Chapter Text
Some time after the destruction of Vulcan, when he had dealt with it as best he could, Spock started to take solace in the only thing he knew for certain – that the worst and most painful part of his life was behind him. Never again would he have to feel like he did on the day his mother, six billion fellow Vulcans, and his planet were all destroyed. No death would ever impact him as much or cause him to feel that kind of grief ever again. He allowed himself to be comforted by that knowledge in times of need. He knew, with absolute certainty, that he would never feel pain like that again.
He knew it only until he was on the other side of an airlock from a dying Jim Kirk, unable to save him, touch him, or comfort him. Overcome with anguish as his friend asked for his help to somehow not be scared. To not feel. There was not enough time to say all the things that he wanted Jim to hear about just how much he felt at that moment, and there wasn’t a word for the despair Spock felt at not being able to comfort his dying friend.
The look Jim gave him, and the smile right at the end gave Spock an overwhelming awareness of all that they were meant to be. When Jim’s hand slid down the glass and Spock saw the life fade from his eyes, he felt horribly cheated. Cheated out of a lifetime of friendship and defining experiences that he knew they had shared in another life. All he had managed to get in this one was a taste, a small glimpse of the greatness that was to come. The realisation of all that he had just been deprived of pierced through his heart and in that moment Spock knew that he had been so very wrong about the worst day of his life having passed.
Were it not for the others Spock would have opened the door and accepted death for a chance to spend the rest of his very short life holding Jim in his arms.
And then he just felt anger.
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The first really good blow that Khan dealt him made Spock realise that even his superior Vulcan brain could not simultaneously process both physical and emotional pain, and right now the latter hurt way more. So he revelled in the physical. He didn’t care if he lost. He wanted to kill Khan. Kill him and then wake up the rest of his crew and then kill them as well. Maybe one by one, maybe all at once. Whatever took the longest. He’d never enjoyed fighting, looked down in his own discrete way at the barbarians who did, but now it was the only thing keeping him from feeling the kind of pain that he thought might actually kill him.
And then all too soon Uhura stopped him, said some words that barely registered since he’d shut off the logical part of his brain altogether.
When he got back to the ship and raced to sickbay, carrying Khan’s lifeless body over his shoulders, he saw that Jim was in a cryotube. More glass that stood in his way. He vaguely remembered clawing at the tube, McCoy shouting at him to get away. He took down three security officers, his body screaming but ready to fight anyone that threatened to separate him from Jim again. McCoy, swearing he was done with all of this, managed to get close enough to give Spock a sedative - which did nothing except allow two other officers to finally restrain him.
In a moment of uncharacteristic compassion towards the Vulcan, McCoy put both hands on Spock’s shoulders, comfortingly, and told him he would get Jim back, would do whatever was possible and then try the impossible, but Spock needed to leave and let him do his job. McCoy promised to let him know the second anything changed, but it would take a few hours, and Spock needed to go to his quarters and calm down. Maybe the compassion came from knowing that they were experiencing the same emotions, except that McCoy had experienced them on a regular basis whereas Spock had probably only done so a few times in his adult life. Maybe it was because McCoy knew that Spock did not form attachments voluntarily, and the fact that he had let Jim in - against all his Vulcan logic and judgement - meant so very much, and made this experience all the more tragic.
Coming back to his senses on the way out of sickbay, Spock was able to notice the terrified faces of the medical personnel scattered around. He was thankful that he could not see Uhura among them, this is not something she needed to see. No one should have seen this.
Maybe she had seen just enough though, because he passed her on the way out and she knew better than to stop him or even look his way. This was not the same Spock that she had kissed in the turbolift a year ago when his planet was destroyed, the one that took comfort in her words and her touches. This Spock was inconsolable and feral.
---
Spock felt raw, bruised and shattered. Later he would not remember how he got to his quarters, which had fortunately survived Khan’s attacks. Once inside he dropped to the floor and sobbed, something his body instinctively knew how to do, but the unfamiliar sound sent new surges of emotions through him. He suddenly felt ashamed that the death of one man had triggered more within him that the death of nearly his entire race and the destruction of his home. Is this what friendship was?
He let himself drown in everything he was experiencing until it was so unbearable he felt could not endure it for another minute. He needed to get up and rebuild himself, put on his armour and carry on. His Vulcan discipline provided him with just enough strength to do that. He got up and strode unsteadily but purposefully to his meditation mat and sat down. He needed these feeling to end, his mind and heart to once more be at peace. So he purged his emotions, or tried to at least. In his haste and exhaustion he did not acknowledge them properly - did not deal adequately with the ones that confused him and did not question why they were all there - and when he was done there was a lingering feeling that he had not put himself back together quite right.
Instead of the pleasant stillness that usually accompanied an effort of this nature he was left with remnants of painful emotions, bits and pieces of distress floating around. But fixing that would require breaking himself open again, and he would not endure what he had just gone through for a second time. Anything was better than what he had felt the last few hours and he would take it and deal with the consequences later.
He sat and meditated, on the outside a picture of calm compared to a few hours ago. When he finished he restrained himself from going back to sickbay, knowing he would be the first McCoy would notify. That and the utter embarrassment he felt at his earlier behaviour. He thought of going to Uhura but he was not sure of what he should say. I would not grieve like this for you.
Instead he packed his belongings. The Enterprise needed extensive repairs, and there was no doubt that the entire crew would be forced to take extensive shore leave. He was halfway through when McCoy called him to sickbay. Spock could not tell anything from McCoy’s voice so he ran just a bit faster than he should have.
When Spock entered sickbay McCoy tried to force what was supposed to be a smile and Spock looked past him to see Jim, surrounded by machines and hooked up to a plethora of apparatus.
“Is he…?” Spock was shocked to hear his own voice wavering.
“He’s alive Spock. I don’t know how but—” McCoy didn’t finish because Spock grabbed his arm and sank down to his knees, his legs suddenly giving out beneath him. McCoy, in his second atypically compassionate gesture that day, grabbed Spock and lifted him to his feet, mumbling some words of encouragement.
“His heart is beating. We can’t really ask for more right now. I think he’s gonna be okay though.”
“Thank you doctor.”
“You saved his life Spock, thank you.”
Spock nodded, “I wish to remain here for a while, if you will allow it.”
“Of course Spock, as long as you like,” McCoy replied, patting him on the shoulder.
Spock pulled up a chair and sat down as close as he could to Jim. Damn machines, always something in the way. Anything else he felt on the way over was drowned out by the immense relief he experienced. He sat at Jim’s bedside for many hours, as many as he could manage. In that time he watched nurses and sometimes McCoy come and go, checking readings and occasionally making adjustments. The bridge crew came, as well as Scotty, McCoy only letting them in one at a time. Spock suspected it was more for his benefit that Jim’s. Some of them spoke to Spock, he would never remember about what, some gave him supportive touches on the shoulder. Uhura kissed the top of his head which he knew meant that everything was okay, she understood what he was going through.
McCoy had to drag him away in the early hours of the morning, but not before checking Spock for injuries, of which he had many.
“Spock are you insane? You have fractured ribs, and broken bones in your hand!”
“I did not notice.” Spock was not lying. Everything hurt, inside and out, and it was difficult to distinguish between all the various pains.
“Bullshit.”
McCoy fixed him up before sending him on his way, again promising to notify him in the event of anything important.
Anything important did not happen for two more weeks.
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Spock stayed on the Enterprise even though he had been assigned more than satisfactory accommodation on the ground in San Francisco. Jim could not be physically moved or beamed down with all the various medical equipment that he was hooked up to, so the Enterprise had a skeleton crew along with McCoy and a few other medical officers. Spock spent most of his days in sickbay, sometimes working on his PADD, sometimes meditating, sometimes just sitting. It pained Spock to see Jim like this, maybe to see him at all, but not as much as it hurt to be away from him.
Those feelings Spock had tried to repress would surface every morning when when he saw Jim, but what awaited him every night when he went back to his quarters was far worse. He had not been sleeping well, some nights not at all, giving up trying in lieu of meditation. Images and words tormented him every time he closed his eyes, and more often than not when he did fall asleep he would wake up from haunting nightmares.
Every morning that Spock walked in to sickbay there were less and less machines surrounding Jim. One morning, a week after the ordeal had begun, he walked in and they were finally all gone. He stood by Jim’s bed for a few minutes and then went back to his quarters to pack his bag for the second time.
Jim, still unconscious but stable and showing signs of recovery, was transported down to a hospital that afternoon. Spock came to visit as soon as he had finished organising alternative accommodation much closer to the hospital.