Pre-Spirk: It took the First Officer about thirty seconds of observation to realize that Jim was unaware he was being watched. In fact it seemed that Jim Kirk believed at that moment that there was no one else on the planet.

Speaking In Silence

"Language exists only on the surface of our consciousness. The great human struggles are played out in silence and in the ability to express ones self. "

- Franz Xavier Kroetz

San Sierra Stables

Five Miles Outside of Woodland, Yolo County, California

Stardate: 2259

June 3

1803 Hours

Spock was unsure of how much time had crawled by before he realized that Captain James Tiberius Kirk was missing from the room.

Spock excused his lapse in attentiveness with a counter equation of the number of individuals in the Hall, and the number of those in Starfleet Captain's formals and the number of individuals Spock himself had spoken to in the last hour.

Considering the mathematics it would have been illogical that Spock noticed Jim's disappearance prior to the moment.

Spock's dark eyes flickered around the room and it took it all in again.

The room thrummed with life and muted chatter. The Officer's Gala was an annual event that brought together the Starfleet elite, ambassadors and dignitaries in the early summer of the Terran year. Spock had been present at the Gala for the last two years but this was his first to attend wearing the dress blues of a First as well as Science Officer. Other than the familiar faces of Montgomery Scott and Doctor Leonard McCoy hovering suspiciously around one of the counters that had been converted to a bar for the night, the grandeur of the party swallowed up any reasonably recognizable individuals.

Like every year Starfleet contracted the same Hall for the night.

The Grand Dance Hall of San Sierra Stables.

It was a horse ranch, set well into the rolling hills and valleys of northern California.

Spock had no interest in Terran livestock as obsolete as horses but on his first invitation to the Gala the half-Vulcan had set out to learn everything he could of the history of the establishment.

The ranch had been established in the lush, greenery of upper wine country nearly a hundred and fifty years before. It had been a humble beginning, the original owners a veterinarian and her husband breeding and selling a few animals a year on a ranch of about fifty acres.

Then, ten years into the life of the stables a sleek, gray colt was foaled and given the name San Sierra.

By the time the colt was five years old he had taken title after title and championship after championship in the riding art of dressage and sporting events of jumping and cross-country jumping. The horse led the American Equestrian Team and won individual and team gold in the Terran Olympics on two different commencements of the event. The colt retired at the age of eleven to stand as a breeding stud at the stables of his birth. When the horse's life ran out at the deep age of twenty seven he had sired fifty different champions and grossed winnings and stud fees of over five million.

The humble fifty acres had swelled to over ten thousand. The simple wire and metal post fences had been replaced with sleek, synthetic white of traditional three slats. A small barn of only five stalls had grown to a massive complex of stable rows to house dozens of pedigree animals in large, deeply bedded box stalls and turn out pens. The complex was a net work of circular pens, square paddocks, rolling grazing pastures, a covered arena, dirt packed work paddock and a full sized jumping course.

The small, hand built ranch home had been left to stand as a guest house and made way for the construction of a villa that rivaled the chateaus in Napa and still retained the air of a ranch stead. A massive wrap around porch led to double oaken doors from all odd angles of the house. A large entrance hall that turned one way to a massive den and sitting room that sported shelves on shelves of books, trophies and ribbons around plush leather furniture and a large fireplace. Deeper into the villa was a game room and a sun room, just as lushly decorated and then turned into a massive kitchen of caramel colored wood and chocolate marble. The entrance hall led the other way to the large, rolling room of the Dance Hall, the floor the same honey colored wood that accented the rest of the home and coffee colored paint of the walls were accented with large framed photographs of notable horses bred on the ranch, of owners and trainers and large pictures of the stable and acreage itself.

The main entrance hall swept a third way, up into a second floor that consisted of personal rooms, offices, quest rooms and a private lounge.

The stable had put out top pedigree lines of Thoroughbred, Arabian, Morgan and Warmblood breeds for over a century and champion after champion could be added to their roster of bloodlines. Top athletes, enthusiast and collectors of the equine domain flocked to the stables as one of the last meccas of the culture.

In honor of their founding stud the farm took his name, San Sierra Stables and erected a monument to the horse in the form of a perfect replica of the animal that balance mid gallop on a granite base set in the center drive of the complex.

Spock had logged it all away that first year and it had proven beneficial as he quietly and calmly dazzled the current owner with his knowledge.

But had never taken the offer of a tour of the complex, to go out into the long grass and pass his hand over the sleek fur of what some considered living legends. The closest he came was what had been casually referred to as the 'show paddock', where every year on arrival of the Gala the owners and trainers turned out the years most prized and note worthy specimens of the breeding program.

The show paddock was located directly next to the Dance Hall, the many double doors of oak would be thrown open for the attendees to spill out onto the wrap around porch to look on. During the entire night the horses would prance and toss their heads as they moved out at their natural paces in front of the guests. Like living center pieces, female party goers would fix their eyes on the animals and a few males would grumble appreciatively until the dark fell over the stables and the sounds of hoof beats echoed in the dark only lit by the brilliant flashes of flying insects and the chatter of grounded ones.

Other than a brief glance at the animals in the show paddock Spock had no interest in the horses or the goings on of the stable at all. His time dominated speaking with Starfleet superiors and politicians, the hybrid could monopolize his time how ever he saw fit. Now things were different, he had responsibilities to attend to… one of them ensuring that Jim didn't cause an intergalactic incident.

Of which, by Spock's calculations of the time since he'd last seen Jim, he had more than enough time to enact.

Spock cast his eyes swiftly over the patronage, looking for the tell tale ruffled, blonde hair, and finding it beyond his sight. His eyes cast towards the open doors. The sun was far from set, Spock worked out that there were a few hours left until complete nightfall and his probability of retrieving his captain before dawn of the next day dropped to nil.

Spock absently set down his glass of tonic water on the tray of a passing server and settling his hands in the small of his back slipped out of the bustling room and moved towards the entrance hall. Jim's wanderlust would keep the young captain moving and it was unlikely that Spock would find him in the thick of the Gala.

Spock's measured steps carried him into the den and sitting room where a few party goers had retreated for more private and quieter talks. A few lifted their eyes and acknowledged him with slight dips of their heads. Spock's eyes scanned methodically around the rooms, looking into the shadows of sheltered corners of the possibility of his commanding officer having cornered the wife or daughter of a dignitary in one. Spock search continued fruitless through the sun room and into the busy kitchen. He easily stood out of the way of rushing caterers and servers as they shouted at each other and tossed objects this way and that. Spock watched with mild disinterest as he worked his way through to the far end of the kitchen.

The half-Vulcan debated on stopping one of the harried workers to ask for assistance when his eyes were drawn to a figure hunched over a sink at one end of the long counter. Spock quickened his step, thinking for a moment that Jim had perhaps had a few drinks to many and saw fit to empty his stomach in the sink.

Spock's pace checked when the man's blonde hair darkened beyond recognition and the pale pallor Spock expected was a dark, sun scorched tawny. Sitting patiently at the man's heel was a red furred dog, with neat white paws, a white chest and muzzle and a red bandana tied and a leather collar buckled around his throat.

The man leaned over the sink. His head bowed as his hands cupped under the water running from the antique tap. The dog, an Australian Shepherd, watched with ears perked and head cocked.

When his palms where full to spilling over the man unceremoniously lifted the pool to dump it over his skull. The water ran through his hair, dribbled down his face into the sink or slid down to darken his shirt collar. He rubbed the water into his hair and sighed contently, before repeating the action again and a third time.

Spock approached more formally. "Are you unwell, sir?"

The man twitched and twisted slightly, keeping his head bowed over the sink and looking back at him over his shoulder. "Naw, I'm alright. Just a little flushed, friend."

The man drawled casually and offered Spock a small smile.

"Don't like these parades much but when the Boss says put it on what do ya do?"

He cupped one hand under the water, filled it and brought it to his lips, drinking the water down, swishing it in his mouth before spitting it back into the sink.

The man, though rough and obviously a worker on the ranch, was more than friendly. Spock stood by as the stranger brushed the water from his hair and rubbed it into the back of his neck before standing full to his height.

His shirt was a sleek, dark red; similar to the jackets that Starfleet Captains were expected to wear as formals. But he was wearing a pair of dark, pressed jeans and a set of scared and worn boots.

"Can I help ya, friend?"

"I am First Officer Spock of the Starship USS Enterprise. Yes I would like your assistance."

The aged man gave him a slightly crooked smile. "Well… First Officer Spock of the Starship USS Enterprise. I'm Nicholas Evans of San Sierra Stables. Head trainer. And this is Pilgrim."

He motioned to the dog who cocked his head and sniffed in Spock's direction, but stayed sitting at the man's heel.

"What can I do for ya?"

"I am looking for Captain James T. Kirk, have you seen him recently?"

The man settled his hands on his hips and cocked his head, he chewed at the inside of his cheek. "Yer goin' to have to be a little more specific, First Officer Spock. There's a lot of Captains floatin' around today."

"Would a physical description be appropriate?" Spock lifted one eyebrow.

"Shoot." Evans waved a hand at him to proceed.

"He is of average height, approximately four inches shorter than myself. He had blonde hair and blue eyes."

Evans let a slight smile quirk his lips. "Kind of a rough and tumble type?"

"Yes." Spock tightly restrained a sigh at the appropriate description of his captain's demeanor. Evans nodded and his smile widened.

"Yer talkin' 'bout Junior."

Spock's eyebrow raised. "Junior?"

"Yeah. I know exactly where he is. C'mon." Evans waved for Spock to follow him as the head trainer led the way across the kitchen to a set of double doors that opened up to the wrap around porch. Pilgrim sniffed once at Spock's leg as he passed before bounding after the pair. The First Officer kept easy pace with Evans as the man bounded down a set of stairs and set out across the lush grass towards the paddocks and fences.

"Ran across Junior 'bout two and a half hours ago… be honest he ran across me. He's a sweet kid, practically a puppy, asked me to give him a walk 'round. I was happy to do it."

"The Captain exudes a certain charm." Spock provided.

"Naw wasn't that. He rubbed me the right way; I could tell what he was from the way he acted."

"What he was?" Spock prompted stiffening slightly.

"It's not hard when ya know what to look for. Soft hands, soft voice… that solid manner. It was good to see they weren't extinct after all. He's yer commandin' officer right, then ya know what I'm talkin' 'bout."

In all honesty Spock had no idea what Evans was talking about. His description was far from the Jim Kirk that Spock was acquainted with. He was beginning to think that they had a miscommunication of who they were looking for.

"He must treat ya and yer crew real well." Evans walked Spock up to a line of triple slatted fence. Spock narrowed his eyes at the man.

"Captain Kirk's treatment of the crew and myself is exemplary-"

"Wouldn't expect anythin' less." Evans nodded approvingly and caused a new wave of confusion in the First Officer. "Just do us all a favor in return. Whatever it takes, don't let someone break that boy. Please. We need him. Need more like him."

Spock fixed a sharp look to the trainer and felt the muscles in his jaw clench. "I must inquire as to what you are referring. I do not understand exactly 'what' Captain Kirk is or why you 'need more like him'. More so for the reason of 'what' he is that I must exhaust myself in order to ensure that he is not 'broken'. I would ask that you refrain from continuing to refer to him as such until you explain your inference."

Evans gave Spock a small crooked smile.

"He's a Whisperer."

Evans made a twitch of his hand into the paddock before turning and walking back the way they'd come.

Spock stared after the trainer for a few long moments before looking down, surprised to see Pilgrim sitting quietly at his heel, head tilted up to look at him before looking out it the paddock. Spock cocked his head slightly at the dog's abandonment of it's master then cast his eyes along the fence line, expecting to find his Captain leaning casually against the top rail and chattering with a female.

Spock's eyebrows lifted at the sight that met him. Along the line of fence to his right was a group of women of all ages, species and physical builds were leaning heavily on the top slat. They were dressed in their finest evening wear, sporting droplets of precious stones on chains or hooks of precious metals around their slender throats, slim wrists and perched in the shell of their ears. Their faces were softened and almost looked sedated, eyes near glassy. Some had delicate glass flutes full of liquor balanced between their fingers and all leaned heavily over the top rail. They were pressed almost intimately into the material of the fence, their heeled shoes sunk into the softened grass and earth under their weight. Their focus was out in the center of the paddock. They spoke quietly to each other, just above whispers.

Spock's sharp hearing picked up chopped bits of their conversations in dream like voices around soft giggles and sighs.

"…absolutely gorgeous…"

"… practically a palomino…"

"… the way he moves…"

They could have easily been speaking about the horses. Spock was aware that there was a mythical centuries old love affair between women and horses. The culture itself was dominated by the female sex. But Spock knew better. He should have looked for this before, any cluster of easily impressed women, or at the very least curious ones, clustered together Jim was bound to be found among them making himself the best center of attention he possibly could.

Not to mention that Jim's formal jacket was draped over the top rail of the fence a few feet from where Spock stood.

The hybrid repressed a tight, human sigh and turned his attention into the paddock to where Jim was bound to be posturing and preening under the devoted attention of the women, possibly endangering himself by trying to use the horses as a backdrop.

It took the First Officer about thirty seconds of observation to realize that Jim was unaware he was being watched.

In fact it seemed that Jim Kirk believed at that moment that there was no one else on the planet.

The young captain had stripped down to his boots and breeches, the white tee shirt he'd worn under his formals jacket was stuck to the flesh and muscle of his torso with sweat. Jim's blonde hair was slicked down with the same.

Spock watched, fascinated, as Jim moved with the horses cantering and trotting around him. His long stride eating up the ground just as easily as any of the equines. Jim's eyes stayed locked on the animals, watching with an intensity and raw focus that Spock had never seen on the young captain's face. Jim loped along side the horses, his pace a long jog that would break suddenly into a full out sprint to catch up when the lead horse would burst into a gallop with the small herd behind it. Just as quickly that hard sprint or lope would dig in to a dead stop or turn sharply, twisting fluidly to follow as the horses cut a turn at the corner of the paddock or broke away left or right to cut in front of Jim or trot away from him. More than once a horse would suddenly balk and whirl around on it's heels to sprint away in the opposite direction. In the same heartbeat Jim was with the creature, digging in and twisting to follow at the animal's shoulder as if he'd been able to read what the horse was going to do long before it happened.

For a moment Spock considered that Jim might be acting out of cruelty, driving and pushing the horses as a tease or a taunt. Chasing the six animals until their eyes rolled and coats were flecked with sweat, foam at their jaws and head's thrown high, working them into exhaustion for no more reason than he could.

The notion fled Spock when he watched a large, bay mare swing around with a snort and charged straight at Jim. The young captain twisted away, loping ahead as the mare rushed on his heels, then swung aside to pace evenly next to Jim, their strides matching perfectly as they loped the length of the paddock and Jim reached out to press his hand flush against the rolling shoulder of the mare. Instead of the animal moving away at the contact the mare stepped in closer to Jim, forcing him to bend at the elbow and press the length of his forearm along the horse's shoulder blade.

Spock cast off the thought of cruelty with some distaste that he'd even thought of that reasoning.

The young captain kept the contact, flesh to flesh, muscle to muscle and bone to bone as he and mare loped along until the horse suddenly ducked sideways and galloped back towards the other five horses, leaving Jim sprinting to catch up. When he did the horses scattered, nickering and giving gentle kicks of their heels, forcing Jim to dodge and dance to avoid impact. Spinning and twisting before breaking into an easy trot next to a loping chestnut gelding, matching the horse's pace as perfectly as he had the mare's though the gelding was smaller and had shorter legs than the bay. Spock caught Jim's eyes flicking to the chestnut's legs, as if measuring the beat of the flying hooves before the blue orbs settled firmly on looking along the chestnut's face, too watch the animal as well as look passed him.

The large bay mare swung back around to trot on Jim's other side, effectively walling the young captain between two masses of rolling muscle and sinew, bone and thousands of pounds of weight.

If the animals had a mind they could have crushed the human between them, breaking bones and ripping apart joints before throwing the young man under their hooves for a death blow. Instead the trio paced comfortably next to each other, the chestnut swinging his head around in forward motion to bump his muzzle into Jim's collar bone before breaking away and taking the bay mare with him as Jim checked his steps and slowed to a walk, falling behind the two horses.

Spock blinked slowly and moved closer to the fence, only cutting out a fraction of the distance between himself and Jim but it seemed much more. His eyes roamed over every movement and action Jim made. He understood Jim more perfectly now than if the man talked to him in marathon. The Vulcan race was a quiet one and practiced the subtle art of reading body language, the expressions and intents in the smallest movements of hands and facial muscles. Watching Jim now was like reading a very detailed and intimate description of the young captain.

Jim was relaxed, his breathing deep and far from the laboring effort or pant it should have been with the strain of the constant movement. Each pass of heated air flared his nostrils, breathing through his nose instead of slacking his jaw to let the air escape over his throat.

Every twitch of skin and muscle was easy and calm but packed with meaning and passion. The slightest turn of his wrists, a tilt in his pelvis, an almost invisible curl in his spine, the direction his head cocked, the light steps of his feet moving to follow one of the horses, even the way that Jim swallowed and breathed deliberately and slowly. All of it was a clear as words written on a page. Jim was talking… no screaming with his body. His tone and conversation, as clear as spoken with a voice would change in a heartbeat, as if he was carrying on several different discussions at once and moved from one to the next and back again. The coil of muscle under skin adjusting his attitude fractionally from one second to the next. When his joints rolled or his jaw twitched a new motive and expression settled into rotation with the hundreds of other flitting across Jim's skin, joining a constant, silent chatter that rippled off Jim.

A chatter the First Officer couldn't understand.

To Spock Jim was screaming at the top of his lungs until his voice cracked and gave out but it was in a language the half-Vulcan didn't recognize. An old language.

What Jim was screaming was ancient, rough and cracked in some places. Regardless of Jim's intensity of it's use these words were spoken quietly, almost silent themselves, a rough whisper that only just brushed the shell of the ear. But they were feral, violently so, laced with heat and a wild nature. It was barely tamed and strained and ached as if trying to break away. Tied down but uncontrolled.

Spock saw that ferality in Jim. His blue eyes seemed almost gray, the color of the storm clouds that had on rare occasions churned and hummed over the Vulcan deserts. There was a tension in the muscles that if addressed would snap and send Jim bolting to a distance that no hand could reach. When the young captain followed a large dapple gray mare towards the Spock's end of the paddock, within ten feet and still oblivious of the half-Vulcan, or the string of women or party above them for that matter; Spock focused his sharp hearing, tilting his head to listen and caught the crashing, rhythmic thud of Jim's pulse. His heart, slamming against ribs and other organs.

Jim's pounding heart was kin to the sound of hooves hitting packed earth. It matched the paces of the horses around him as easily as Jim matched their strides.

The First Officer's focus locked on Jim's face, reading it for those brief seconds that the young captain was turned in his direction before the movements of the horses turned him away. His face was a near mask of intensity and focus, jaw set and muscles unmoving but Jim's eyes screamed as loudly as his body. Spock looked passed that feral storm to the emotions brimming just under the glass, each tainted with that wild flavor.

There was that intensity, his eyes moving restlessly to follow the smallest movements around him, tacking the roll of muscle, toss of mane or tail and slip of hooves. Churning next to that focus was a joy that could be called nothing but unbridled, curling at the edges of blue. And an abandon that laid Jim bare, brimming in his eyes.

The young man was offering himself up, all his trust and loyalty so completely and wholly it seemed beyond natural, leaving himself to be so crushed and twisted and destroyed that Jim would have been a shell of what he was. It was an innocence, if Spock recalled what little he knew of Jim's life before Starfleet, that he shouldn't have possessed.

The confusion of the rarity of his captain's state swallowed Spock whole.

Why would Jim Kirk lay out his soul raw to animals? To beasts of burden?

Spock tore his focus from his captain to the horses. After a moment Spock's confusion gave way to timid understanding.

The horses, all rolling muscle and pounding hearts; hot breath, sloped backs, crashing hooves and constant motion, were screaming the same language that Jim was. Speaking in the same ancient silence, with the same barely controlled ferality.

Jim left off pacing with the animals suddenly and sharply, his eyes flashing and turned sharp edged when a pale, palomino yearling turned too sharply and bumped into the flank of the dapple gray mare. The mare squealed, her ears pinned back and viciously kicked the palomino in the throat. Spock distantly heard the string of women along the fence line gasp and murmur to each other.

Jim slid to a dead stop as the palomino jerked as if it had been shot, wheeling around with a violent and clearly painful cough, stumbled sharply down to it's knees before lurching awkwardly back to all four hooves. The animal stood shivering, head slung low and sides heaving as sharp, ugly rasps of air and gut wrenching coughs ripping up the animal's damaged throat.

The other five horses galloped to the far end of the paddock and stood looking on with ears perked and nostril's flaring.

Jim's entire focus settled on the palomino. The young captain watched the horse heaving for breath for a few long seconds before Jim took a cautious step towards the horse.

The palomino gave a terrified snort and lurched sideways, shying away from Jim. The yearling threw his head up, ears pinning and nostrils flaring.

Instantly the young man's behavior changed. The storm in his eyes and the pitch of his body language quieted, softening to a soothing rumble. The young captain stilled, calming everything about himself.

Jim held his hands in front of his in a show of peace and spoke for the first time.

"Relax brother…" Jim soothed, coaxing gently.

The palomino's head dropped marginally, a few rough breaths passed through the horse's nose and a sharp cough.

Spock looked the horse over once. The animal's face was dominated by a white marking often called an apron. The lack of pigment spread to one eye, making the retina bright blue around the pupil. The yearling was large but hadn't grown into his full weight yet. Long slim legs ended in neat, striped hooves of yellow horn and white sock markings running up to the knees and hocks. The mane and swishing tail flaxen and flashing in the sunlight.

The palomino's ears were perked forward towards Jim, eyes open and blinking.

Jim cautiously approached, keeping his spine straight and crossing his steps deliberately, closing the distance between them. The muscles in the horse tightened and the colt nervously took a step back.

Jim instantly backed off and relaxed himself as much as possible. The now quieted rumble of his body dropped lower, reaching a soft, constant hum. After a few long minutes the horse's own body language quieted to match Jim's. They whispered ancient words to each other.

Spock's attention focused on Jim, picking up and logging away the now muted movements and twitches. Spock felt a tightening in his stomach as Jim's hands became the most expressive part of his body.

The young captain kept them out, palms out towards the palomino. Waiting for a few long minutes before Jim's twitched his fingers, gently and slowly fluttering his hands with slight twists of his wrists.

The palomino gave a sharp painful cough and let out a queasy whine of a noise before taking a few stilted steps towards Jim.

"That's it… ease up brother…" Jim coaxed softly, licking his chapped lips when he broke his silence again. Jim's hand's twisted in small, smooth sweeps, rolling his wrists and coaxing the horse forward. The muscle and sinew flexing and relaxing in fractions across the bones of his hands.

The palomino's steps evened out as the yearling moved cautiously closer, closing the distance. A few minutes crawled by before the palomino let out a soft nicker and moved between Jim's arms, pressing the tip of his muzzle into Jim's abdomen before lifting his head slightly and rubbing his muzzle up to push into Jim's sternum.

Jim kept his arms out to either side of the yearling, allowing the horse to press into his chest. The palomino's muscles started to relax one rear hoof twisted up on a turn back. A sharp cough racked the animal before passing and the palomino settled, letting out a long low sigh.

Jim's head tilted to look down on the horse before he slowly moved his arms, drawing them in to gently settle his hands on the horse's muzzle.

The palomino twitched, lifting his head away from Jim's chest but stood still as Jim's fingers and palms rested on either side of the yearling's nasal bone.

Spock lost all sense of the world around him as he watched Jim's hands start to move. The half-Vulcan's jaw clenched slightly as he followed the movements of his captain's hands. Spock would never become totally used to the casual way that humans used and interact with their hands, casual touches that would have been considered intimate and reserved to the Vulcan culture. Spock reserved to believe that the sensitivity of hands were lost on humans. That belief shattered as he watched as Jim not only comforted but spoke with his hands. Jim understood, if not consciously it was deep in the feral nature that had consumed his captain in the confines of this paddock in the company of horses.

Jim's hands slid smoothly and lightly down the sides of the palomino's muzzle. His hands curved, reaching under the bone structure of the horse's jaw to the soft tissues spun between the bone structure. Jim's hands move carefully, slowly, caressing intimately along the delicate, thin flesh the rested over fragile veins and muscles. One of Jim's hand's slid up to rest cupping the rounded cheek, Jim's thumb absently stroking the flesh under the bright blue eye. His other hand slid down to trace fingers gently over the sweep of nostrils, dipping into the curve of breath over the soft pink flesh. Passing over thick lips, allowing them to grip at his hand before Jim slid his fingers pass lips to rub across the enamel of the yearling's teeth and the soft flesh of his gums.

Jim's forehead was pressed into the yearling's, looking the palomino in the eye and whispering quietly into perked ears. Jim pulled back and dipped as he moved his hand from the horse's teeth back to the nostrils. The young captain filled his chest then blew gently into the horse's nose. The palomino twitched his head slightly and nostrils flared for a second before calming again. Jim took another breath and passed it to the horse, his hands moving in slow soothing passes over the young animal's nasal bone and under his chin. Jim seemed satisfied with the result and dropped his forehead back to it's place, keeping that same whispered string of nonsense slipping from his throat.

Spock tore his gaze to look at his captain's eyes. They'd changed.

The storm was gone, long replaced with solid pools of cerulean. The feral haze still lingered, dulled and rolling quietly along his retinas, the barest flickers of innocence still lingered in the blue but Jim's soul had twisted to a different facet. Spock couldn't understand the depth of loneliness and longing in Jim's eyes as he spoke to the palomino.

Carefully Jim moved around, sliding his hands over pale gold fur and along the yearling's neck. His fingers gently passed over the swelled and misshapen flesh of the welts already rising on the palomino's throat from the gray mare's hooves.

Jim leaned in and inspected the damaged flesh closely, brushing the fur out of the way. The horse flinched but didn't move away and Jim continued to murmur. Then his hands slid down to press into the flesh over the palomino's heart and lungs, just behind his shoulder. Jim hand was steady and practiced, looking for irregularities as easy as McCoy did with human patients. His inspection lasted a few seconds before Jim straightened and placed his hands firmly on the palomino's shoulder and gently pushed the horse away.

"Go on. You're fine brother."

The horse took a reluctant step sideways, yielding to Jim's pressure. The animal's head swing around towards the young captain, ears perked and listening, eyes blinking slowly.

Jim stepped forward and pushed against the yearling's shoulder again. "Go on."

The palomino allowed himself to be pushed into a walk and stepped away from Jim, the young captain gave him a final push against the rump. The yearling broke into a trot and nickered loudly as he was accepted back into the small herd of horses.

Jim stepped back and settled his hands on his hips, watching the horses for a few long seconds before a shuddering sigh slipped from his lips and Jim lifted a hand to rub roughly across the flesh of the back of his neck and tugging at the short, blonde hair of his nape.

"I have never observed an event such as this before." Spock said quietly to himself, but his voice carried.

Jim twisted and looked towards the fence and locked eyes with Spock.

The half-Vulcan was pressed close to the triple slatted fence, his hands firmly settled in the small of his back. It was easy to see the surprise that not only flashed across the young captain's eyes but swallowed up the last of the feral storm in his retinas, Jim tensed as if thinking wither to bolt or stand his ground. The constant chatter and hum of the ancient language shuddered to a halt as Jim's body muffled itself. After experiencing the full volume of Jim's body language it almost seemed as if the young captain was numb.

Jim settled a little, coming to some inner conclusion and relaxed slightly, but compared to his interactions with the horses his muscles seemed to coiled and tense for comfort.

Jim's long, easy lope became a clipped steady walk as he crossed the paddock towards Spock. None of the fluidity that had been in Jim before was there.

Spock stepped back and Pilgrim rose to his paws to follow the behavior. Jim stepped up and effortlessly vaulted over the slatted fence and dropped into the turf in front of the First Officer.

"Come to collect me, Spock?" Jim asked with a slight quirk of his lips and caught the half-Vulcan's eyes. The cerulean looked almost glazed compared to the bright and raw emotion that had been there only a few moments ago.

But through the glaze Spock could see that the loneliness and longing lingered, like a bitter after taste.

"That was my initial intention." Spock informed his captain in a quiet deadpan. Jim nodded and rubbed the back of his neck again, turning his attention to the red dog at Spock's side.

"Hey Pilgrim."

The dog let out a soft bark in return, bounding over to rub himself against Jim's shins. Jim bent to pass his hand over the dog's skull and ears.

"How was Spock's company?" Jim asked.

Spock restrained from calling Jim out on asking Pilgrim's opinion. Spock was aware that it was common human custom to address pets similarly to other humans, to ask their opinions or feelings or how the course of their days were. It was all done in mocking and ritual, but Jim made it seem as if he truly wanted Pilgrim's answer, pausing in his petting and looking at the dog expectantly.

Pilgrim's tail, cropped to a stump against his rump, shivered back and forth and the dog lifted a paw to claw at the knee of Jim's breeches. But made absolutely no noise.

"Quiet, huh?" Jim asked, Spock's eyebrow twitched up at the conclusion. Pilgrim barked once in response.

"Quiet sounds about right." Jim agreed and gave Spock a twitch of his lips that might have been a slight tease or an apology. "Go on, Nick's probably wondering where you went."

Jim patted the dog's shoulder once, received a lick across his palm before Pilgrim trotted away, his stump tail twitching to match jovial bounding steps. Spock's attention shifted to Jim as the young captain strode down the fence towards the string of women still lingering and watching him with expressions that ranged from hunger to motherly. Jim dipped his head in acknowledgement but only swept his red jacket off the top rail before turning back to move to Spock's side. The First Officer fell into step next to the captain, long strides matching but with none of the easiness that Jim had done with any of the horses. Jim shook out his jacket and threw looks over his shoulders towards the animals, now grazing docile and relaxed, behind the fence.

"Captain, if I may speak freely."

"Sure." Jim agreed absently.

"I do not believe that you are in a state to return to the festivities."

Jim tore his eyes away to look at his First Officer, stiffening and gritting his jaw.

"You've sweat through your clothing." Spock persisted. Jim relaxed a little, though Spock could not pinpoint what Jim had thought the half-Vulcan would have insinuated. Jim plucked at the shirt that was slowly drying with sweat and streaked in dust and dirt.

"Yeah… I probably need a shower."

"Indeed." The scent that drifted from his captain was strong but strangely, not unpleasant. A mixture of grass and earth, human and animal sweat and the undertone of something spiced but sweet. Though Spock doubted that the dulled senses of humans would be able to draw in the delicate, distinct traces of scents that mixed together well; to them Jim probably would have illicit scrunched noses and narrowed eyes.

"If you're going back in mind making an excuse for me?" Jim asked with a quiet hope.

"By my calculations you have been missing from the Gala for over three hours, to my knowledge no one has brought it to attention."

Jim was silent, shaking out his jacket absently as they walked across the lush lawn towards the front of the villa. Spock caught a movement from the corner of his eye as Jim lifted a hand and tugged at his shirt collar. Jim's fingers catching something under the fabric, fingering it marginally and giving Spock only a flash of silver to look at before it slid back into hiding below Jim's collar.

"I will admit that I myself took some time to notice your absence. I sought you upon realization. In light of this reunion I believe that I have no need or true desire to return to the Gala."

Jim's eyes flicked to look at him out of the corner of his eye. "Touched all the bases, huh?"

"Yes." Spock agreed with the metaphor.

They walked in silence until they crossed to the front drive and Jim's eyes turned to look at the monument for San Sierra. Jim looked the statue up and down, tracing the curve of the back and bend of the joints, the thrown up head and flared nostrils. Jim paused, fractionally. But Spock took the moment.

"Captain, I assume you would prefer I did not speak on what I was witness to in the paddock." Spock prompted. The hybrid quirked an eyebrow in interest when Jim flinched as if he'd been struck. The young captain's eyes cast towards the earth, a hand lifting to scrub at the back of his neck.

"Spock…" Jim hesitated, his hands moved, clasping and worrying. His fingers dug deeply into the flesh of his palms and the heels of his thumbs, his fingers moved to dig into the underside of his wrists, messaging the veins and tendons under the flesh. "… it's not like it's a secret or something…"

Spock refrained from speaking, allowing Jim to find his own way. It seemed as if the English language was suddenly hard to grasp and manipulate after the session of speaking in silence.

Jim licked his lips and swallowed. "… but it's hard to… explain to people who don't understand."

"Understand what, Captain? I'm afraid I have no name to place to the events that occurred in the paddock."

When Jim spoke his tone was laced with loneliness."Then you don't understand."

A/N: Carrots and apple treats to anyone who knows the significance of the names 'Nicholas Evans' and 'Pilgrim'. Whoot…