I Wish I Could Not Feel

Written for another prompt from equine 14.

Warnings: Tragic, major character death, spoilers for some of Star Trek: Beyond.

Note: I only saw the new movie once a few weeks ago, so if I mixed up any events or what little dialogue I borrowed from the film, I apologize in advance.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek.

It was ironic, McCoy supposed, that he hadn't really accepted how serious Spock's injury was until the half-Vulcan started laughing.

Before that, he hadn't allowed himself to think beyond simple medical terms. The initial shock of seeing the usually-imperturbable first officer injured and gasping in pain had worn off quickly. He used his customary "you've got yourself injured and that pisses me off" manner while wrenching the jagged piece of metal from Spock's body and trying to cauterize the wound. The behavior was his best and most well-practiced defense against whatever situations he had to deal with as a medical doctor on a starship, be they merely annoying or terribly life-threatening, like this one.

Yet his confident, annoyed façade nearly shattered when Spock screamed in agony. The sound was more than frightening; it was gut-wrenching as the echoes bounced off the canyon walls.

He tried to pass it off with, "Well, they say it hurts less if you're not expecting it."

Still, it was little more than a rough patch job, if that. The half-Vulcan would, in all likelihood, start bleeding again before long.

They'd eventually set off in a random direction through the maze of rocks, hoping against hope to run across other survivors from the Enterprise. Or at least, McCoy was hoping; he had no clue what exactly might be going on in Spock's head.

Pointy-eared bastard. Not that he meant it, this time.

He and Spock had never gotten along very well. Their general views differed, they bickered constantly, and took opposing sides in almost every argument. Once, when Spock had agreed with McCoy, the doctor had said that it made him, "very uncomfortable". Which it had.

But watching Spock limp along, hardly even bothering to hide his pain, made McCoy feel almost like he was the one who'd been impaled.

Seeing Spock like this just doesn't feel right.

It got worse.

They stopped in a sheltered spot to rest, and ended up having a conversation that touched on various subjects including the death of Ambassador Spock and regular Spock's decision to leave Starfleet and go to New Vulcan. At some point, Spock startled laughing at one of McCoy's comments.

"Oh, God, he's delirious." McCoy groaned, but inwardly he was terrified. Spock is laughing, damn it. Either he's way more human that I've ever realized or he's dying.

Spock, dying?

It was unthinkable.

Not going to happen. Not as long as I have anything to say about it.

He wasn't going to let the best damn first officer in the fleet die on some godforsaken planet in the middle of an unexplored nebula.

As they stood up (in Spock's case, with difficulty) and started walking again, McCoy muttered, "You're not going to die, Spock."

Spock didn't reply. In his present condition, he might not have even heard me.

The wound had started bleeding again.

"Spock."

McCoy shook the injured man's shoulder. The wound had been bleeding steadily despite his best efforts to stanch the flow, and Spock's fever was bordering on spontaneous combustion; they had to find help, soon. "Spock, we need to go." He looked around briefly at the stone walls of the strange cave-like structure they'd spent the night in. "Come on, you green-blooded hobgoblin, wake up!"

Spock only stirred slightly and let out a strange whimpering sound.

McCoy felt icy fear cut through him. "Spock, wake up!" he shouted.

Much to the doctor's relief, Spock's eyes fluttered open. But the relief was replaced quickly by fear; Spock's dark eyes were glazed and blank, staring at nothing. A random stream of Vulcan words issued from his mouth in a voice that was no more than a hoarse whisper.

"Damn it, Spock! I can't understand you!" McCoy grasped the man's shoulders, ignoring the intense, fever-induced heat radiating through the blue uniform.

Spock's speech tapered off abruptly, becoming even softer and more broken. Standard words mingled with the alien tongue. "No…the ship…Jim…stop…Mother…so sorry…Nyota…"

"Spock!"

For a moment, Spock's gaze snapped into focus. Looking directly into McCoy's face, he said distinctly, "Death is not something to be feared, Doctor. It is a natural process."

McCoy laughed suddenly; it was just so undeniably Spock.

He stopped laughing when the half-Vulcan's eyes shut and his body went limp.

"No…" He felt frantically for a pulse and found none. "No! Damn you, Spock, don't do this!" His voice rose to a scream.

Then everything went very quiet.

No, no, no…

The silence pressed in on him. He felt like he was trapped in ice; cold and yet painfully numb.

Other than shreds of dissipating disbelief, there was nothing but a dull sense of failure.

Once the numbness had faded, the first complete thought that occurred to him was I don't know anything about Vulcan death rituals. Do they even have any? Even if he had known, it wouldn't make a difference. Nothing would.

McCoy felt the urge to move, to do something, but could not. He remained on his knees beside the body of one of the best men he had ever known. Because Spock was that.

Had been that.

Spock was gone. Another patient that McCoy hadn't been able to save.

He barely registered the tears that started running down his face. Spock would call such a reaction illogical. McCoy could almost hear the calm, analytical voice saying the words. Only, Spock would have to be alive to say it.

Right now, McCoy would've given anything for that to be possible.

And he found himself wishing futilely that he could not feel.

Reviews appreciated.

equine 14, I hope you think I did an okay job with the prompt.