Title: Of Spiderzillas and Warmth Without Fire

Rating: PG, PG-13 to be safe maybe?

Summary: They've been lost, stranded, injured, trapped and exhausted together before. Many times. But this is, perhaps, just a little unique. Okay, maybe more then a little.

Disclaimers: Star Trek is, sadly, not mine. Neither is the 'three brains' comment, as I've heard it many times but agree with it.

Someone- for the life of me I can't remember who, maybe even Jim himself- once said that our Captain's got the advantage of three brains instead of just one. I hadn't realized until I heard that comment just how at-the-hip Spock, Jim and I tend to be; if he leaves taking one of us and not the other, the reaction is usually surprise, and indignant annoyance. He doesn't usually do that; if he beams down, it's usually with me- as his CMO it only makes sense- and Spock. Who is his First Officer and also his Science Officer, so that makes sense, too.

Still, it means I get to spend extended periods of time in what are not always the best of conditions with the fairy-eared faux polite half Vulcan gnat.

Like now, for instance.

I am curled in a shallow natural cave, near the back of it. My back is pressed against rough, damp stone; it's slimy and cold, but better then lying flat, like Jim is doing. He's probably getting Lord-only-knows what kind of alien parasites in his hair and on his skin. He doesn't seem to care, though, hands tucked behind his head and eyes closed, laying close to our make-shift fire. His shirt is gone, long since destroyed by the bugs that had been chasing us earlier; the scraps of it had been used to fuel said heat source. His wounds are relatively minor; he'll live to throw himself headlong into danger another day.

Outside, it is pouring rain as it has been since we came to this forsaken planet to study it. What we found was the remains of the last humans who wanted to study this place and very large, very hungry insect-like men. Their entire body was arachnid in nature, but they walked on two legs like men and spoke Standard well enough, if with heavy accents.

All they seemed to care about saying was do not bother running, and your deaths shall be painless, so really, we weren't all that keen on having long conversations with them anyway.

Luckily, while they were fast and amazingly intelligent, they were lacking in certain senses, and seemed to loath the rain that was a near-constant. I think those were the only two things that saved us, and I wonder what happens when the storm, at last, stops.

I wonder if I really want to know.

He is sitting a little closer to the entrance, perched on a rock just outside of the water's range. Like the spiderzillas seem to, Spock has always had an almost cat-like distaste for water, swimming, rain, snow, and generally all things wet and damp. He's desert-bred, though, he and all his people, so it doesn't much surprise me. Oh, he can swim- for one I've seen him, and for two I know he never would have been allowed out of the Academy without learning how- but damn if he had a tail it would be lashing at times like this.

Stubborn idiot is probably freezing his Vulcan bones off right now, too. He won't come nearer the fire and I'm cold, sitting this close to it. His body tempter is naturally three or four degrees lower then our own. (It's another trait inherited from coming, at least half of him, from a people raised in a desert climate.) Cold blooded like a snake. So many nasty little places I could go with that, but even I'm not that mean.

Though when I call him a cold blooded bastard I can mean it literally.

"Spock, get over here." I hear myself say. "You're going to catch hypothermia and die."

He glances over at me, and yep, there goes that damn eyebrow. Those eyebrows should have their own dictionary. Eyebrow to Standard Translators should be worn at all times around him.

"I highly doubt, Doctor, that it is cold enough for an onset of hypothermia. Nor is it possible to experience it without a wide variety of symptoms. And I have full confidence that you would be aware of my condition long before death became an immediate threat."

"It's a figure of speech, Spock, and you know it." Jim groans from the ground, not once opening his eyes. He sounds amused and tired. "And was that a complement?"

Spock gives that slow blink he does when something one of us that always makes me think he must be thinking these people are all hopeless. "Merely an acknowledgement of Doctor McCoy's abilities, Captain."

As close to a complement as I'm ever going to get from him, he means. "Either way, it's pointless for you to be over there when the fire is over here. Glaring at it isn't going to make the rain stop."

"I'm aware-"

"Don't." I make a slicing motion with the side of my hand before he can get going. He stops, surprised as he ever gets- he's not used to being interrupted and he doesn't care for it. Tough noogies. "If the word 'illogical' leaves your mouth-"

"Gentlemen." Jim's gentle reproof from the cave floor cuts me off. "I'd rather get back to the Enterprise with all of us in one piece." Still hasn't opened his eyes. He's used to this by now. Although frankly, I don't remember a time when Jim was ever concerned at the sight of us at each other's throats; I think he realized the affection behind our sparring before we ever did.

Still, he knows when 'affectionate bickering' and 'annoyed snarling' change places. There is no affection in the words I'd bitten out, and no affection in anything I'd planed to say afterwards. Which is, really, not fair of me- he hasn't done anything (yet, whispers a snarky voice in the back of my mind) to earn my anger. But I am trapped on a rainy, cold planet that is not my own, being hunted by spiderzillas, in a wet, damp cave, with no way back to the ship and not half of what I need in an emergency. I'm stuck in here with two men just as tense as I am, tired, wounded, afraid, and at the end of our wits. I have no temper left for literal half Vulcans and calm, low voiced scoldings about my irrational human impulses or whatever other bug might bite his rear.

Sometimes that's what gets me more then anything, how calm he nearly always is.

"You'd better hope this lets up soon, then." I mutter. "Without communicators we can't beam back up, and no shuttle can get down to us in this."

"Rain's damning us and saving us all at once." Jim mutters. His eyes open now. Normally warm, mischievous hazel is now dark and thoughtful. He rolls over on his side, head propped up with a hand. "There's too many of those things to attack openly. I just wonder if they're hive-minded like bugs, or-"

"Certain types of arachnids can be social creatures." Spock speaks up again. "But it is illogical to assume they are 'hive minded'-I know none of the species that are or ever were."

Jim's eyes flicker to him, and he nods slightly- he knew that already, of course he knew that, but Jim thinks out loud and it helps him when we do, too.

Three minds instead of one.

"But they can communicate; the question is, over how large a distance." I add at last. "And if it's purely physical speech or if they communicate telepathically as well." The words feel odd coming from my lips. I'm an old-fashioned man at heart; Jim's noted it many times.

"And just how many of them there are." Jim adds.

"I calculate twenty that pursued us before-"

"You counted?" I hear my own voice raise an octave higher then I want it to. On the cave floor, Jim's lips twist in that wry, lop sided grin that he has, eyes going back to their usual playful spark.

"It is an estimate, Doctor." He looks over at me, and there, for the second time, is that eyebrow. I think he's getting tired of me interrupting him. Also, I don't think he knew my voice could hit that level of exasperation. Running for our lives, fighting giant arachnids and desperately seeking cover, blindly dashing through pouring rain, and somehow, someway, he'd managed to figure out roughly how many enemies we had. "Just as I estimate that the next group they send for us will be at least twice that many, as twenty was insufficient and you yourself stated they are highly intelligent. Colonial spiders could most often be found in groups of thousands."

Thousands. I shudder, thinking of that number. First, you picture one hundred, which isn't that hard- there are over four hundred people on the Enterprise alone. So four hundred, in your mind, is an easy number to grasp. Times it by two and it starts getting a little trickier. Do it again and some part of your mind has frozen up, curling into a little ball because that's at least the amount you need to be thinking of. There was a plural mentioned there.

Jim pokes the fire with a stick, lifting his gaze to the rain. "Spock, you're shivering." He says almost lazily, and I am instantly jerked out of contemplation by a surge of irritation. The last thing I need is someone getting sick on me out of pure bull-headedness. My fear is burned away, shoved to the back of my mind with cold, clinical precision as I have something to focus on. I can see the tremors in his hands from here, and set my jaw. Pig-headed idiot, too stubborn to admit he's cold so he's going to sit there and make me get up-

Because even if I disliked Spock as much as I act like I do, I would have gone to him, anyway. It's not in my nature to allow suffering that I can prevent; not even when it's a person's own stupid fault. He's a walking, talking computer; a cold blooded logic-minded idiot who lies to himself as much as us about not 'feeling'. It took even me a couple months to realize how big a lie that is, and I felt like a heel for pushing him as hard as I did. Do. Still do. But at least now I've learned where to stop. He drives me back and forth from crazy on a dialing basis but damn it all if he's not my friend, and Jim's friend, and what can I do?

"Can you tell me what the logic is in sitting there freezing to the bone when there is an entire cave to get into?" I snap, pushing myself up gingerly. All of our wounds are minor, but they're still there. My body is aching and stiff, the cold and injuries working together to make me feel every bit of my age with a few years tacked on. Once up, I have to bend double, and I'm the smallest person here, shorter then Jim by half a head. Spock is taller then both of us- me by a considerable amount and Jim just barley. Possibly why, a voice snaps in my head, he doesn't want to come in further, you addle-brained twit. Talk about cramped and uncomfortable. But it didn't matter; I'd rather deal with an uncomfortable Spock then a half-frozen one.

"I assure you, Doctor I am-" He cuts off as I get to him, grab arm.

I'm a doctor- I'm a watcher. I learn people by standing back and observing them; it's how I learned how to handle Jim. How you learn how to tell when someone is hurt, mentally or physically. I'm good at picking up on lies, and it doesn't take me long to figure out the subtle nuances of the people I work with.

Jim is a toucher. Men or women, in affection and friendship or romantically and protectively, he reaches out physically without much thought. A pat on the shoulder, a hug, an arm slung over someone's neck, a hand clasped around the back of someone's neck or arms, feet in an available lap, (or head in one, if it's female) or just a firm handshake; I've seen him do all those things. He reaches out to grab and pull you like a child if he's in a hurry or excited; put an arm out in front of you to protect or hold you back. He's remarkably physically demonstrative; and he doesn't ask permission first. His entire family is that way (I've met them more then once) and it's simply how Jim was brought up. In fact, he gets uncomfortable when he can't simply reach out to someone else; he knows when it's inappropriate, but that's when he gets edgy. Restless. He takes comfort in being able to touch.

Spock does not, and is, in fact, the opposite in every way. Grab him without permission and he yanks away as if burned. Corner him bodily and he'll go as awkward and bristly as a cat in a swimming pool. Touch telepath. That's what it's called, what Spock is, although from some of the things I've seen with it touch empathy, too; he seemed to just 'know' certain things, and when emotions run high in a room he becomes uncomfortable. But the point is skin on skin contact and Spock can read your mind. And like all Vulcans, his hands are far more sensitive then our own (he has twice as many nerve endings to be precise, making me flinch at the touch of anything ever crushing his hand) and his skin is general is more touch-receptive. From what we've learned, even though he's only half Vulcan, Spock is 'gifted' in the ways of that telepathy; he's good at it, better then most. I've seen him control people from through a wall and pick up on and influence thoughts from a decent distance away. (The spiders are one example; he was the one who distracted them long enough for us to make good our escape.)

To be frank, it gives me the willies as much as anything ever has. But I'm getting used to it, just as I'm getting used to everything out here, slowly. I've gotten utterly off topic.

My point is, very few people are permitted to touch Spock. Jim and I are two of the people who he doesn't jerk back from like we burn him.

I still take care to grab his upper arm, where the material of his tunic covers skin. Even Jim does that, with him; respects him enough to keep skin contact limited.

He stiffens, slightly, under my hold, and I can feel the tremors running up and down his body like electricity. I drag him back over to the cave, and sure enough, he's forced to walk almost double. I shove him down in front of the fire, and Jim sits up, moving over to give him more room. It's not enough, not by half, but it's all we have.

"I am fine, Doctor." He finishes his statement from earlier, looking at me pointedly.

"You are not, you stubborn pain in my ass." I mutter, flumping back down with my back pressed against the wall again. I yelp in pain as a jagged rock managed to catch my tailbone, and jerk away.

"Sounds more like the rock was the pain in your ass." Jim quips from the fire, and I resist the urge to throw it at him. "You alright?"

"Fine. " I growl, setting it gingerly down. "I am just wonderful."

"Bones," He tries, coming over to me. He doesn't bother standing up, just crawls on hands and knees. "Once the rain lets up we'll be out of here inside of a few hours."

"Not true." I flinch at the familiar baritone, feeling the hackles on the back of my neck arch. "Once the rain ceases, search parties will be sent down, but the entire surface of the planet will have to be searched, as we do not have our communicators. Not only that, but once it is dry the inhabitants of this planet may well come for us again, forcing us to move. And to keep moving."

"You're saying we might stay ahead of our enemies, but we might be staying ahead of our friends, too." Jim muses. "Cheerful."

"It will be at least a day before our last campsite is found by one of the search parties, and depending on how often we are forced to move, we could be here for many weeks to come."

"High ground." I suggest. "Stay up where we can easily be seen, and can see what's around us."

"And maybe then we won't have to keep moving, or not as often." Jim nods slowly, worrying at his lower lip. It's a thoughtful, uncertain motion he won't do in front of just anyone. "If the- the-"

"Spiderzillas." It slips out before I can stop it- I clamp my jaw shut the moment the word is out. Jim glances at me and an eyebrow shoots up in one of the best Spock impressions I have ever seen. I think it might be contagious, the eyebrow thing.

"Spiderzillas." Jim echoes, and I can hear him trying not to laugh. "Is that the scientific term?"

I send him a sour glance, but in truth, I'm glad we can laugh and tease. It means we're okay; no one is in danger of death, no one's in significant pain, we're just lost and cold and sore and hungry and wet and grumpy and want to go home, but we're okay. I only start to worry when people get quiet; when spirits start to flag.

"Why don't you ask your science officer?" I groan, and Spock sends me a dull glance. I read it clearly; he's not even going to dignify my comment with one of his own.

"Play nice, you two, that's an order. If those things come after us and we have high ground, we might be able to see them coming; get to them before they can get to us."

I nod slowly to myself. "The only problem is we'll probably have less places for shelter. If it starts to rain again-"

"A risk." Spock says quietly from his corner, "but when given the choice of rain or becoming trapped here-"

"There's not much choice."

It comes to me again, that comment.

Three brains instead of one.

Lucky enough to have three brains. Logic, emotion, and pure human spirit- Spock is primarily the first, and Jim and I are the second two, though which is which-I end the thought with a shake of my head. Well, for once, all three brains seem to be in perfect agreement.

But I remember Spock's shaking. Out there, if it started to rain, with no cover; I don't want to think about the repercussions of that.

"Well, nothing we can do about it right now, unless that rain lets up right now." Jim comments.

"It would be more logical to move while it is raining." Spock points out from his corner. "As we have already determined, the arachnids-" He pauses, not sure that's really the right word, but there's not a better one; except 'spiderzillas', and the day that word leave Spock's mouth I will worry. "-dislike the rain to an extreme extent."

"No." I say. "I'm not going to stagger blindly through that maelstrom until we're half-drowned, and then stand out in it, just to make things a bit easier." And I'm not, either. Even if Spock doesn't get sick, Jim or I might, and not knowing exactly how long we'll be down here means we don't know how long it'll be until we can get back to sick bay. A cold can turn into pneumonia if left unchecked for too long and a slip could be devastating right now. I can only imagine the possible broken bones, internal injuries, gashes, lacerations and other wounds born of slipping off a cliff or ledge trying to get to high ground in the rain.

"He has a point." Jim comments, tapping the stone in thought. "The spiderzillas don't like the rain, which means we could make some progress anyway."

I just had to say it out loud, didn't I?

"I just said no." I snap, raising my gaze to both of them. "Spock's tempter is three or more degrees lower then ours. You saw him shivering just now, Jim, and that wasn't out in it. We'll be soaked within seconds-"

"We have no way of knowing how much longer this will continue; we can not stay here forever. I assure you, I am more then capable of tolerating what I must."

"You mean that super-Vulcan brain of yours can't figure out how much longer it's going to rain based off of how long it has?"

"No more then you can say how long a person will remain ill from how long they have been, Doctor."

"I can. Or at least, how long they should be ill." I smirk.

"Bones, stop needling him." Jim's voice again, lowered and commanding.

"'Needling' me?" Spock asks, tone lilting up with subtle confusion.

"Annoying," Jim says, "trying to irritate you into a-"He stops, sighing quietly. "Right. I'm sorry, I forget, you don't get annoyed, do you, Mr. Spock?"

"Indeed, Captain." He says.

"Like hell." I say, with a snorted laugh. Spock gives me a look that couldn't possibly be annoyance and then turns back to the fire. Jim laughs softly, but says "Bones," in low-voiced reprimand.

"Last time I checked, I was still the Captain here." He goes on quietly. "Anyway, it's dark now and I won't travel at night, rain or no. We'll give it until tomorrow. We'll have to stop for rest anyway, Bones, we'll find shelter."