn't say Spock was okay, or that he would recover, just that he wouldn't die. What's going on in his head? Is he mentally sound?
Leonard wants to ask but knows it isn't the time. Not now, and not in front of Spock. He wants to thank her, but she leaves before he can. She must be tired, to be so blatantly rude.
“Spock.” Leonard sits back down. He's not touching Spock anymore but feels like he should be. What can he say? What is there to be said? “I'm glad you're still here,” he manages finally. It's the truth, but it feels like such an aborted version of it. He's more than glad, he's... He literally doesn't know what he'd do if he'd lost Spock, too. “Very glad.”
Spock doesn't say anything, doesn't even look at him. He still just looks upward, his dark eyes haunted, empty. His normally too human, too expressive face is so blank and devoid of emotion it makes Leonard ache. What he wouldn't give to see that tiny smile curling at the edges of Spock's mouth as Jim playfully teases him. He would be happy to see any kind of emotion from Spock; tears, anger (Leonard almost feels like he'd welcome Spock trying to throttle him; a ghost memory of Spock's hands on his neck surfaces briefly, from the time they were thrown back in time into a planet's past and Spock had been reverting to the illogical ferocity of his ancestors.)
Leonard sighs. “I don't know what happened, Spock. I found you in your apartment. You had collapsed.”
There's no sign that Spock even notices that Leonard is in the room with him. He closes his eyes, and his breathing deepens and slows down in the way that Leonard is familiar with from times he's seen Spock trying to meditate. Meditation is something relatively intimate for a Vulcan that normally only Jim would see, in the privacy of their shared quarters and home, but there were times on missions when Spock and Leonard were locked in jail cells together where Spock grew tired of Leonard's illogic and retreated to a corner to meditate, going inward to a place where Leonard couldn't follow him, pester him with obscure Southern idioms, try to provoke him into an argument for entertainment.
Whenever Spock came out of his meditation, the times in the past that Leonard has seen, he would be more calm, more at peace and centered than when he began.
He honestly doesn't know if the meditation now will help. Leonard hopes, for Spock's sake, that he is able to find some kind of peace.
*
Leonard thought that his pain couldn't get any worse than the first moment he heard that Jim was gone, thought that that was as bad as things would get. And he'd been sure that it couldn't be worse than when he'd lurched into Spock and Jim's apartment and found Spock there, comatose.
Hell if this isn't worse.
Spock has retreated into himself. He doesn't speak to Leonard or, as far as he can tell, anyone else. He spends most of his time on the bed the embassy designated his, either sleeping or attempting to meditate. Vulcan attendants bring food, and Spock eats it mechanically when Leonard places it in front of him, and he goes into the courtyard to walk around when Leonard physically pulls him up from the bed and guides him outside to get some fresh air and exercise. Spock doesn’t talk, or appear to listen when Leonard does. The only sign he’s even conscious is that his eyes are open and he moves around.
And where the hell is Sarek? It has been almost two weeks, and there's no sign of him. Leonard has been the only one here with Spock. Their other former crewmates sent messages of concern and apology that they couldn't be there, but there hasn't been a damn word from Sarek.
Here he is, laboring to make Spock eat and drink, getting concerned messages from Joanna. She leaves them on his comm unit at home, and when he stops by his apartment to change clothes, there’s always at least a dozen waiting for him. She's worried about him, of course she is. They haven’t spoken for days, and haven't actually seen each other since before Jim died. She's upset about that, too; she knew Jim, had met him many times. He was a fixture at family dinners, he and Spock.
One day, after Leonard dragged Spock into the bathroom to bathe (which, thank god, he can do for himself once he’s shoved into the shower), he leaves Spock's room and tracks down a room with a communication system.
He sends Sarek a message that amounts to, in polite terms, “Get your ass to San Francisco and be here for your son,” and gets back an automatic reply informing him that Sarek is in meetings negotiating between the planetary governments of Sevor III and Sevor V. The meaning is clear; Sarek is too busy doing his job as a diplomat and mediator to come to his son's side.
A few years ago, Spock's mother, Amanda, died. Spock is all that Sarek has left, now that his wayward son Sybok is gone. He should be here. He needs to be here.
Leonard can't keep doing this alone. He can't. He needs some support, even if it's from a Vulcan as stern and imposing as Spock's father. He knows the man loves his son, even if he doesn't show it in a human way. They repaired their relationship after the Enterprise crew saved the earth via whales.
Hell. Hell. He needs Jim. Leonard feels it in every fiber of his being, how badly he needs Jim right now. More than ever, now that he knows it's impossible, that he'll never...
Shaking his head violently, Leonard shuts off the comm system and stands, heading back to Spock's room. The unbalance there is awful. Leonard has always felt that, whenever their number was reduced to two when it should be three.
When Spock went to Gol, Jim had been such a mess. He'd been working that godawful desk job, barely spoke to Leonard (and when he did, it was usually with no small amount of anger; he seemed to serve as a permanent reminder that something was wrong, the two of them were missing their Vulcan), accidentally broke that poor woman's heart. Leonard can barely remember her name, but she was Jim's supervisor, and she'd fallen for Jim, and the fool had been so lost in his grief over Spock's abandonment of him he hadn't even noticed her feelings growing. Hadn't let her down gently. The whole situation was fucked up.
And then Spock died, and it was even worse.
At long last, the one to abandon them permanently wasn't Spock, it was Jim. Jim. He was always there. Always. Even when he and Leonard were in different cities, or even different planets, he would invariably call and there would be that warm voice and that stupid nickname. “Bones.”
It's just him and Spock now, and it's so wrong. Jim needs to be here, taking care of Spock, trying to draw out some spark of life from his robotic form. He would know how to get Spock out of this damned stupor.
Of course, if Jim was here, Spock wouldn't be in this state at all. Leonard would be in their apartment eating dinner with them, discussing the latest exploits of his grandson and granddaughter, and not even bothering to be embarrassed by Jim and Spock's finger kisses and smiles at each other.
When he gets back into Spock's room, he's surprised to see the Vulcan not back in bed. He finished bathing and is standing, fully dressed, in front of the window.
Without saying anything at first, Leonard joins him and looks out on the grounds of the Vulcan embassy, thinking that you would never know the bay isn't far away. The courtyard is, after all, full of whatever Vulcan-native plants will grow on Earth.
Leonard looks askance at Spock, sees his empty expression. It's not the mask of indifference he would often put on in front of strangers (and Leonard when he taunted him.) He's genuinely feeling nothing, and perhaps not thinking much, either.
"I can't help but feel that I've failed, am failing," he says softly. "I've failed you, and I've failed Jim."
A shudder travels through Spock's body. To Leonard's astonishment, he speaks. "Do not."
"Spock?!"
Spock doesn't say anything, and doesn't look at Leonard, but his body remains stiff and unhappy.
Nothing else happens, and eventually Leonard leaves for his apartment to shower and check in with family and friends. Spock is asleep when he returns, and Leonard drops his head into his hands, sure he can't take any more of this.
*
Leonard breaks when he and Spock come in from the courtyard.
It's just too much. Abruptly, it's the last straw, to see Spock silently preparing to sink back onto the bed, recede back into wherever he goes when he lays there without even moving for hours. Leonard can't stand to witness that again, to see any more of this, Spock's continual self destruction. Hell, it's not even that, it's Spock refusing to live. All he's doing is existing, and it's so painful and Leonard can't take it anymore.
“Damn it, Spock,” he yells, grabbing Spock's wrist to keep him from laying down. “What the hell can I do? What can I do, goddamn it?” Let me help, he's begging silently. Let me help you, Spock. Let me comfort you. I loved him, too.
Spock looks at him, actually sees him. For the first time in… hell, since he woke up from his comatose state, his eyes actually rest directly on Leonard, instead of sliding straight past him with no sign of recognition. When he speaks, his voice is so raw and vulnerable and full of pain that he doesn't sound anything like himself. “Kaiidth, Leonard. Nothing. You have done all there is to be done.”
He lays down with his back to Leonard, leaving him in silence again.
The next day, Sarek comes to bring Spock back to the house he owns on Earth.
Leonard isn’t there when Sarek arrives, but when he returns to the embassy, he enters Spock’s room to find Sarek bent over Spock, hands on his face, engaged in a meld with him.
Hesitantly, he steps in and closes the door, leaning back against the wall to wait until they’re done.
It takes a long time, longer than any meld he can remember seeing. Sarek’s hands stay frozen in place, but he drops down to his knees after a while, and his face becomes creased with pain. Whatever he’s witnessing in Spock’s head, it’s hurting him deeply. Finally, he draws his hands away.
“My son,” Sarek murmurs so softly Leonard is surprised he can hear it at all. “You are in great pain.” Spock doesn’t answer, and Sarek lets out a heavy breath. “I would have been here sooner, if I had known. My assistant did not inform me of the messages I was receiving.”
“I hope that assistant is on their way home in disgrace,” Leonard interjects in disgust, unable to help himself. What a sorry excuse for a being, not alerting Sarek to the fact that his only living son was in danger because it might distract him from his job.
“Leonard.” Sarek climbs to his feet and offers him the Vulcan salute. Vulcans age slowly, but every one of his hundred plus years is visible in his sorrowful, exhausted face. “I have been told by the attendants that you have been with my son, caring for him, at the expense of your own well being. I thank you for your dedication.”
“If you can call it taking care of him. I wouldn’t.” Leonard comes to stand beside Sarek and stare down at Spock. His eyes are closed and it seems like he’s breathing easier after his meld with Sarek. “He’s almost completely unresponsive. All I can do is get him to eat and bathe.”
“That is all you can do, as a human. It is impossible for you to comprehend the effect a broken bond can have on a Vulcan, but nonetheless, I am...grateful for what you have been able to do.”
Gratitude is an emotion. Leonard doesn’t mention it, but they’re both aware of the magnitude of Sarek openly admitting to an emotion, and how insignificant that seems now, in the face of what’s happened to Spock.
He shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, but he has to know. He’s been watching Spock exist as this empty shell, and he has to know. “The healer that first melded with Spock didn’t tell me. What’s going on in there, in his head? What is he seeing?”
“He sees nothing. He knows nothing, but that his bondmate is gone. It is as if...” Sarek looks even older and wearier. This is a pain he’s well familiar with, of course, having lost his own bondmate just a few years before. “It is as if half of his consciousness was torn away. Where once James Kirk resided, there is now nothing but a dark void. Oblivion, Doctor. It is difficult to comprehend, even for a Vulcan.”
They both look at Spock in silence. Leonard wants to touch him again, take his hand, even though he knows it’s utterly useless. To Spock, at any rate. It comforts him.
“You have tried speaking to him?” Sarek isn’t looking at him to see his nod but it doesn’t matter. It’s obvious, of course he’s tried. “He is not comatose in the traditional sense. He can hear and see if he concentrates, but it takes a great effort for him to rise above the emptiness within him to actively respond and be aware.”
In simpler terms, Spock is simply too consumed by his own pain. The only times he’s responded to Leonard have been when he brought Jim up, and when he physically grabbed Spock in a fit of emotional desperation.
He came out when Jim was mentioned. Leonard had been thinking of Jim when he grabbed Spock, too. Leonard remembers long ago, on Vulcan, when Spock was supposed to be lost to them beneath the fires of pon farr. He struggled back to himself for Jim, to beg for someone to not force him to fight and kill his best friend.
“He can overcome this,” Leonard says, desperately. “He can survive and come back, can’t he? You made it through, Sarek, and so have other Vulcans. Spock can, too.”
Please. Please let him come back. Damn it, Spock, you have to.
“I was reached sooner by Vulcan healers, and I have always been more skilled at controlling my pain than my son. He is half human, and it makes the mental disciplines more difficult for him.”
It’s not a criticism; there’s nothing but sorrow in Sarek’s tone.
“Nonetheless, if there is something to be done, I will do it. I will contact the most skilled mind healers. If it is necessary to return to Vulcan, we will go.”
“I’ll go with you,” Leonard says, without hesitation. “To your home here on Earth, or to Vulcan. I’ll do whatever I can, maybe I can at least be of use treating him physically. I’ve been his doctor for years—“
“No, doctor.” Sarek says it gently, but with no room for argument. “This is a private matter, for Vulcans, and for family. My son and I will handle it together. You have done enough, given enough of yourself and your time, and I cannot accept any more. You must go and attend to your own needs and family.”
Spock is his family.
But Sarek is Spock's family, his true family, and Leonard thinks of the raw pain in Spock's voice when he mentioned Jim ("Don't," enough pain in that one word to make a weaker man weep), and how Jim had angrily avoided him while Spock was at Gol.
Maybe that's all he is to Spock right now, a constant reminder of the one who isn’t there. Of Jim.
Every time Leonard sees Spock out of the corner of his eye, he expects to turn to his other side and see Jim. It must be the same way for Spock.
Maybe it's best for Spock that he stay away, at least for now. Let Spock recover with his father and the help of other Vulcans, without a constant reminder of his life with Jim hanging over him every moment.
Besides, Leonard could use some time away from Spock, too. These days with Spock have really taken it out of him. He’s losing weight, stressed out, hurting from how useless he is. Only Vulcans can be of any help to Spock right now, anyway. He’s nothing but dead weight. No need to take up room in Sarek’s home and intrude on his privacy, his pain.
Joanna wants him to come stay with her and her family. She keeps asking him to every time he speaks to her. She’s worried about him, and he can’t blame her.
“You’re the best thing for him right now,” Leonard concedes to Sarek. He moves close enough to touch Spock and takes his hand one more time, just holding it for a minute. Spock, I’ll be back. I promise. He wonders if Spock is even aware of his touch, through the horror in his mind. Come back to us, Spock.
Then he steps away, symbolically handing Spock’s care over to his father. “Take care of him.”
Sarek nods, and Leonard leaves before he’s weak enough to actually shed tears. Bad enough to do that in front of Spock, but Sarek? He’s not just fully Vulcan, or an ambassador, he’s Spock’s father.
Leonard finds the same comm unit he used to contact Sarek, and enters his daughter’s number with hands that tremble with weariness.
He’s too old for this.
“Jo, I’m accepting your offer,” he tells her, and it’s a good thing this unit has no camera, because he wouldn’t be able to see her face through the tears welling up. “I’m coming home.”
She’s relieved, Leonard can tell, but when he hangs up, he sags forward against the comm unit and gives up trying to hold his emotions in check. For the first time since Jim died, he lets go, and the tears come.
Leonard wishes letting Sarek take Spock didn’t feel so much like failure, and that going home to his own family didn’t feel so much like betrayal.