Chapter Text
Shades of Sunset
"What would I do without you Spock?"
Collapsed against the hull across from his captain the Vulcan felt a twitch of a smile on his lips. Once this would have alarmed him, now he merely acknowledged his human side and accepted that occasionally it would peek through his stoic facade. The Vulcan's quick mind had a response ready, filled with dry wit and fondness. Yet, just as he decided to vocalise it he found that his admittedly lacking energies were suddenly needed elsewhere.
Breathing was becoming difficult, and it was only growing harder by the second.
The twinge that had erupted in his injured side as he pulled his Captain into the alien craft, Spock realised, might have been a sign of more serious damage.
Taking a hitching gulp of air, or as much of a gulp as his uncooperative diaphragm would allow, he tried to turn to Dr. McCoy to alert the man of his ailing condition, for once the model patient. The adrenaline that had kept him going was wearing off to remind the Vulcan exactly how painful it was to have a ragged hole torn into him.
"Doctor," Spock managed to croak quietly, valiantly ignoring the expression on his captain’s face which was quickly slipping from elation to concern.
"What?" was the gruff reply as McCoy tried to twist in his seat to look at the source of the interruption of his concentrated effort to fly the ship.
Just as Spock was about to notify the doctor of the twinge, which was now more of a burning pain, the doctor abruptly turned back to face the view screen and, with a curse from the craft's unusual pilot, the ship jerked suddenly to the side, slamming Spock into the hull, straight onto his wounded side.
Someone screamed.
As Spock came out of the haze of agony, vision swimming and stomach turning, he realised that person had been him.
Hand once again tucked against the injury in a protective and instinctual manner, Spock forced himself to shakily move his palm away in order to assess the damage and found himself staring in numb surprise at the green coating his fingers.
In his dazed state it took him longer than his now visibly panicked captain to make the connection.
"Spock," Jim's voice trembled, his hand coming to rest against the Vulcan's shoulder, "you're bleeding."
*
Several feet away at the craft's helm Leonard McCoy's mind was frantically going through his not-especially-varied options.
The now familiar shout of pain had set him firmly back on edge. He hated how easily he had been able to identify the origin of the cry, and he internally mourned that it wouldn't be the last time he heard it. Stuck as they were in the flying death-trap with no medical supplies his options boiled down to one. Spock couldn't afford to lose more blood, the stock he and the Vulcan had built up on the Enterprise was gone with the ship and Spock's hybrid biology would reject anything else.
Catching the tail-end of Jim's concerned whisper only solidified his plan. Then all he could do was hope that Spock wouldn't die of shock before they could get him to a medical centre.
"Jim you need to get up here," Bones ordered sharply, the increasingly choked inhales of the Enterprise's first officer grating on his ears and urging him into action.
"But," Jim started to protest.
"Now!" although he hadn't intended it to come out so harsh it was enough for Jim to abandon Spock and scramble up to the pilot's seat, "I need you to take over and fly this thing," Bones explained hurriedly, "so I can fix Spock ok?"
"Yeah, sure, right." Jim replied in a daze.
"Jim," Bones murmured as they swapped places in a tangled mess of limbs, "you need to find a way to land us as gently and as soon as possible you hear me? No matter what you hear, you've got to keep focused, the hobgoblin's life might depend on it."
Jim's face immediately set into a determined mask.
"Got it."
Satisfied that Jim was unlikely to be distracted from his task Bones turned back to his patient.
In the minute or so that had passed since the unexpected jolt Spock had managed to get somewhat of a handle back on himself and, ignoring his still-laboured breathing and the ghostly transparency that had taken over his skin, looked almost well enough to man his station on the bridge.
Bones wasn't fooled.
With one hand against the Vulcan's pulse, thready and fast, the other gently pulled Spock's fingers away from his injury.
Glistening copper green coated the side of the uniform, Spock's elevated heartbeat only ensuring that the precious fluid continued to rapidly escape.
Doing his best to ignore the small noises of discomfort, Bones gently lifted Spock's uniform away from his side and felt his stomach drop further at the sight of bruising around the wound.
Internal bleeding. Shit.
Spock needed surgery, and he needed it now, if not sooner.
There was no way Bones could perform the necessary procedure, he could only delay the need for it and hope Spock was strong enough. Besides, he would rather not have Spock's unique blood pooling on the floor of the alien craft.
"Leonard," Spock croaked, but was immediately shushed by the medical professional. Normally Bones would be about employ his own particular brand of bedside manner but Bones knew that with Spock there was no point in even attempting to soften the blow.
"It's bad Spock," the Vulcan's breathing hitched as he probed around the injury as softly as he could, "you're bleeding internally, so I need you to focus on keeping your breathing and pulse as slow as possible. Understand?"
As Spock, wide-eyed, gave a jerky nod, Bones found himself for quite possibly the first time thanking the skies for Spock's Vulcan heritage, because whilst he so often grumbled about Vulcan mind voodoo it was probably about to save his friend's life.
Satisfied that his examination had confirmed his earlier analysis Bones turned to the next problem at hand. Sliding Spock's phaser from his belt he glanced around for a loose strip of metal that he could tear from its rightful place. Quickly spotting what he needed Bones tore what had once been part of the console support from its surroundings, brute force detaching the end that had stubbornly stayed attached.
Bones could see the trepidation on Spock’s face as the half-Vulcan spotted the tools he had acquired, it hadn't taken the science officer's genius-level IQ to work out what they were about to be used for and he could see Spock bracing himself for a repeat of the crude methods that saved his life on Altamid, that would now save it again.
Bones paused thoughtfully and then hurriedly stripped off his uniform top, leaving just his black undershirt in place. He balled up the blue fabric and guided Spock to lie down fully with his head resting on medical blues.
“Orange,” the first officer gasped suddenly as Bones hitched his shirt up further to expose his injury. Bones jumped, not expecting the strange outburst and his mind jumped to diagnose the worst.
“Spock?” he asked with concern for his reluctant patient's state of mind as he turned to heat one tip of the metal pole with the phaser, waiting for the reassuring and terrifying red glow that indicated it was molten enough for its intended use.
“You asked for my favourite colour,” the Vulcan replied haltingly through clenched teeth, back arching briefly against the renewed pain from shifting position, hands clenching at his sides, one came to grasp the hem of the doctor's shirt, Bones didn't attempt to remove it, Spock needed the support, “it is orange.”
Oh.
Bones let his hand come to rest on Spock’s shoulder, doing his best to project calm and comfort, hoping that Spock’s touch-telepathy was picking it up that it was helping.
“Orange huh? Not what I expected,” speaking of orange, the strip he had torn off was starting to burn a dark ember, “kind of a bright colour.”
“It was the shade of sunset on Vulcan,” Spock murmured, “not necessarily bright but warm, familiar.” It did not take a telepath to catch the wistfulness in Spock’s tone and McCoy’s heart went out to the younger man who had already lost so much.
From the corner of his eye he could see crimson light. It was time.
After a moment of hesitation Bones reached for his belt with his free hand and in one smooth movement yanked it off, folding it swiftly and offering it to the Vulcan.
“So you don’t bite your tongue,” he explained at Spock’s slight frown; the Vulcan’s eyes lit up in understanding before he allowed Bones to slide the leather between his teeth, biting down on the fabric and closing his eyes. He did not wish to see this coming.
Bones moved to straddle the science officer's legs, using his own body weight to help hold him still, glad for once that Jim couldn't see and make comments about the compromising position. The ragged tear in Spock's side was still leaking emerald blood at a frankly alarming rate, he couldn't afford to delay any longer. With a deep breath to steady his own hands he grasped the metal rod firmly.
Then, without warning, he pressed the scorching instrument firmly into his patient’s wound.
The Vulcan screamed. Muffled though it was by the makeshift gag it was more than enough to make Bones' heart lurch in empathy. Spock’s eyes flew open, body tensing and moving, trying desperately to get away from the source of his torment, but to no avail. Bones knew, without a doubt, that if Spock had been in full health he wouldn’t have stood a chance, but now it was relatively easy to hold the Vulcan down and still with one forearm braced just above the injury.
The doctor tried to ignore the nauseating scent of charred flesh, waiting just long enough for the heat to seal the wound before flinging the metal away.
It landed in the corner with a satisfying clatter.
Beneath him, Spock’s cries had died down into whimpering exhales. Locking eyes with his friend Bones marvelled at the younger man's ability to withstand pain, even as he murmured comforting words to his suffering crewmate.
The ship abruptly changed direction and Bones braced Spock against to floor to prevent a repeat of the earlier incident. A quick glance up at Jim and Bones could see how tightly he was holding himself, restraining himself from dropping everything and rushing to his first's side. Up ahead Bones could also see that Jim had finally found somewhere to risk a landing. He barely held in his sigh of relief.
Feeling the tension beginning to seep out of Spock's form beneath him Bones lessened his hold and tenderly wiped away the tears that had escaped his charge’s eyes before Jim had a chance to spot them.
With a trembling hand Spock removed the belt from between his teeth and threw it aside, hesitantly drawing in deeper breaths.
"Leonard," his voice was a hoarse whisper.
"Shh," Bones soothed, giving into paternal instinct that had never quite left him and resting a hand on Spock's hair, thumb rubbing gentle paths across his forehead, brushing against the tips of slanted eyebrows, "I know Spock, I know, look, Jim's about to land, then we'll get you properly patched up, ok? But until then I need you to stay awake."
Spock turned his head into Bones' comforting touch in response. It was a reaction the Vulcan would never usually allow himself and Bones took the opportunity to push more calming thoughts towards the gentle buzz that now rested at the edge of his mind, his fingers lightly skirting psi points.
"So, orange huh?" Bones asked after a moment, aware that Spock would likely need help staying conscious. The Vulcan hummed quietly in response, "what was sunset like on Vulcan then?" Deep brown eyes flickered down to meet his, Spock's mouth twitched up into a weak smile. Bones had no doubt that he had recognised his conversation starter for what it was, a way to keep him alert, but he went along with it anyway.
Spock, suddenly so fragile and vulnerable, took a shaky breath and began to talk, his voice soft, melodious, and gentle as he shared his most precious memories with two men he considered brothers.