A/N: Of course life gets busy when I get to the fun chapters.

Chapter Two

Kirk's hunch, as usual, turns out to be correct, and the building he'd spotted in the distance is indeed a stable. When he steps through the door, he pauses. This time, not to let his eyes adjust, but simply to inhale the rich scent of hay and leather and horseflesh, unique to stables no matter where in the galaxy they are located.

Not able to contain himself any further, he moves to the closest occupied stall, Spock following complacently beside him. The horse inside the loose box stall approaches him immediately, comfortingly unwary of outsiders, and whickers in greeting as he presents his nose for scratching.

The noise brings the attention of the rest of animals, as heads appear over the stall doors and peer in their direction. Apparently, along with housing horses, the stable also devotes some of its stalls to donkeys – and even a mule or two. The animals are not the only ones notified of a new presence, as the shaggy blond head of what seems to be the stables only human occupant pops out of the tack room.

A scowl appears instantly on the homely face as soon as the stable hand realizes who his visitors are, and Kirk has to hold in a sigh at the reaction. Thinking quickly, he comes up with a solution that he hopes will bulldoze its way through the prejudice and get them on more welcoming ground.

"Is this a quarterhorse?" he asks, forestalling any arguments or demands to leave, and is gratified that a flash of surprise wipes away the scowl on the stranger's face. And as expected, there's still obvious suspicion as the bow-legged man cautiously makes his way over to the pair. Ignoring the suspicion, Kirk waits, making sure his frank interest shows on his face.

"How did you know, eh?" the man asks them, eyeballing Kirk as the horse turns to demand scratches. Kirk watches with approval as the man automatically digs a slice of apple out of his pocket, holding it out for the horse to gobble up.

Leaning back, he squints his eyes as he replies to the question. "First hint was the shortened head. I also noticed how compact the gelding is, the broad chest and powerful hindquarters that are rounded just right for extra speed and maneuverability."

The stable hand actually chuckles as he gives the horse the additional apple slice he demands, sizing up Kirk from the corner of his eyes. Internally, Kirk mentally cheers, as the last bits of suspicion are slowly melting away. "You seem to know your horseflesh, eh?"

Kirk responds to the change in the man's demeanor with a disarming smile, relaxing just a fraction. "I know enough to get by. I just happened to have a certain quarter horse filly that had a special place in my heart. Got attached to the breed."

Nodding in knowing agreement, the shaggy haired man smiles. "That's how it happens, eh. What can I do you for?"

"My friend and I," and Kirk turns to indicate Spock, who's stayed silent at his side this whole time – signs of amusement around his eyes and the corners of his lips, "were hoping you might have a pair of calm, dependable animals that might need an afternoon of exercise."

The man considers a moment, and Kirk lets him turn it over in his mind without interruption, hoping the man won't say no. Finally, he nods in agreement. "This boy here hasn't gotten worked today, and I have a mare that could use some, though she's a bit more spirited." Here he pauses, and gives a warning. "But you only have a couple hours. There's another ion storm on the way, and you can't get caught out in that."

Kirk lets his grin show his appreciation, as he claps the man on the shoulder. The ion storm is still hours away, and they'll have plenty of time to get back before it hits.

"Sounds perfect."

(*)

The gelding – who they learn is named "Spot," even though he has none – is certainly placid, plodding along behind Kirk's mount without needing any prompting on Spock's part. His ability to direct himself seems to unnerve the Vulcan, as every time Kirk looks back to make sure things are still going smoothly, Spock is eyeing the animal with the creases that indicate suspicion in the corners of his eyes.

Kirk chuckles after the third time, because they've been in the saddle thirty minutes and Spock still hasn't decided the horse is safe. His eyes return to scanning the area before them in amazement. The forest that they have entered, that flanks the settlement reminds Kirk of a visit he once made as a youngster to the countryside of West Virginia – hilly, coated in tall, leafy trees, and a lot of ground cover. The difference is the color of the foliage wherein the Appalachian area is in greens and browns, this forest is all in blues and purples – its effect visually striking.

His mare enters an area where the trail widens out, and it's now possible for the two animals to travel abreast – at least until the trail narrows again – and he pulls back gently on the reins, slowing the mare until he's riding beside the Vulcan.

"He's not going to suddenly buck you off, or make a run for it, Spock," he consoles, trying to keep the smile off his face.

That suspicious gaze is now leveled at him. "I have read enough reports documenting the unpredictable nature of these animals, and would prefer not to allow my guard to relax," Spock replies.

In sharp contrast to Spock's stiff posture in the saddle, Kirk has a relaxed, confident seat, heels down and reins held loosely in one hand. He laughs at Spock's logic, and glances at Spot, who's clomping along happily with his eyes on the trail at their feet – mostly oblivious to his rider's unease, except for the tell-tale flick of an ear every couple paces.

"You have to temper those reports with knowledge of the individual animal, Spock," he explains. "A lot of horses are more active, and will test their riders to see what they can get away with. But not this old boy – he's just happy to be out for a walk, and is looking forward to a nice hot mash when his job is done."

Spock finally relaxes a little bit, settling more comfortably into the saddle. "How did you gain so much knowledge of the animals? It is my understanding that you grew up in an area of Iowa that relied more on machine power than horse power."

The question is innocent enough, but it makes Kirk shift uncomfortably in his saddle. The mare picks up his discomfort and flicks one ear back in response. Kirk pats her on the shoulder, surprised that the question doesn't elicit as much anger and sadness as it would have even six months ago.

"My mom," he begins, keeping his eyes forward as he speaks. "When I was little, I was obsessed with cowboys. She brought me to the local horse farm, and even arranged for me to have weekly lessons." It's one of the bright memories of his childhood, when he got to go with his mom – all by himself! – and visit the farm the first time. He remembers being in awe of seeing the big animals up close, and the joy of touching one for the first time. Even when things got bad at home, he always had that farm, and his mom made sure no matter what he kept up his weekly lessons.

He tries not to think about the rest of it: about the aunt and uncle he was sent to for being unruly, the farm he lived on for four glorious months before disaster struck. Some scars run too deep to be illuminated by the light.

Unaware of the darker thoughts Jim is skirting in his mind, Spock smiles with his eyes. "America's 'wild west' appears to be a common obsession for young Earth males."

Kirk can't help but smile at the statement, turning to the Vulcan. "Yeah, but not many of them get to become one – hat and spurs and everything!"

The Vulcan raises an eyebrow in amusement, but before he gets a chance to reply further, the gelding wiggles beneath him like an eel, letting loose a high pitched whinny. Spock's eyes widen in a clearly perceptible display of emotion, his knuckles white as he clutches the reins. Kirk's busy keeping his own horse from bucking him off, and he can't do anything but watch in horror as Spock's horse bolts, disappearing deeper into the woods.

After one last kicking hop, Kirk manages to regain control of his horse – grateful his skills haven't diminished too much in the intervening years. Digging his heels into the mare's sides, he sends her after Spock's careening mount. Before they leave the trail, he catches a flash of movement at the corner of his eye – a pink creature that looks remarkably like an Earth rabbit, staring vacantly after the horse as it munches some foliage. He files the information away, suspecting that this animal is the reason both horses spooked.

It's a headlong rush after the retreating form before him, and his heart is in his throat. The dash goes on for what feels like forever, and he keeps fervently hoping Spot will run out of steam, or forgets why he was running in the first place and just stop. Kirk knows how unsafe it is to move through the forest at these speeds, with roots and low branches to catch the unwary, and the few shouted pieces of advice to Spock haven't helped slow the horse at all.

His worst fears are realized when the horse in front of him stumbles on – something – and the gelding's forward motion comes to a sudden halt. His head is down from the run, and as Spot's body stops, Spock's does not. The Vulcan goes sailing over the gelding's withers, tumbling to the underbrush with a crash.

Kirk reins up, hard, his mare's hooves kicking up dirt and ground litter as she struggles to comply. Even before the horse has come to a complete stop, He hops from the saddle and runs to where Spock disappeared in the bright blue underbrush.

"Spock!" he cries, not caring that his voice sounds desperate as his imagination supplies him with a vision of the Vulcan with his head twisted at an unnatural angle from the impact of the fall. It's all his fault. Spock wouldn't even have gotten close to the horse if not for him.

A cough answers him, and he's so full of relief that Spock's alive that he staggers for several steps before regaining his balance.

"Here, Jim," comes Spock's voice, and then Kirk can see him through the growth, his Science blues initially camouflaging him. He's sitting up – he can sit up! – on the ground, covered in dirt and colorful leaves. The normally immaculate Vulcan's disheveled appearance would be amusing in any other circumstances.

Sinking to his knees beside Spock, Kirk grips the Vulcan's shoulder with a hand he doesn't realize is trembling until it comes into contact with Spock's steadiness.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his eyes scanning to check for any injuries.

The Vulcan ceases trying to brush the dirt from his rumpled shirt, and looks Kirk in the eye. "I am fine, Jim. I believe the phrase you would use is 'shaken up.' I was able to convert the momentum from the fall into a roll, thereby avoiding bodily injury."

Kirk lets out a huge breath, more relieved than he has any right to be. Standing, he offers the Vulcan a hand up, which Spock accepts without hesitation. Knowing he's not going to get a thank you, and not needing one, Kirk turns his attention to his second priority.

Hands up in a soothing motion, he makes his way slowly towards Spot. Unlike his mount, who is calmly grazing through the foliage, the gelding is standing in the same spot where he halted his headlong charge. His sides are heaving, his head is down, and the whites of his eyes are showing as he tracks Kirk's progress towards him.

Murmuring soothing nonsense, Kirk moves forward step by step. He's grateful that Spock stays behind without prompting, and devotes all his attention to the animal before him. Spot raises his head when Kirk is about five feet away, his shoulder muscles twitching as if to dislodge flies, but his ears staying forward.

Kirk flows forward the last few feet in a rush, grabbing the reins before the horse can decide to bolt once again. He needn't have worried, as the gelding doesn't even shift his stance at the sudden rush. He gulps, knowing that's a bad sign.

"Spock, can you help me a minute?" he murmurs, keeping his voice low so as not to startle the horse.

"Certainly, Jim," the Vulcan replies, and steps up to Kirk's side.

"Thanks," Kirk says, shifting so Spock can get beside him. "Take the reins, please. I need to check his legs."

Without further comment, Spock does. He can't know how serious leg injuries are, how worried Kirk is right now, but it seems as if he understands the severity in Kirk's tone.

"The animal is definitely in pain, Jim, though I cannot locate the source," Spock murmurs, causing Kirk to curse under his breath. He glances at the Vulcan, and sees those long fingers brushing Spot's muzzle in slow, soothing motions. Kirk smiles to convey his appreciation, and gets back to the business at hand.

Starting with the right foreleg, he moves counter clockwise, running his hands carefully down each of Spot's legs to check for tenderness. It's at the left hind leg that he finds what he is looking for. Spot is favoring the leg, hip cocked and hoof-tip barely brushing the ground. There's already visible swelling at the ankle, and when he runs his hands gently over the joint to test it, the horse whuffs to express disgruntlement.

He huffs, himself, as he straightens back up. Rubbing the back of his neck, he looks at Spock.

"Well, it appears he got a sprain," he admits, chagrined and relieved in equal parts. "It may not be broken, but he definitely can't carry either of us."

Spock gives the horse his Vulcan equivalent of a frown, then those dark eyes are focused on Kirk once again. "What are our options?"

Quickly, Kirk runs through them in his head. Beaming up is out of the question – there's a decent amount of cloud cover overhead now, which means the ion storm is close, and could interfere with the functioning of the transporters. He can't risk that with the horses unless either Spock's or his life is in danger. If they simply walk back, leading the animals, they certainly wouldn't make it to the settlement before the storm begins. That leaves one option.

"It looks like we'll be riding double." He glances at that leg one more time, and another thought occurs to him. "Hey Spock, can you do anything to help him? Maybe, I don't know…calm him a bit, or do something for the pain?"

The Vulcan nods in understanding, and his eyes close while those fingers still near the horse's forehead. It only takes a few moments before Spot raises his head, already looking more alert. His tail swishes back and forth as he takes in his surroundings.

"Thanks!" says Kirk, relieved.

(*)

There are warm, comforting arms wrapped around him. They rest at Kirk's hips, and every once in a while the natural movement of the horse beneath them causes Spock's chest to bump into his back. Despite the circumstances, Kirk is glad for the excuse to be so close to Spock – usually the only time he can get this much physical contact is during their daily suus manha practices, and those don't count because he's there to learn, and break out in a sweat. He doesn't get to simply enjoy Spock's presence, or his touch. He smiles to himself, and when it breaks out briefly from behind a cloud, he checks the position of the sun once again.

They've been travelling in what he believes is the right direction – the planet's sun is positioned over the shoulder opposite its location on their way out from the settlement, and they've been following a faint trail weaving through the underbrush.

It's hard to judge, because Spot cannot move at anything close to the mad dash through the woods that brought them here, and unfortunately cannot match even the steady walk they made during their travel from the settlement. The best they can achieve – even with Spock's intervention – is a hobble, forcing them to travel at a snail's pace to avoid further damaging the animal. But it feels like they should have met the original trail by now.

He's brought out of his contemplation by Spock's hands tightening across his hips.

"Bring the animals to a halt, Jim," he murmurs, his breath warm against Jim's ear as it tickles the tiny sensitive hairs on his neck.

And he forgets how to breathe. It's a good thing he automatically pulled back on the reins, because he doesn't have the brainpower left to do anything now. To make things worse, Spock doesn't shift back to his original position – instead he stays with his chest pressed against Jim's back, and he can feel the tension and excitement reverberating softly through the Vulcan.

Before it even percolates through his brain that he may want to be worried about why Spock had them stop, the reason for the Vulcan's warning comes into focus. Suddenly, his eyes can pick out of the bright foliage a creature ethereal and beautiful, that looks vaguely deer-like – if a deer were bright blue, had six legs, and looks like it has been dunked in a vat of glitter. The glitter helps break up the animal's outline phenomenally well; it's hard to make out her form, even though her exact position is known. Huge dark eyes are staring at their little group, and the middle set of delicate hooves stomp once in warning.

Jim couldn't have moved if he wanted to, not with Spock so incredibly close. His lungs are still trying to recall how to accomplish that whole breathing thing. For his part, the Vulcan is frozen behind him, even the thrum of excitement calmed. The horses couldn't care less about the animal, mouthing the undergrowth within reach of their questing lips in the hopes of finding something tasty.

The standoff lasts for an infinite amount of time, before the doe-creature begins slowly stepping forward one delicate opalescent hoof at a time. Melting out of the woods behind her come more of the deer-creatures, obviously a herd that even includes some young of various ages. They move smoothly down what appears to be a trail they're familiar with, picking their way down the path with heads held high and watching the little group intently.

Jim would be entranced by the group if Spock weren't infinitely more interesting. He's already turned partially in the saddle so he can observe the creatures coming towards them from the side, so he shifts infinitesimally more so he can observe the Vulcan instead. His eyes are wide, darting back and forth as he takes in all the details. Jim can't help but smile when he realizes Spock's lips are open just the tiniest fraction as he watches. In the Vulcan, it's the equivalent of being slack-jawed and gaping.

Something warm and bubbly builds in Jim's chest, and he knows he's grinning like an idiot when Spock turns toward him a fraction and their eyes lock. The smile disappears as Jim gets lost, the only thought he can comprehend is that Spock is so very close…he wouldn't have to lean in at all to capture those lips in his own.

He gulps, and Spock's eyes dart down, and Jim can almost swear they hesitate for a moment before they're back to capturing his in their gaze. Then Spock's lips are moving, and it takes Jim a moment to register that the Vulcan is speaking with him.

"The animals have moved on, Jim," Spock is murmuring, and Jim gets a heady burst of apple-flavor on his tongue.

Not capable of utilizing speech quite yet, Jim nods once and turns back to the forest before them. It's now obvious that the signs he'd hoped were the horses moving through the woods in their mad dash, are nothing of the sort. Instead, this is a game trail used by those deer-creatures, and he doesn't have the slightest clue where the trail will lead them.

Glancing up, he can no longer see the sun through gaps in the canopy – the clouds that have been gathering in angrier numbers have finally obscured it. They promise heavy rain, and soon. He glares at those clouds, and hopes they have time to find shelter before that rain begins to fall.

"Spock…" he admits resignedly, "I don't know where we are."

(*)

He's cold, and wet, and miserable. To try and combat the chill, he wraps the blanket around him a little tighter, and crawls even closer to their meager fire. At this point he's practically on top of it, and it's not helping. The blanket is one of the two meant to keep the saddles from chafing the horses, also not providing much warmth. They managed to find something that passed for shelter – but not until after the rain already started, and they both are drenched to the core. The officers are making do with the hollow that had been eroded into the side of a hill. The ceiling of their shallow cave is made up of the exposed roots of a giant tree. There is enough room for Spock, Kirk, and the fire – but just barely. The horses are tethered outside the entrance, the rain sluicing off them in waves.

The storm arrived in earnest, the ionically charged particles interfering with their communicators, and Kirk was barely been able to get through to the Enterprise. The ship's sensors were also affected, so they were unable to get help with identifying their position, meaning they were still operating blind. And they could not beam down any supplies, which meant no dry clothes, no camp supplies, and no food. With everything that had happened today, Kirk hadn't had time to eat since breakfast that morning. Now that he's sitting still, his stomach is taking the opportunity to remind him how very hungry he is, on top of being cold and wet.

Kirk watches the storm raging just outside their paltry shelter, and lets a rare sigh escape his lips. This time, he should have listened to Spock, and stayed bored. It seems that everything that could go wrong, did, and he's not enjoying the experience.

He feels a dark, contemplative gaze on him, the heat from those eyes almost palpable against his skin. Kirk glances at Spock, who is seated across the tiny fire from him. Even though the Vulcan must be feeling the cold and damp even more than his captain, there's not even the slightest hint of a tremor from Spock's muscles. Kirk's been shivering for at least the last thirty minutes.

He knows those eyes don't miss anything, and that Spock probably knows everything he's thinking at the moment, as he's not doing anything to hide his unhappiness.

"It would be a more efficient use of energy if we were to share the body heat we manage to generate," Spock says, breaking the silence that has hung gently over them since Jim ended his transmission. And for just a moment, the Vulcan lets his careful control drop, and Jim sees just how miserable Spock is in their situation.

And, as always, his idea has merit. Nodding, not trusting himself to speak through his chattering teeth, Jim scoots over to Spock's side of the fire – the side farthest from the entrance to their little shelter. He was trying to give the Vulcan some space after the extended contact required from riding double, but keeping warm is more of a priority.

They combine blankets and lie down on the dried leaves that litter the bottom of the hollow. Somehow, Jim ends up closest to the fire, with Spock's heat a constant at his back. There's hot breath on his neck, that warms him quicker than anything else could. That, combined with the arm carefully placed over his side, mean that he finally believes it might be possible to feel warmth again.

After a few minutes, he can feel the tension that was coiled in the Vulcan ease.

"Goodnight, Jim," Spock murmurs somewhere over his shoulder, and Jim can't help but smile at the purely Human phrase.

"Goodnight, Spock," he replies, shifting a little so he's lying more comfortably on his side.

Within moments, the Vulcan's breathing is deep and even, signifying sleep. A stab of humor-tinged jealousy tugs at Jim at the demonstration of Spock's control. He knows it'll take him a great deal longer before he finally finds sleep.

He sighs again, letting the air out in a slow movement so as not to disturb Spock's rest. This time it's an expression of contentment, as he's wrapped completely in Vulcan, and happy – something he didn't think was possible just a short while ago.

Holding his breath, he runs a fingertip across the back of the hand thrown over him. He closes his eyes, focusing on the feel of smooth skin beneath his. He wouldn't dare try something like this if Spock were conscious, not wanting to risk the Vulcan getting a glimpse of his unguarded emotions. But for the moment, it is safe.

He can't help but marvel at how far he's come, from being outside the Vulcan's bubble to being trusted by Spock to lie with him like this.