A/N: Hey guys and welcome to another story! The idea for this actually started after I read a oneshot in "A Star to Steer Her By" by the mind-bogglingly talented and awesome FFN author KCS. I saw a quote on an iced tea bottle later that day that gelled with the idea and for some reason it all escalated from there.. This is my first full Star Trek oneshot and I would love any thoughts and constructive criticism on this lil story. (i.e, I love these characters to pieces but I'm not used to writing for them, so I desperately hope I got the characterizations right and everything felt natural!)

P.S. Please check out KCS' beautiful Star Trek work! It's become a tremendous inspiration for me and I can guarantee reading any of her stories will make your day.

P.P.S. Special thanks to WaterDeep for pointing out that I accidentally wrote in Yellowstone Park instead of Yosemite.. oops!

"To dare is to lose one's footing momentarily. Not to dare is to lose oneself."

-Soren Kierkegaard

It was very safe to assume that the Chief Medical Officer of the Enterprise was not having a good day.

As it was, the good doctor was quickly approaching the end of his (admittedly somewhat limited) tolerance levels, if the thread of muttered curses trailing under his breath and colored with a decidedly Southern drawl were of any indication. Over the many years of his service aboard the Enterprise, Leonard McCoy's habit of stress-induced profanity had increased at an almost constant rate, and at the moment, it just so happened that one of the main relative factors in this exponential increase was currently free-climbing up the side of El Capitan.

He swore again, peering into the viewing screen on his holo-viewfinder as he tried to narrow the focus to the tiny, distant figure clinging to the side of the mighty cliff-face.

"God save us all from the bullheadedness of Kirks! I didn't sign up to Godforsaken space-happy Starfleet just to be this man's guardian angel until the end of time, now, did I?" he muttered. "If there's any poetic justice in this crazy universe of ours, I s'pose we'll both end up droppin' dead from the strain eventually, one way or another.."

He wondered why it was that he always seemed to find himself in this position of, well, being a babysitter to his formidable, dynamic and quite possibly clinically insane captain- and best friend. He figured that maybe it naturally came with the territory of being a doctor whose main concern is the protection of any and all life, or, in an even more classic vein, of being the oldest in their unusual, special trio.

Oh yeah, trio, he thought with an exasperated eye-roll as the third member of their shore leave group and universe-defying friendship came into view on anti-grav hoverboots. And he's actually the oldest- though you'd never know it. That hobgoblin's as much a pain in my neck as our fearless captain.. 'Course he'd be the one that Jim trusts more'n anyone else.

Spock was hovering near Jim now, and despite his previous thoughts about him, some of the tension in McCoy's white-knuckled grip on the viewfinder eased.. just a fraction.

"Odds are they'll get all three of us killed someday.." McCoy groused aloud, as if to reassure a nearby (and somewhat curious) mountain chickadee that he was still thoroughly incensed at his friends' collective foolishness. He snorted, a short sound of dry, bitter humor, as the next thought came to mind. "As if we haven't come close to that already, more'n several times.."

Jim had been ecstatic about the trip to Yosemite National Park, excited as a cadet being allowed to pilot an academy flight training craft for the first time. After the several dozen brushes with death (and several way-too-close-for-comfort encounters) that they'd all experienced in the past few years alone, McCoy knew from both the psyche evals and just plain experience that Jim Kirk, an Iowa farm boy born and bred, would benefit tenfold from being allowed to connect with nature again. Something about being around real, honest to goodness flora, fauna and the smell of 'green things growing' seemed to return the life and vibrancy to that dynamic, irrepressible spirit that had taken almost too many crushing blows for any soul to bear in the recent past.

McCoy would be the first to admit that he hadn't exactly been firing on all burners at the time, but he was quite sure that he never wanted to see that ashen, shocked look of total, crushing loss on that particular face ever again after he had discovered that one of his closest friends in the universe, a man that had saved his life countless times over, had sacrificed his own in a last ditch attempt to save his beloved ship and comrades.

It was the look of a man who had lost half of his soul, and had been completely helpless to do anything about it.

Maybe they had all needed a reminder of life and connection, because McCoy and Spock both went with him.

So far, they had only been there for a few days and Jim had already dragged them on a nature tour, a five mile hike, and an old-fashioned whitewater rapids rafting adventure that Spock had politely, but firmly, refused to go on. (Very logically, too, McCoy had thought with a twinge of wicked glee, and he had the pictures from several other water-related adventures they'd had in the past to prove it.) A proposed fishing trip idea had been hastily shot down after they had both remembered Spock's ability to telepathically communicate with whales, much to the Vulcan's almost imperceptible but tangible and thoroughly unVulcan relief. (And neither of them missed the faint but definite spark of amusement in those warm brown eyes, too, as they had hurriedly stumbled to change the subject and think of something else to do.)

Slowly, even in these few days alone, they had all found themselves starting to unwind. The change was almost instantaneous, as the tension and strain of command started to drain away- at least for the moment -with every breath of fresh, vibrant spring air inhaled into weary, space-air accustomed lungs.

God forgive him, but he had found himself almost doubled over laughing when, while they were going along a hiking path, Jim had stopped to pick wildflowers, of all things. ("Stopping to smell the roses, Jim?" "I happen to have an appreciation for nature, Bones!")

He didn't tell either of his friends that he'd almost cried at the simple act, too.

Even Spock, with his half-human heart still gently stirring awake from the hefty ordeal that it had been subjected to, had noticed the significance of the almost imperceptible easing of the stress lines in a face that had been far too careworn for far too long, and had closed his eyes in silent thanks for that fact.

What? He was nowhere near Jim's almost eerie understanding of the Vulcan (thank God), but after all they'd gone through, he figured he could read the hobgoblin's (nonexistent) feelings at least a little bit.

Either that, or the after effects of the fal-tor-whatever it was were still lingering and that green-blooded son of a basket had left something behind in his head. McCoy shuddered and turned his focus back to what was transpiring through the viewfinder.

Yeah, he figured it was good for them- all of them -to be out here. Good for the soul, and Lord, did they need that.

Years of serving aboard the same ship together would drive anyone crazy. But if anything, it had only bound them tighter together. Oh yeah, they still got irritated of each other's company and wanted to throw each other out the nearest airlock on occasion. But still, they were always together. Years of danger had made them rely on each other.. trust each other.

And perhaps it was that incredible trust that Jim had placed in his two closest friends from the very beginning that had kept them together, even after all this time, and maybe it was their unwavering, death-defying trust in each other that kept them going, even when the universe decided to throw hell at their front door every time they dared to even think about breathing easy for a change.

The doctor wasn't an overly sentimental man by nature, but he believed in faith, destiny, and family. And by God, they were a family to the very core. They had been torn apart by he-didn't-know-how-many space phenomena and various raging madmen in the past, but it didn't matter if it was an ion storm or a vengeful superman or even Spock's crazy half-brother.

Nothing could break their unlikely triune bond.. not even death itself.

Which was kinda freaky, when he thought about it.. but also incredibly, astonishingly special.

A charismatic, irrepressible but almost heart-breakingly noble young captain. An astoundingly brilliant, calculating, logical but surprisingly human half-Vulcan.. as if he'd ever admit it.. And a crotchety, stubborn country doctor to keep them from being killed in whatever scrape they decided to get themselves into next.

Whoever heard of a thing like that?

And yet.. and yet.

Lord.. they hadn't changed one bit, had they?

He was just starting to get the slightest bit sentimental before Jim was plummeting off the rock face, Spock was racing to catch him (as usual, just barely in the nick of time), and he was running with his heart beating three times its normal speed and feeling infuriated with those two irresponsible, overgrown.. all over again..

He may be part of the longest running three-way game of "trust fall" in the galaxy, but- and you could call him more'n two pieces short of a pie for even thinking it -he wouldn't change a blessed thing.