Chapter Text
Leonard didn't have to tell him for Spock to understand that he was dying. There was an instinctual tug in the back of his mind, a horrible awareness of his own inevitable demise. He'd lost too much blood, and they both knew it, though the doctor allowed him to plow forwards through the rocky maze, only occasionally snapping at him to "slow down, damn you!," or "dammit, Spock, that was only a temporary fix back there!" Whenever their eyes met, Leonard would glower and immediately turn away, grumbling to himself about "green-blooded hobgoblins" and the like. The two purposefully avoided talking about his injury and the swiftly approaching beginning of nightfall.
It was only when he collapsed in the cave that the two were forced to face the reality of their situation. Bones sucked in a breath at the bruising around the wound, and Spock let his head fall back against the rock. Rapid and heavy blood loss, followed by massive internal bleeding just hours after. He grimaced at the thought.
The cold was setting in as the sun dipped below the distant mountains. Spock was out of time.
"What's your favourite colour?"
It had been a rhetorical question, but Spock couldn't help but think of an answer anyways. He'd never thought about it much, though he supposed it would be brown. The same colour as his mother's eyes. Or perhaps the golden orange of the evening sky back on Vulcan that he had watched with her, waiting for the moon to shine through with its pale copper glow.
"Brown and orange," he whispered, voice coming out far weaker than he had anticipated.
Leonard shifted to glance at him. "What are you babbling about?" he asked gruffly, but Spock could hear the undercurrent of worry.
"Brown and orange," he repeated. "You asked me my favorite colour earlier. I have two."
"Two, huh? Any particular reasoning?"
It was clear even to Spock's pain-hazy mind that the doctor was just trying to keep him talking, but he took the bait and answered, if only as an attempt to distract himself from the burning sensation growing in his lower abdomen. "Brown," he said again. "My mother's eyes were brown. She would look at me like I was the only person in the room who mattered. She made me feel like I had a place even when I was shunned by the other children my age, pushed aside as an outcast among my own kind for my half-human genetics. And orange was the colour of the sunsets when I would sit on the step with my mother when I was a child. My father pretended that he did not approve, but he would join us on occasion all the same." Spock let out a weak laugh. "He would be rather disappointed if he could see me now, I think."
He drew in on himself as the temperature abruptly dropped, wincing as the skin pulled tight around his injury. His Vulcan upbringing was very much a disadvantage on this foreign planet -it felt freezing compared to his quarters back on the Enterprise. "Leonard. The chances of me making it through the night are approximately 1.2%. You should try to contact the rest of the surviving crew and get to safety. My presence is only a hinderance to you at this stage."
Bones abruptly shifted closer to him, wrapping a shaky arm around his shoulders. "Shut up. We're gonna get you out of here, you damned Vulcan."
"On the contrary-"
"Fuck it, Spock, just rest. We'll talk in the morning. Maybe you'll feel better then, yeah?"
Spock didn't answer, just relaxed back against the cave wall. Maybe just an hour or two wouldn't hurt....
It was a testament to how badly he was injured that Spock relaxed without putting up a fight. Under normal circumstances, Spock would have fought tooth and nail to stay on his feet and remain an active member of the crew. Bones had never dealt with an injury as severe as Spock's with as few supplies as he had now. He had a couple of old bandages tucked away in his pocket, but other than that, they had nothing. No food, water, proper medical supplies, properly configured communication devices...nothing. Spock was gravely injured and had lost a lot of blood. Time was swiftly running out, and they were still no closer to finding any other remaining survivors of the Enterprise. If there even were any-no. There had to be others. They couldn't be the only ones.
Bones shifted as gently as he could to check the wound on Spock's abdomen without waking him, but no sooner had his fingers brushed above the injury than Spock was shooting upright with a tiny gasp of pain, eyes squeezing shut and hand flying up to hover over the wound. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Fresh blood was seeping through his uniform.
"Spock," he began gently. "Spock, I'm gonna need you to move your hand out of the way. I need to make sure the wound isn't infected. And the bleeding needs to be stopped before you hurt yourself even more. Can you hear me?"
The half Vulcan was curled against the cave wall, eyes shut tightly, one hand clamped over the wound and the other tightly fisted in his hair. He was making a horribly guttural noise under his breath, and Bones could hardly stand it. Spock shuddered, but allowed his hand to fall away, the doctor's nimble fingers swiftly reapplying pressure. He cursed. "It's not bleeding heavily like it was earlier, probably just strain, but you need more medical attention than I have the means to find out here," he said in a low voice. "We have a few hours before this gets critical. Keep pressure and stay awake no matter what. And don't try to move."
"Understood."
"Perfect. Just bloody perfect. Stay here, I'm going to climb up and try to get a signal to anyone with a working communicator."
Bones moved carefully, checking before he exited the cave, and glanced back as he hopped down the rocks.
Turning away, he headed off towards the smoke in the distance, clambering clumsily over the rocks. With any luck, someone would find them by sunrise.
If not, Spock would be beyond their help.