Work Text:
Spock sat quietly at his desk. The air felt thick, heavy, and it was hard to suck into his lungs.
The room wasn’t silent. It never was. It was filled with the low hum of the engines, the distant beepings of working machines, the hiss of the air circulation device, and these sounds filled Spock’s brain until he was buzzing.
He didn’t move. He just stared blankly at his PADD, filling out forms on autopilot. There was always more work to do. Always.
He was the captain now.
Someone buzzed at the door. He could sense who it was—Doctor McCoy.
He didn’t answer.
“Let me in, Spock, you stupid hobgoblin,” yelled the doctor from the hallway. “I know you’re in there! Don’t try to ignore me!”
Spock gazed blankly at the door, not making any move to unlock it.
“Spock! Open the fucking door!”
He turned back to his PADD. Maybe if he ignored McCoy for long enough he’d leave.
“If you don’t let me in I’m using my medical override!”
Spock didn’t move.
“I’m coming in!” There were several beeping noises, followed by several curses. “Goddammit, Spock, how did you manage to block the fucking medical override??”
The buzzing in his brain was overwhelmingly loud. He tried to concentrate on the paperwork in front of him, but the words went in and out of focus, blurry little blots of print that didn’t even look like words anymore. It was getting harder to breathe.
“That’s not safe you know,” McCoy continued. “What if something happened? Like if the ship hit some space turbulence and shook around a little and you bonked your pointy-eared head on the monitor or something. You could die. And whose fault would that be?”
He gripped the PADD harder, still not responding.
“Yours, for being so stubborn you didn’t let anyone help you.”
(Spock wondered if he’d mind if the room was covered in green.)
McCoy sighed. “Let me in, Spock,” he said, voice softening.
Spock closed his eyes. “Computer, unlock the door,” he said, and his voice sounded normal, not even remotely shaky or hoarse or emotional.
Good. He sounded like a proper Vulcan. He forced his face into a more neutral expression to match.
The doors hissed open, and Doctor McCoy walked in. Spock steeled himself and looked over at him, fixing his gaze on a spot somewhere in the nebulous space above McCoy’s left shoulder instead of his eyes. He didn’t think he had the strength to look at those eyes right then.
“Spock.”
“Doctor,” he said. McCoy walked forward and began waving his small scanner all around him. Spock allowed it.
“You’re fuckin’ exhausted, Spock,” said McCoy. Spock turned back to his PADD. His stomach hurt. The words still refused to order themselves in his brain. “When was the last time you slept?”
“Not relevant,” he said.
“Yes, it is,” McCoy said forcefully. “Now answer me, or so help me god.”
“I have work to do.”
“Spock!” McCoy tried to grab him by the shoulders. Spock stood up and moved away immediately.
“Do not touch me,” he snapped.
“Okay, okay,” said McCoy, raising his hands. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you here?” Spock said, finally looking directly at McCoy. McCoy looked right back with just as much conviction.
“How are you holding up?” he said.
“I am a Vulcan.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
Spock glared. “Please leave.”
“No,” said McCoy simply.
“That’s an order.”
“No. You can court martial me for mutiny if you want, but I’m not leaving you here alone.”
“As the captain—” He broke off. Fuck. He was the captain. He took a shuddering breath.
“I miss him too, Spock,” said McCoy, voice breaking slightly, and Spock looked away shamefully.
“It is illogical,” he started quietly, measured and controlled. “Kaiidth. What is, is.”
Spock sensed rather than saw McCoy come closer. (He’d never sense Jim again.) “It’s okay, Spock.”
“It is not.”
“I know,” said McCoy softly, sadly, mournfully, and Spock wished he were alone in his room again so he could bang his head against the wall. He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms. “Jim is in a better place now.”
“The idea of a ‘better place’ is one that I do not subscribe to.”
“I’ll say ‘my condolences,’ then.”
“I do not need ‘condolences.’”
“I’m trying to comfort you, you Vulcan asshole!”
“I do not need to be comforted.”
“You act like you don’t even miss him,” McCoy said bitterly. Spock stiffened. “God, you fucking piss me off! What I would fucking give to not feel! He’s gone and I—I’ll never hear him call me Bones again. Never call him an idiot while he lies in sickbay. Never visit the bridge just to see him smile,” he said, taking a shuddering breath. “He’s gone. And you just—” He made some vague gesture in the air, flashing in Spock’s peripheral vision. “You just fucking pretend you don’t care.”
Spock said nothing. He closed his eyes, willing himself to stay still. To keep from collapsing in on himself like a dying star.
“You’re the fucking worst sometimes, Spock,” said McCoy, laughing a little, voice cracking a bit.
“Doctor McCoy, what was your purpose in coming here?” Spock said quietly.
“My name is Leonard,” he bit out.
“Leonard,” Spock conceded, “Why are you here?”
“Because I care about you, Spock,” he said. Spock looked up, but still didn’t look Leonard in the eyes. He stared at his hands instead. “It’s hard. For all of us. And you shouldn’t be alone.”
Spock did not change his expression. He dug his nails harder into his palms. His chest felt tight. “I…”
“I miss him too, Spock,” said Leonard, echoing his earlier words.
Spock took his hand and held it tight. He could feel Leonard grief mixing with his own, and reached out with a trickle of comfort. Leonard sent one back.
Spock blinked hard.
“Thank you,” he said.
(When they found Jim, Leonard cried as he hugged him, yelling into his shoulder about never do that again and I swear to fucking god if you do that again I will kill you myself you dumbass motherfucker and how the fuck do you always manage to skirt death? I should stop worrying already.
Spock stood a few feet away, trying not to smile and trying not to cry, and it was illogical, but honestly with Jim alive he thought it mattered a little less.)