A/N: Just to clarify, again; the reason that Spock is noticing such emotions now is because he was able to ignore them before, and therefore could effectively remain in denial; with deteriorating mental shields, that's more difficult. However, that does not mean the feelings never existed before; he's just unable to brush them off now so simply. M'kay? Sorry if I wasn't clear on that. And the whole control issue is going to get even worse, I'm thinking.

Also, this chapter contains lots of conversation really for nothing but having Spock & McCoy banter and talk. But this story is meant to be about them, after all. And you'll see more signs of the slash after this, I'm hoping. Dang it, but this is going a lot slower than I thought! Sorry bout the wait, but it is longer than the others…?

Thanks to lepidoptora fanatic, Mini-Chobi, music-is-luv, and 003chan for reviewing last chapter, and to everyone else who has reviewed as well.

Disclaimer; I do not own Star Trek, I do not make any profit from this, the usual…

ST:III;

"That pointy-eared son of a bitch. This is his revenge for all those arguments he lost."

Chapter Nine

McCoy groaned as he shifted, his back aching in his strange position. He twisted automatically, but his movement was stilled by something. He blinked his eyes open, blearily, registering sight beeps and whirrs of machinery. He stared ahead uncomprehendingly for a moment, then bolted upright.

A Romulan glanced back at him, scowled, and bent over a console.

Shitshitshitshitshit.!

A few involuntary curses escaped him as he took in the scene quickly. They were in a ship. A small, tiny, absolutely miniscule ship. His eyes widened with horrified comprehension. The Romulan over at the console had captured them, somehow taking back his ship and leaving. He and Spock were stuffed into a few square feet in a corner of what appeared to be the main 'bridge' of the little ship.

And there was a force-field in front of them.

Perfect.

Vant glanced back irately as the human came to consciousness, but he was too busy to spare the doctor much thought.

He wouldn't make it to Romulus.

Heck, Romulus? He wouldn't make it out of this Solar-System! He hadn't stopped to check if that human engineer had done anything to his ship. Which, apparently, he had.

The human started swearing. Vant's mood was lifted just slightly as he smirked. The ship might not have been built for prisoners, but it wasn't too difficult to put up a temporary force field about them with spare bits and pieces, albeit a weak one.

Not that any of this mattered, unless he found some way to fix his ship from the plants of one of the nearby planets, or something else equally unlikely. Running out of power, he had no choice but to land on one of the M-class planets.

"What do you want from us?" McCoy barked angrily. He was ignored. "You do have a reason for all this, don't you?"

The Romulan said nothing. McCoy huffed. Wasn't this the part where the kidnapper told them all his plans and a little of his life story, unintentionally giving them the means to escape? Because the last couldn't really happen without the first two.

…Maybe he was watching too many old vids, but in his experience, that was normally how it went.

"Damn green-blooded elves can't do anything normally," McCoy muttered, "Vulcan or Romulan." At the word 'Vulcan' he involuntarily glanced down at the still unconscious first officer, who had been nerve-pinched after him. Didn't seem to be waking anytime soon, either, but he was breathing evenly, so that was something.

"Romulan hospitality," McCoy growled under his breath. "Wonderful."

"Silent."

The cold, low voice made him grimace, but he continued anyway. "Well, you're not a mute, after all."

"Those with such deficiencies are killed at birth."

McCoy blinked a little at that disturbing revelation, noting that emotional or not, Romulans seemed to take things just as literally as a Vulcan. Didn't they have sarcasm? He filed away the answer for Starfleet's cultural databanks. "Well, aren't you a cheery one? Do they kill for other 'deficiencies'? Do they murder cowards, perhaps?"

The Romulan glanced back sharply. Easily angered, too, though that could just be an individual trait. Or maybe they were like Klingons about honour and all that? "What kind of cowardice are you referring to?"

"The kind of backstabbing you're doing - creeping around to get the jump on people with a third your strength. Now that takes some bravery." Then, in case they were so honour-obsessed as Klingons; "Takes a special kinda' snake to do that. Where's your sense of honour? Afraid of being overpowered by us little humans?"

The Romulan seemed more irked by this, head snapping sharply to look at him - and at Spock. Suddenly the Vulcan gave a gasp, back arching, eyes clenching shut in apparent pain. McCoy's eyes widened. He grabbed at his friend's wrist hastily, but the touch seemed to do more for him than Spock; he could only stare helplessly.

The Vulcan suddenly relaxed, though his breathing seemed laboured. McCoy looked at the Romulan with horror.

Vant raised one eyebrow, then turned his back on the doctor and kept working.

McCoy was silent.

Spock's head felt thick and clouded, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He shifted.

Something was touching his wrist.

He jerked back, eyes flying open, and his head hit something and bounced back painfully. A voice was speaking loudly, but the low growl of the doctor was easily familiar, as was the faint touch of his mind.

He relaxed immediately, opening his eyes and blinking, squinting against the sudden light. The pounding in his head had increased, and it was hard to focus on the blue-clad figure leaning over him.

"Can't do anything the easy way, can you?" Despite the irritated words, a gentle hand helped pull him upright. Spock glanced around, then did a double-take. The surface his head had hit had been a force-field.

"Where - " He caught sight of the Romulan, blinked a little. "…Ah. We have been captured."

Obviously, McCoy thought. He withheld from saying this, a little concerned with the dazed look on the Vulcan's face. The Romulan hadn't done anything different to him, had he? "Don't suppose you happen to know how to break this?" He didn't bother lowering his voice; he was rather certain the answer was 'no'.

Spock tapped the field experimentally. "I would estimate that it will fail without outside influence in…" A pause, too long; "… in 1.235... - " Another pause. "No, in 1.3254 days."

McCoy's concern grew. Spock didn't make mistakes. "Are you alright? Do you have a headache, any - "

"I am quite well," Spock said swiftly. "I do not believe there is anything we can do of the force field." A pause. "Furthermore, I would assume our captor has already made preparations for when the barrier fails."

McCoy frowned, barely hearing the last part. "Sit still." Spock stiffened in surprise as McCoy checked his pulse through the wrist, looking displeased at the result. "Damn it. What's wrong with you? He just nerve-pinched you, didn't he?"

Spock did not answer this. Instead he pointedly ignored the words, looking instead at the Romulan. "What are your motives?" He questioned, managing to keep his voice even through the pounding of blood in his head. "I am aware that you are, for whatever reason…"

"I'm getting information on the House of that veruul Surak," the Romulan snapped. McCoy saw Spock tense at the insult to his ancestor. "As you already know. Do you expect me to tell you anything?"

"To not do so implies you believe we shall escape," Spock tried, but the 'manipulation' was painfully obvious. He was certainly not at his best today.

The Romulan ignored him. He began to reach for something, paused, licked his lip. A bead of sweat rolled down his face, and he continued working with slight hesitation.

Spock noticed this with some interest. Carefully, he touched the doctor's wrist lightly.

He is growing weary.

McCoy jumped in shock at the mind-speak. Spock's vision began to cloud with the effort, but he continued, and it became somewhat easier. I believe the constant telepathic exertions have strained him considerably. It may be very possible to overpower him when the barrier is down.

McCoy opened his mouth, but Spock squeezed the wrist warningly. The doctor paused, reluctant, then tried to think 'loudly' for Spock's benefit. You just said he's prepared for that.

There is no need to broadcast so strongly, Doctor. And yes, I did say as much, but I am beginning to rethink that; he seems quite agitated. It is very possible he has overlooked such plans, or at least has not yet formulated a plan for this eventuality. A pause. Of course, it is also possible he may simply keep us unconscious after that point. It would not be difficult.

Joy. Apparently, sarcasm could be transmitted even in telepathy. What do you propose we do until then?

There is not much we can do.

Some hour later, McCoy opted for speech, unable to be silent any longer.

"What's your name, anyway?"

The Romulan didn't even seem to notice him.

"Hey! Romulan! Have some manners! What's your name?"

The person across the room stiffened. Spock paused to give McCoy a somewhat incredulous look. "Have some manners?" He muttered, plainly baffled. McCoy's lips twitched, anger turning to amusement as he saw Spock puzzle over the illogic of mentioning the 'manners' of their captor.

The Romulan glanced back, briefly, then turned away dismissively. McCoy didn't think he would respond at all, but a minute later one word drifted back.

"Vant."

McCoy blinked a little, but nothing else seemed forthcoming. He eyed the silent Romulan - Vant - for a moment, then leaned toward Spock; in a stage whisper; "Any way I can turn that into an insult?"

Spock blinked at him a moment, nonplussed, then seemed to sigh slightly. "Human humour?"

"Boredom."

"We were knocked unconscious, taken from our ship, and have been restrained… and you are 'bored'?"

"Well, s'not like there's anything to do here."

"Humans are incomprehensible."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"I did not mean it as one."

"Which is why it is."

"…"

McCoy chuckled.

"Quiet."

He glanced back up at the Romulan, bristling slightly. Spock glanced back up as well, but seemed unfazed. "I do not believe I shall ever fully understand you, Doctor."

"I sure hope not. What would be the fun in that?"

Spock just raised an eyebrow.

Imprisoned, onboard an alien ship with a homicidal captor, McCoy laughed.

They were landing on one of the Minshara- class planets. They still had many hours until the shields fell, by Spock's calculations - which, in these circumstances, McCoy seriously had to doubt - and so far McCoy, for one, had no idea on how to speed up the process - nor did he have any idea on what they would do when they were out.

The anxious Romulan seemed to be running scans of the planet, though what he could be looking for, McCoy didn't know.

Spock touched his wrist lightly again. I do not believe he is looking for anything in particular. He is hoping, searching for something which may help him without any idea of what that could be. He will find nothing.

McCoy felt some triumph at that. Hah! The Enterprise will find us soon enough, then - He paused, a thought coming to him that flattened his hopes. A chill ran through him. …No, they won't, will they.

It is unlikely.

McCoy understood too well. He'll realize that there's nothing for him to do, that he's going to be caught regardless, that he can't bring us back to Romulus.

Yes, Spock agreed. And then, he will kill us.

McCoy sat, stunned, for a moment; just a moment. No way I'm just sitting here and getting killed by some random Romulan.

You hardly have a choice, Doctor.

We'll see about that. McCoy considered, then; He's tired.

A sense of puzzlement across the connection. Yes.

He's tired, what if he's not conscious when we're released?

He will likely kill us before that time, Spock told him helpfully. Although I am quite certain you would not wish to hear the odds.

But if he's unconscious -

The odds of him falling unconscious in such a time are also most certainly not in our favour, Doctor.

But what if some more variables were in your calculations, hmm? You're a telepath; could you put more stress on his mind?

It was not quite stiffening, not really, but the telepathic words managed nonetheless to convey curtness, obvious discomfort. I am a touch telepath.

But you can use your abilities without touch, I've seen you do it before. He looks exhausted enough for you to have a good chance.

You do not know what you ask.

Oh?

My mind is - I would not be able to do this, Doctor.

And why not?

To enter a telepath's mind, unwillingly, while they fight against you - the strain on a victim's mind is incomprehensible and highly traumatizing. Vulcans are conditioned carefully so that even the thought is anathema to us. It is the highest violation.

You've entered the minds of others before.

That was different, very different. I did not enter with intent to harm, and they did not fight against me. Even if they had, and I was forced to continue, a non-telepath would suffer almost negligible effects, if any at all.

A pause.

So when he forced into your mind -

To McCoy it was like a sheet of ice in his mind, falling between them, and he gasped at the sensation. Irrelevant.

McCoy closed his eyes, trying to get past that terrible feeling; Spock seemed to realize what he was doing because it vanished a moment later, and the doctor relaxed.

Spock's mind gave off a sense of caution, wariness; McCoy had obviously, if unintentionally, hit quite the sore spot. He would have to talk to Spock about that later, however, disturbing as what he had said was. Carefully; Alright, no forcing into his mind - at least not like he did to you. Another stab of ice, but Spock reigned in the instinctive reaction, and McCoy continued. But surely there's something you can do, just nudge at him mentally - all you need to do is make him tired defending himself. You don't have to actually go into his mind.

Silence. Long minutes passed.

Resignedly; Our odds have just improved.

Oh?

Somewhat.

Oh.

The Vulcan let go of the Doctor's wrist, crossing his legs in the cramped space and bowing his head, eyes closing tightly. McCoy sat straighter, alternating between watching the Romulan and Vulcan

It took a moment, but suddenly Vant stiffened, halting in his scans.

As it was, Spock didn't have to do much offensive work at all. A single brush of his mind over Vant's cause a fierce defense, the Romulan's mind flinging itself at his own, so that Spock was immediately forced to strain to keep him at bay. He regretted going with the doctor's idea almost instantly, but it was too late to go back.

The Romulan's mind was a fierce pressure all around him, drowning him, but he kept it where it was, kept it at bay, at least, if he never managed to push it away.

McCoy floundered a moment, wanting to help but totally useless. He grasped his friend's wrist finally, anxiously, wishing that he could somehow lend some strength through the Vulcan's touch telepathy. He glanced between the two vulcanoids, but mostly kept his gaze on Spock.

Suddenly it seemed as if the other mind 'stumbled', for lack of a better word, faltering and flickering, and suddenly retreated. Spock inhaled, shuddering, and looked up to see the pale Romulan leaning against the wall. His eyelids flickered, and the Vulcan felt a spark of hope; then, steeling himself, Vant straightened again, locking gazes with him.

The Romulan looked almost smug, despite the sheen of sweat on his forehead, the deep rise and fall of laboured breathing. "You're not even as strong as your brother was. Don't even bother trying to overpower me."

He turned back to his work.

Wait, since when do you have a brother?

Spock ignored the question. I can do nothing more; telepathy is as fatiguing for me as for him.

You did what you could; and he does look like he's about to drop. Are you alright? McCoy made a mental note to ask about that later.

No, the Vulcan replied honestly, but I shall be, with rest.

The grip on his wrist tightened. Damn it - I think we're finally landing.

Indeed, just moments later they felt the engines slow, the ship settling onto the land. And now comes the desperation, McCoy concluded. Try not to draw attention, you're in no condition now to do anything if he gets mad - he still has weapons besides his mind, however tired he is.

I, Doctor, am hardly the one to antagonize him.

Yeah, yeah. A pause. What's he doing?

I am not certain.

Vant quickly looked between different screens, which the two could not see. He did not appear pleased, and looked to be becoming quite agitated without the help of either of his captives. Without glancing at his captives he suddenly keyed in a code to a panel on the wall, and suddenly a door was sliding open. He left, the door sliding shut behind him.

…I don't know if that's good or not.

I can not see how him leaving the ship could be detrimental to us.

It is if we're stuck here and can't leave.

If the barrier drops before he returns, which is, I admit, unlikely, I did see the code he input to leave.

Well, that's something. And he might collapse as soon as he gets outside, for all we know.

Or he could be eaten by wild carnivores, and then we shall undergo the same fate when we the optimist, huh, Spock? McCoy frowned. Actually, this is Curanis Beta, isn't it? With those… Okay, that could actually happen. We could just fly the ship back to the Enterprise, you know.

Can you read Romulan, Doctor? Or fly a Romulan vessel?

…I'm guessing it's not quite like Vulcan?

No.

Damn. Okay, well, could at least send a message… Ah… Or maybe not, McCoy realized.

This is a stealth ship, Doctor. I believe they do not have a communications unit. It would be rather superfluous; sending messages would only alert others as to their position.

But when they're in, say, Romulan space, how could they communicate with others - On one level, it made some amount of sense, but - no communication with any ships…

They would, I imagine, report directly to their superiors. With covert missions, they would likely not have much interaction with other ships.

Not even distress signals - these are some risky bastards.

I have seen nothing that suggests that Vant's parents were unmarried, Doctor. And if Romulans are anything like Klingons in terms of honour, as they seem to be, they may consider distress signals cowardly.

I think Romulans and Klingons are all mildly suicidal. Or majorly. None of their 'honour' bull makes any sense to me. McCoy shook his head. Well, none of this matters, anyway. In summary, we can't use the ship, in any way, to contact or get to Enterprise?

I suppose it may be possible to alter some of the systems for communication… But highly unlikely.

…Well, let's worry about that after, hmm? First we have to get of here. A pause. McCoy looked around, most specifically at the fact that they were sitting, very close, with a barrier enclosing the small space. There wasn't exactly much to do. …On second thought, speculations fine.

Vant did not return even after an hour had past, nor did he return after the second hour, the third, the fourth… The two were more on edge as time passed, waiting for his return, speculations long since over as they ran out of ideas.

McCoy turned the talk to different matters. "So, he mentioned you have a brother."

"I do not."

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "You didn't say anything to him to deny it," he pointed out.

"I am sure he believes I have a brother, or was being imprecise when referencing Sybok."

"Who?"

"My half-brother."

"…So you do have a brother."

"No. I had a half-brother."

"Now you're just being difficult." He considered Spock's wording. "Wait, had a half-brother? Is he dead?"

"In a way. He was banished many years ago. He is dead to the clan. We avoid mention of him."

It was a rather obvious attempt to get McCoy to stop asking. The doctor, characteristically, ignored it.

"That seems rather… harsh. What did he do, kill some one?"

"He would not have been banished for that," Spock dismissed. "Incarcerated, more likely. He was a heretic. He attempted to convince others to accept emotions."

"Seriously? That's worse than killing someone?" McCoy asked incredulously.

"I did not say that. Furthermore, he also was convinced that he had received a vision from God and attempted to convince others to help him search for the Vulcan version of Eden."

"…So, one of those cult-leader crazies? Wait - that's how you understood what those people were talking about - Dr. Sevrin's people, I mean. And all that 'Herbert' nonsense."

"Yes," Spock agreed, wishing very much that the doctor would drop the topic.

McCoy finally seemed to notice, hesitating before he continued, changing what he had been about to say. "…You never talk much about - Vulcan," he said, instead of what he meant to.

Spock glanced at him, shifting slightly. He couldn't sit any further from the doctor, and their proximity - along with his recent revelations which were now affecting him, after their original single-mindedness on the situation had vanished - was not helping him relax. "No, I do not." He acknowledged simply.

McCoy eyed him. That type of response was always either an attempt at humour or taunting, or sometimes procrastination when faced with a question he didn't like. He was leaning on the latter. "How come?"

"What precisely are you referring to?"

"Don't play dumb with me."

"I do not suppose you shall accept the answer, 'it never came up'?"

"No."

"I thought as much."

"Is he why you don't talk about your family?" McCoy prodded, unable to himself. "Heck, you never even told us about your parents until they came aboard."

"That was never relevant to any discussions, either. I do not see why my personal life is of such interest."

"You're more tightlipped than an Aldeberan shell-mouth," McCoy muttered. "Really, though, if you think about it we really don't know much about you."

"I am not so well versed in your own family history," Spock pointed out.

"One brother, Johnathon, dad's dead, I don't talk to my mother, I have a daughter, Joanna. Your turn."

"You already know of my only sibling, my parents, and my grandmother."

"What about grandfather?"

"We do not speak of that," Spock said flatly.

"Well, alright, then. Human relatives?"

Spock was silent a beat, taken aback, which was enough to tell McCoy that he certainly had some. "Well?"

"I… am not on the best of terms with them," he said, reluctantly. "They did not approve of my mother's decision to marry a Vulcan, and they approve of me even less." He paused a beat. "…This conversation is not at all useful in our present circumstances."

"No, but it is something to do. Unless you was sleep sitting up, because we can't exactly lie down here. So we can just wait for hours, or we can talk for hours. I like the second better." A pause. "I think you just don't want to talk about your human relatives."

"I do not, but it does not invalidate my previous point."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "You know, I think I can see why any cousins of yours would be weirded out by you, at least. I can picture you at four or five, throwing out words like 'invalidated' or 'floccinaucinihilipilification', for that matter."

Spock looked at him blankly. "Yes…?"

McCoy shook his head. "…Saddest thing about that, I really, truly, honestly can see that. Your poor cousins."

It was a way of distracting him, Spock realized. McCoy had left him an opening to speak of the issues with his family - 'I think you don't want to talk your human relatives', (Care to say why, he seemed to ask silently) - and when Spock obviously declined, he turned it into a joke to lessen the tension. It was… not ineffective. He felt slightly pleased with the attempt - a definite sign of issues with emotional control. But he felt in better humour now, and fell into the familiar pattern of banter.

"You are aware that you mispronounced - "

"Shut up."

"I thought you wanted to speak?" Spock questioned.

"Of all the people to get stuck with for a day…"

Spock did manage to keep the doctor from overly personal topics the next few hours, 'overly personal' being a wider range than the doctor may have liked, it must be said. He also meditated for some time, while the doctor tried (unsuccessfully) to sleep, which was… distracting. When the doctor closed his eyes in vain attempts at sleep Spock found himself mentally tracing the contours of his face, eyes trailing down his lean body, and then he shook himself out of this distraction and tried to focus again. He was having trouble concentrating, though, and inevitably his eyes would wander back to McCoy.

It was definitely not the time for such things, but it didn't stop his mind from wondering. But there were more urgent matters. Spock estimated they had some four and a half hours left before the shields fell.

"Don't see how meditating - what's that?"

Spock looked at the blinking panel on the wall as well. It was flashing red and yellow alternately. "I do not know. However, I think it safe to assume that it is not a positive sign."

"Pretty likely," McCoy agreed. "Maybe it's - "

BANG!

McCoy jumped a foot, and even Spock started - though he would deny it - at the sudden sound.

He turned his head to inspect the room as the noise came again, and again, and again, until it seemed like there were many different sounds overlapping - as if, he thought, the ship was being attacked from the outside, by many different sources. He said as much to McCoy.

"Attacked by what? The - oh, those lizard things!"

"I do not think they were reptilian," Spock corrected.

"They had tails.

"They had no scales. Many animals have tails."

"They had fangs."

"So do mammals."

"Slitted eyes!"

"Do cats not have slitted eyes?"

"Horns!"

"Like Terran goats?"

"…"

The banging continued. McCoy seemed to give up. "Fine. The mammalian - "

"I did not say they were mammalian, just that they were not necessarily - "

"Okay, the whatever," McCoy stressed, "outside, if you must. I don't think they had the technology to break into this metal, though. As long as they can't get the door to open, anyway. I imagine there's a code or something. But if they're still outside - "

"Then we can not go outside," Spock finished. "Yes, that may be problematic. However, there may be phasers aboard."

"Prime Directive, though," McCoy said grudgingly, never a fan of that little detail.

Spock tilted his head. "Yes… In that case, if they remain outside the ship, we shall simply have to hope the Enterprise will find us."

"What a plan."

The banging did stop after a time, as did the flashing light but some time before the two would have liked. The barrier had not yet fallen when the noises had finally disappeared. If the natives outside were gone, Vant had a chance to return.

The last half hour was spent tensely, the two watching the door and the barrier, waiting. Finally the force-field starting to flicker. Minutes ticked by and, at last, it fell - Vant apparently still outside.

McCoy grinned madly, laughing as he stood and stretched. Spock immediately moved to the machinery. He inspected it for a time, but finally had to concede that it did not seem possible to establish communication, to his knowledge. A quick search proved there were no beacons of any sort hidden away, from what they could see. Resigned, he went next to the panel Vant had used to exit. He inspected it. "…Simple enough," he decided. "Doctor - "

"Yeah, yeah." McCoy ducked into another small room, rummaging around to find ration packs. He eyed a replicator mournfully. It would be much more useful, but it wasn't exactly portable.

He returned. Spock had opened the door and was already outside.

"The natives seem to have left the area," he confirmed. "I am not certain where Vant is, however."

"Well, only one thing for it then." McCoy decided.

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"We have to choose the most illogical course."

The eyebrow rose higher. "Is that so?" Spock asked wryly.

"Yes. He will try to determine where we went, and the least logical course will, therefore, be the last place he considers, especially with a logical Vulcan here." McCoy was smug.

"By that reasoning, Doctor, the most illogical path is actually the most logical."

"Thank you."

"Which, of course, makes your entire argument redundant."

"…"

Spock looked at him innocently.

"…Damn it, let's just go that way."

After going 'that way', hoping to avoid running into Vant, the first order of business was obviously shelter and weapons. Water and to a lesser extent food were also to be found, hopefully, but considering the Romulan running about somewhere, defense was their first concern.

"Why did he leave, anyway?" McCoy asked suddenly. "What reason would he have to leave the ship, and leave us?"

"I have considered that," Spock informed him. "You are aware, of course, that the scans of the Enterprise can not penetrate certain areas?"

McCoy nodded. "He wants to hide out where the Enterprise won't find him when they come looking."

"Precisely. He possibly meant to take us with him."

"But what would the point be in that? He can't reach Romulus with us, you know. He can't leave this planet at all with no power."

"I am uncertain; I am only speculating. But it would seem strange that he would not kill us before leaving if he did not mean to keep us captured; we know already he has no qualms concerning murder."

"Thanks for the reminder," McCoy grumbled. "'Course, for all we know he's been bitten by a snake or something and already kicked the bucket."

Spock opened his mouth.

"Died," McCoy clarified. "Anyway, I'm more worried about those natives, myself."

"If it helps, I highly doubt they would attempt to eat us, as their appearance might suggest. Even the least intelligent of species knows better than to ingest that which is foreign. Sapient species also often show discomfort eating anything physically similar to themselves, and there are enough similarities with us, such as skin color and body shape, to confuse them."

"Humans would eat primates occasionally," McCoy pointed out. "They look most like us of earth-animals."

"Yes, humans did," Spock said, in a tone saying humans would be the race disgusting enough to be the exception. "More likely, however, they will attempt to study us."

"Oh, well, they'll kill us for dissection instead, how lovely."

Spock abruptly turned at a ninety-degree angle. It took McCoy a few steps before he noticed, and then he hastily followed.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"There is water this way."

McCoy scowled, grumbling under his breath as he followed through the vegetation. "And you couldn't just say so?"

There was water, a fair-sized pond. Spock nodded. "The difficulty, of course, is that while it is advantageous to stay by water due to our own needs - "

"Other animals will be thinking the same," McCoy concluded. "Anyway, I don't suppose there's likely to be a handy cave nearby?"

"Judging by the landscape, that is doubtful."

"Of course it is. Well, it's as good a place as any, as long as there are no natives nearby, and it is getting dark…"

"Actually, we are cannot be so far from natives; you must take into account that the natives were, presumably, at the ship, and we are not so distant from that area. They could come here to hunt."

"Just know what to say to make a person feel warm and fuzzy, huh? Well, I'd recommend we stay here awhile, anyway, at least for the night. Nice to have fresh water when making camp."

"That seems logical."

So much for shelter, McCoy thought, eyeing his surroundings warily as he curled up beside a tree, camouflaged by high vegetation as Spock took watch. A nice cave or something would be helpful, but of course there couldn't be any around here. And weapons were just as unlikely, unless they wanted to use sharp sticks, which he had a feeling wouldn't be useful against either the phaser-wielding Romulan or the carnivorous natives.

Why was he in Starfleet, again?

Spock was only keeping half of his attention on keeping watch, certain he would hear any animal or person stumbling upon them. The rest of his attention was focused on staying in a half-meditative state, restoring some measure of calm that had been alluding him the whole day.

He was going mad.

It was impossible to deny. It was especially obvious when meditating, as he examined his psyche. His mental shields were deteriorating. The structure of his very mind was fraying, with stress and after-effects of the forced melds wearing on him. The largest cause, however, was his own revulsion and rejection of the past melds. His mind was, in way, rejecting itself, remembering and feeling ghosts of the alien-presence. He had suppressed signs from McCoy's notice successfully, it seemed, but control was becoming more difficult.

He finally agreed with T'Pau, though he did not think, now, that M'Benga would have sufficed even if he could reach him. He needed a Vulcan mind-healer, desperately.

Spock rose just after McCoy, on second watch, was about to wake him. McCoy rose, stretching and hearing his neck crack, and asked - as he had neglected the night before, too weary - if Spock had heard anything. McCoy was answered in the negative.

After a quick meal of the ration packs from the shuttle - McCoy grumbled at the taste, or lack thereof - they were leaving again, path somewhat random.

"The Enterprise will find our bio-signs from long range scanners," Spock reasoned, "or, more likely, find the shuttle and then us."

"If they can find us at all," the pessimistic doctor replied. "You realize, don't you, that the thing was attached to the Enterprise and we didn't know?"

"…Well, yes, there is that…"

They chose to search for better shelter - preferably, somewhere Vant would not notice easily or, if he did, was on a strategic point for the Vulcan and human to defend themselves from.

"Judging by the landscape so far, I would estimate that we should find - "

"What was that?"

"What was - "

Spock was cut off as he was slammed against the ground, roughly. Next to him there was a dull thump as the doctor hit the ground as well.

Swiftly, he found his legs and arm bound, and he was pulled up and thrown onto a rough wooden surface - some device intended to carry him, apparently, and the doctor, who was promptly thrown in as well. A lid closed on the odd construct - but not before Spock caught sight of one of the vicious faces of the natives, sharp fangs glinting ferally as he bared his teeth in excitement.

Darkness came over them.

"Great."

McCoy's voice echoed off the wooden walls. The two bounced somewhat as the structure moved - Spock estimated that there were perhaps some ten or so carrying the whole thing.

His head scraped the top immediately as he tried to sit up, so he was forced to lay down. "There is one positive aspect of our captivity," he told the doctor, feeling this would be appreciated.

"Yeah?"

"We no longer have to be concerned that Vant may find us."

He was rewarded with a strangled laugh.

M'Benga stared at the emblem on the screen, face very pale. He took a nervous swig of the liquor by his side, and, keeping his eyes fixed on the Vulcan symbol, pressed a button to accept the call.

"Scans completed, Sir. No signs of humanoid or vulcanoid life."

"Mr. Chekov, plot a course to Curanis Beta."

He really should have gone there first, he reflected. Meat-eating natives who looked born to kill. Where else would the luckless two be?

"Course laid in, Sir."

A/N: Hey, I actually gave meaning to the talking! Well, most of it… And I know they seem to argue a lot, but that's what I sorta picture them doing, so… yeah. Besides, it's easier to write that way. Meant to make it longer but getting to where I wanted to finish would take awhile, and it's been, what, over a month? *shudder*.

Reviews?