Pre-Spirk (and getting closer): The power of his own mind swallowing Jim so completely he was lost, trying to hide from the trauma and the aftershock of the flood of bottled emotion that followed. Some how the defense mechanism had been corrupted, gone violently wrong and trapped Jim in a nightmare.

Food Poisoning

"Give them pleasure. The same pleasure they have when they wake up from a nightmare…"

- Alfred Hitchcock

Quarters of First Officer S'ch T'gai Spock

USS Enterprise NCC-1701

Stardate: 2260

July 13

0644 Hours

"First Officer Spock! Sickbay! Now!"

Spock stiffened and looked towards the communications unit that had spit the order before going utterly silent again. The tension all ready strung between his shoulders tightened and coiled down his spine towards his fluttering Vulcan heart and wrapped itself in place loosely before starting to squeeze as it sent ripples of unwanted agitation through Spock's organs.

The bark of a command had been rushed, bitten out and hard to decipher before comprehension took hold.

And as strained and tight as Doctor Leonard McCoy's voice could become and had been in the seconds long transmission, it always had the room for a spit explicative or slur… there was none here.

Not even the hint of one or the words hanging unsaid after the message.

Spock lifted a slim strip of metal from the bedspread next to his thigh. The brushed silver catching the light and flashing the embossed letters of the inscription at him. A monologue from William Shakespeare's Henry V:

"He's the colour of nutmeg.

And the heat of ginger…

he is pure air and fire;

and the dull elements of earth

and water never appear in him,

but only in patient stillness

while his rider mounts him;

he is indeed a horse,

and all other jades you may call beasts."

It was Jim's, or Spock logically came to the conclusion it was Jim's as it had slipped from the pages of one of Jim's texts.

Spock had returned the breed directory Jim allowed him to borrow within a week, having read each page with thorough scrutiny and logged each word into a newly built chamber of his mind bearing the simple classification title 'Horse'; Spock had requested to keep The Tao of Equus, as he wanted to reread it to sort out the complex, winding theories and clash of logic that had been presented in it, then quietly requested another text to supplement it, if Jim had a such resource.

The young captain didn't hesitate to unlock and lift the lid on the wooden footlocker and produced another thick, hard bound book titled The Horse Doctor Is In, which easily deciphered from the title, was the personal, memoir like medical text on equines from a Kentucky veterinarian, that in his time some two hundred years before had been reputable and reliable.

Spock had sensed something more than the book had passed hands in that brief moment of interaction, but did not address it.

The books of Jim's cache, as far as Spock knew, did not deviate far from the theme of equus and seemed endless. Though it was illogical to believe so, they would come to an end but Spock quietly made a conscious effort to prolong that inevitable end of the ritualistic cycle. A thick, gently used, hard bound book would be settled in his waiting hands to replace the hole the one just returned left, each with a fresh wash of complete trust, flapping softly with the frayed edges of hope and loneliness strung on the pages and in the edges of quicksilver of Jim's eyes. Spock would treat the promised text with respect and caution as he would ancient Vulcan texts of Surak and proceeded to read each at length, absorbing the more technical, scientific modus of the horse easily from the medical texts, breed directories and pedigree histories and struggled to understand the memoirs, fictions, personal epiphanies, spiritual scripture, poetry and texts written supposedly from the horse's point of view and mind. These Spock would read slowly, on the edge of a deep state of meditation and hyperawareness in an attempt for the author described bonds, joys, sorrows, lessons and healing that was carried on the breath of a horse to take root in himself. But it evaded him, prancing and kicking just out of reach, almost teasing and consciously testing the half Vulcan and pushing him towards frustration and possibly desperation to understand. There was a constant in each of these texts, a theory, that Spock endeavored to keep in mind as it seemed to apply to life and all things of effort as it did the horse.

Patience and a steady gentle hand in all things; the struggle long and harsh would give way in time. Those things that are worth the long journey are returned in tenfold the sacrifice made, the strength of what comes after cannot be shaken from it's foundations.

And even this theory, logical in all ways Spock could decipher, the half-Vulcan only had a tentative grasp on in relation to the horse itself.

Spock calmly assured Jim that rereading each text thoroughly, multiple times if necessary, and constructing a journal of notes on each was reasonable and in fact logical to come to a better understanding on the subject.

Jim said he was trying to fence time and made his own endeavor to prolong the exhaustion of books and turned over to Spock two thick tomes at once in addition to The Tao of Equus still in Spock's position after two months. Spock had found it odd to be handed texts that did not contain the words 'horse' or 'equus' in the title. One the complete tragedies and histories and the other the complete comedies of William Shakespeare, both pristine compared to the gently dog-eared and cover rubbed books, as if Jim only owned them for the sake of owning them and read only once for precedent and Spock's progress through Jim's cache had been effectively checked for the time being.

And from between the pages of A Midsummer's Night Dream fell the thin strip of metal and embossed words that Spock had immediately sought out in the tragedies and histories and left his current, comedic attempt at comprehending archaic Elizabethan English to read the endeavors of murderous familial plots, ghosts, doomed love affairs, war, suicide and mad sovereigns that would give up their countries for horses.

So in turn it wasn't so odd after all.

Spock could have easily remembered the page he was on, in fact he could remember the exact word in stanza he'd last read but the half-Vulcan carefully slipped the metal marker between the thin pages and shut the thick book and set it aside. Spock got to his feet and crossed from his bedroom, through his quarters and out into the steel and sterile white of the Enterprise's bulkheads and hallways.

Spock's pace did not move above a clipped, swift walk through to the turbolift or through the lower decks towards the sickbay. His gut shifted with each step closer to his destination. The First Officer had a solid idea the nature of his summons and internally, deeply internally, hoped he was incorrect in his speculations. The doors of the sick by hummed as they slid open and Spock stepped through and into a thick air of tension.

The sickbay was large and airy, all the space to move and walk tripled normal regulations to make room for medical teams packed in next to biobeds with assortments of equipment. The walls were mounted screens linked to empty biobeds, active patients, medical journals and manuals, incoming and outgoing reports and status of the ship. Glass faced and completely metal medication and equipment lockers took up space from waist level to the floor and more commonly used ones at chest level. Apparatus and standing equipment were pushed out of the way but within easy reach when needed. The air tasted metallic and sterile, pumped through the ventilation system though numerous filters and disinfectants.

A few members of the crew where in the medical wing as patients, tended to by attentive and well trained members of medical staff but the normal smooth, comforting feel of a place of healing was absent. The air was almost to dense to breath, every muscle in the room was strung tight across bones and those that weren't rigidly still were moving in sharp, jerky and nervous movements.

It wasn't hard for Spock to find McCoy. Every eye was pointed in the same direction, some more discrete than others.

Spock followed the collective gaze through a set of glass and metal doors marked QUARATINE in bold red letters in numerous Federation languages. The doors seemed to open reluctantly when Spock voiced his command authorization code into the system, the electricity hummed warningly and closed to quickly to close to Spock's back, as if this short offset hall and series of rooms in the sickbay had taken on McCoy's personality.

Said Chief Medical Officer's head snapped up at his entrance face twisted with stress and rage as if to chase him away, the muscles relaxed and gave way to something less intense, there was a twinge of fear on the edge of his square jaw and sharp eyes.

"Spock."

Spock. Not a string of slurs and explicatives involving 'green', 'emotionless', 'bastard', or an assortment of favored others.

Spock.

"Doctor." Spock moved swiftly down the short off hall to McCoy's side, passing the sealed doors and observation walls of each isolation unit, the heavy, translucent wall material made of a hybrid of glass and polyplastics; thick enough to ricochet phaser fire and contain the strength of any Federation species. Each identical in the biobed and assortment of medical equipment and monitoring screens for vitals and long term quarantine. The same metallic, sterilized air was circulating in the hall and each unit.

As he approached Spock noticed some of the tension bleed out of the human doctor's muscles and spine.

"Please tell me ya noticed too."

"The Captain." Spock said with conviction, a little more tension went out of McCoy but a different kind took it's place.

"It came down on him, Spock. If he collapses I have to actually put it in his file that he had a physical and emotional break. It'll ruin him, they'll take his captaincy and put him through psychiatric paces for years." McCoy's smooth, Southern drawl was hitched and thick in agitation.

"A sedative-"

McCoy made a bark of a noise of protest, making Spock's eyebrow rise.

"There's too much floatin' in his blood, ya know as well as I do that son of a bitch has a temperamental digestive and endocrine system. It's like he spends time readin' up on new allergies to keep me jumpin' through hoops. No fun goin' to sick bay for Jim unless he's got the option of goin' into toxic shock, right?" McCoy snarled bitterly. "I didn't think it would get this bad until he started up with the wolf nightmares…"

"Nightmares? 'Wolf' nightmares?"

"Guess he hasn't told ya that yet." McCoy grumbled, a large, calloused hand lifted and scrubbed roughly at the back of his neck. "All that idiot ever has terrors about. All his demons look like wolves, no matter how xeno or human they were in life."

"He told you this?" Spock prompted sharply.

McCoy snorted and nodded stiffly, "Last time he did this we were bunkmates at the Academy. Hard to ignore a twenty somethin', immature, pain in the ass wakin' up screamin' in some weird language that all ya can get out of him is 'wolves, wolves, Bones, the wolves'."

Spock stiffened. "He's done this before?"

"Once." McCoy barked so sharply had be been full blooded human Spock would have jumped. "Completely classified and sealed in a restricted manila folder under my mattress."

"A manila folder?"

"What manila folder?" McCoy snarled protectively and after a moment of contemplation received an approving nod from Spock. A ball of tight air passed out of McCoy's chest, his hand shivered slightly before they went to work tugging at his blue scrub uniform or passing through his hair in typical human fashion.

"Don't know what the hell trigged him last time, but then he could do in the privacy of his dorm and skip classes, whole damn ship knows somethin's up and if anyone takes a dislike to Jim-"

Spock straightened and coiled tighter at the insinuation of one of the crew turning on Jim Kirk. "The Captain has never treated this crew with anything but respect, understanding and something that seems akin to affection in all standards. He has proven to them that he would lay his life down for any one of them. The betrayal of divulging the Captain's instability in the past ten days as opposed to his solidity for the duration of our deployment previously would be nothing short of illogical."

McCoy gave him an appreciative look, it seemed that with the declaration that Spock had won over a new level of respect from the medical chief. Spock had not kept as closely observed or tightly knit control of his slow ascent into McCoy's esteem as he had Jim's, though the half-Vulcan was aware that he had begun winning the doctor's favor when he's friendship with Jim started blossoming.

"Spock." McCoy's tone had softened slightly and that was more disquieting than screaming fits and obscenities. "As true as that is it doesn't stop Jim from rubbin' people the wrong way sometimes. What ya and me and a few others that bother makin' the effort gettin' closer to Jim consider 'quirks' and 'personality traits' others see as 'eccentricities' at best."

"Eccentricities." Spock repeated.

"There is no way in Heaven or Hell ya even remotely consider James Tiberius Kirk normal." McCoy accused.

"Normalcy-"

"Humans, Spock, humans don't cotton to 'not normal' alright? Makes 'em nervous. Stupid. People don't like anythin' they cain't understand, cain't explain. Leads to fear. Fear to hate. Only step up from hate ya can take is destruction. Way the human race is, always has been and probably always will be. Jim bein' a little out of the ordinary is one thin', it's tolerable at length for those kind of short-sighted chimps, but him losin' it like this just feeds a fire."

Spock considered McCoy silently for a moment before speaking. "You truly believe this philosophy?"

McCoy shot him a dangerous look. "If he'd been born in a different era they would have tied him to an iron pole and burned him until there weren't bones left."

Spock's controlled mask stayed in place to hide the disgust at the primitive idea. The half-Vulcan calmed himself internally, his emotions were starting to fray a bit under the strain of McCoy's words and the situation. He folded up the image of Jim burning alive and tucked it away in a dark, recess of his mind hopefully never to resurface from the depths.

"Doctor. You stated that the last occurrence of Jim's unbalance you did not know what caused his reaction."

"Yeah?"

"So you are aware of the catalyst at present." The statement was a question and an expectation.

McCoy shifted his weight and rubbed his hands stiffly together. "Yeah, I was there too. That three day mission two weeks back, on Charus XI. Diplomatic dinner."

The last words were snarled with a new level of distaste from the disgruntled medical chief.

Spock cocked his head and lifted an eyebrow. "I was not present. The native species was considered exceptionally territorial. The presence of an alien species, even just visitors, caused agitation. It was unwise to introduce more than one for the talks. There were no difficulties or incidents logged and no complaints lodged by the Corsa people to the Federation. In fact a recommendation was made to Starfleet on the Enterprise diplomatic party."

"Ever think that was because me, Jim and Scotty stopped talkin' after the first day and just let them chatter like a bunch of parakeets the rest of the whole three day 'feast'?"

"Doctor, given your three personalities, especially when such dynamics are combined typically result in verbal abuse, physical conflict and occasionally an explosion the scenario of silence for forty-eight Terran hours seems impossible."

"Yeah well… it happened."

"Explain." Spock prompted a little harshly, the agitation was beginning to make him nauseous as it squeezed tighter around his gut and heart.

"The Corsa bastards. Territorial as Hell. Worse than hungry junk yard dogs. So they figured that if they gotta have a bunch of humans sittin' 'round tryin' to chat 'em into the Federation they're goin' to show said humans that they're in such control of their goddamn rock that they can put on the best kind of Earth hospitality and accommodations possible. Tried to impress us, figured that they can intimidate us. We might as well have been in Maui with the rooms and drinks and chatty concierge, Earth food and they promised us some kind of big surprise to start off the feast and how it would be the centerpiece for the whole three day party…"

McCoy trailed off and Sock did not press him, waiting until the doctor continued on his own.

"So they summoned us, we got the duds on and they were all dressed up and they led us out to this fire pit on the sand and started talkin' and laughin' and all this passive aggressive bull I cain't handle; anyway one of 'em comes 'round a palace corner and he's yankin' this horse after him."

Spock tensed. "Horse?"

"Baby really, probably just of nursin'. 'Weanlin', Jim said. I don't have a thin' for horses but I had to admit it was a pretty thin'. Dun color, I think. Jim wouldn't take his eyes off it and he flinched every time the handler yanked on it. The damn thin' obviously didn't know how to handle it, dragged it 'round. The whole time the leaders are praisin' the animal and talkin' 'bout how they ordered and bought it especially from a breeder on Earth and had it shipped over especially for the talks. Said the price they paid a couple times. Spock I swear, it was amazin' they didn't notice that Jim was fit to break and me and Scotty were gettin' nervous and the whole time I was hopin' that they mighta in the off chance caught wind that Jim's got a thin' for 'em and were goin' to present it to him as a gift or somethin' good will like that."

McCoy paused and the silence was deep enough Spock knew he needed prodding.

"Doctor-"

"They cut the thin's head off. Right in front of us with a bunch of flare and fan faire and they were all cheerin'. And the sons of bitches strung it up on a spit and roasted it and for three goddamn days used it as a main dish for the feast, tried to get us to eat it… Jim to eat it."

The words came in a foul tasting rush that took a few minutes of processing for Spock to decipher and a few more for the depravity of it to settle. The truly sacrilege nature of it to Jim.

"He-"

"Not a chance." McCoy barked. "Far as I can figure he spent that whole night in his room vomitin'. I made an excuse 'bout the 'Fleet puttin' us on a vegan diet for health reasons. Didn't stop 'em for one second inhalin' it, chokin' it down by the pound. Had to have been every nerve and ounce of self control the man had for Jim to sit there and watch it and breathe in burnin' horse flesh."

"Why would the Corsa select horse as a source of consumption as well as a way to impress and intimidate humans with hospitality? I have come to the belief that such a thing would be taboo."

"Europe, Spock. Traditionally horse meat is considered a delicacy in some parts of Europe and Asia. I thought the whole thin' had gone out of practice-"

"It seems you are incorrect in your assumption if this is where the Corsa obtained their knowledge and supplies."

McCoy eyed Spock tensely for a few long minutes before speaking suspiciously. As if he was unsure that he'd gone too far to long by led knowledge. "Do ya have any idea why this is so rough for Jim?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "His spiritual interpretation of the horse. In turn, doctor, I did not know that you were aware of it or its pull on the captain."

"Caught him talkin' to a cart horse in the first month of Academy. We went on leave into San Fran and I was goin' for a cup of coffee and turned 'round he was gone. Tracked him out to a park where they give old fashioned carriage rides to newlyweds and suckers and Jim was in the middle of the drivers and horses. When I got there Jim was kneelin' down on one knee and had a hoof the size of a dinner plate sittin' on his thigh and he was drainin' an abscess out of the sole."

"An abscess?"

"Jim evidently noticed the damn thin' had a hitch in his step, talked the driver into unharnessin' it and lettin' Jim give the horse a once over. He opened it up with a switch blade, drained it out, packed it and used himself to keep the hoof up so the horse couldn't put pressure on it while they waited for someone to come pick it up. I've seen senior medical officers less efficient and effective. Pretty much dragged the story out of him after that." McCoy looked Spock up and down once. "Ya?"

"I observed the Captain's interaction with several animals during the Starfleet Officer's Gala before our departure. Since he has taken time to enlighten me on the subject."

McCoy paused.

"Don't get it, do ya?"

"No. I'm afraid true understanding is still beyond my grasp."

"Yeah neither do I." McCoy muttered something under his breath and Spock had the distinct impression that the doctor was beginning to relax, even with the tension of the situation all most stifling around them. "Dogs I could get, but horses, I dunno…"

"Doctor." Spock needed to take control and he stepped up easily. "I do not wish to belittle the Captain in any way and I understand this is a disturbing event for him, but I do not understand how it could result in the behavior of the last ten days."

Ten days that pushed at Spock more than he liked to admit. The First Officer remembered vividly Jim's rigid distance when he'd returned from Charus XI. Their easy and comforting companionship had suddenly been strung tight and when questioned the young captain had reacted poorly or did not speak. McCoy and Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott had been similarly reserved about the mission, only offering up enough information to assure Spock and anyone else that sensed the sudden upset in demeanor in the three senior officers that nothing physical had occurred and when the Corsa submitted their recommendation and praise for the ship and her crew the matter dropped as Scott and McCoy recovered their personalities within a day.

And seeming, granted a bit quieter that normal, so had the captain.

But Spock and McCoy and possibly Scott had felt the discomfort and tension Jim was trying to bury and only succeeding in making it heavier and a deeper kind of poison in himself.

It had taken a few days of analysis, careful observations and an Act into Hamlet to articulate the correct term for what Jim had become.

Haunted.

The First Officer had it on good authority that Jim did not sleep easily under the best of circumstances. His slumber was light, often restless and fitful. McCoy mentioned that bunking with Jim at the academy had been like walking on glass at night. The slightest sounds would rouse the young man, normal noises would result in a few minutes of wakefulness, listening and taking in the situation before drifting back to sleep to be waken again shortly by some other small disturbance. Larger more aggressive disruptions resulted in loss of sleep for the night and possibly a few nights after.

Jim Kirk, evidently, was a notorious insomniac. And perhaps had been for the majority of his life, which explained Jim's ability to function normally on little rest.

But as far as Spock was aware, and McCoy could possibly confirm it, Jim had not slept more than a few hours in the last ten days. Then of course there were the afore mentioned 'wolf nightmares', if McCoy was to be believed then any sleep Jim got was far from restful.

His skin had paled considerably, darkening under his eyes and the few times that he sustained a minor injury Jim had bruised easily, the blood growing in blooms of mottled red and purple under thin flesh in a display that could almost be considered morbidly beautiful.

The young captain had lost weight, not enough to be alarming but enough that it was clear that food or the act of eating had become distasteful in all rites.

Jim had gone quieter and quieter, but it was none of the comfortable easy silences that fell between Spock and the young captain during their off hours together. His temper with the crew had shortened enough to be noticed, the unshakeable patience and steadiness wavered violently under the weight of internal conflict. The flux and change of Jim's professional persona was nothing compared to the listlessness of the young man in the privacy of Spock or McCoy's company, which in the last few day's it was clear that Jim had been avoiding all together.

"Think about it, Spock. How would ya feel if someone thought they were doin' ya a big honor by guttin' a Vulcan younglin' in front of ya? And while the kid was still twitchin' and asked ya to commit cannibalism afterwards? For three, consecutive days?"

Spock couldn't check his bodily functions fast enough to suppress the shudder that rippled over him.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Then ya have to remember that humans are exactly top class at controllin' our emotions, when we do repress 'em they don't fade or meditate away. The build up like gas in a bottle, can for weeks, months… Hell years, Spock, all those back built fears and rages and pains locked up in too small a container that gets shaken and jostled every day. Added to every day. Then drop in a lit match… or in Jim's current state a firebomb…" McCoy snarled.

Spock took a shallow self assuring breath before speaking, slightly disoriented at the simple yet complicated insight to human emotional constraint that the doctor had provided.

"Doctor, when this occurred before where you able to calm the Captain? Return him to a stable state of mind and body?"

"I'll be perfectly honest. I'm not sure I had somethin' to do with it. I sedated him a couple times, no doubt, but I think it worked itself out or someone else had a heavier hand in it than I did. But Spock that was a hiccup… this… whatever the Hell this is… it's a maelstrom. I hate to say it but I think Jim's snapped." McCoy wrung his hands and tugged at his blue sleeve cuffs. "He's barely acting like he knows who he is and doesn't know anyone else. Everyone he catches sight of he calls 'wolf' or 'colt-killer'… technically he's not speakin' English but I remember the words from last time. He's lost, in his own pain or fear or what ever the Hell's howlin' in his ears. He was a throwback before but now… it's like he's been stripped down of a conscious mind. Caught in some kind of nightmare. He's… feral."

"You wish for me to enter in his mind and draw him out through a meld?" Spock asked, trying to hide the distaste of the insinuated violation. Going in and 'taking' Jim's mind left a bitter, ugly taste in the back of the half-Vulcan's throat. The closest equivalent of the idea was rape. But there was a tightening in his chest that hissed it might be the only way to crack through.

"God no man, are ya insane?! Last thin' I want is ya muckin' 'round in Jim's brain!"

Spock supposed he probably should have been slightly affronted, if not offended, at McCoy's insinuation that he was a poor meld partner. But it was typical of the doctor to believe anything not done by his own hands was inferior.

"You believe that my added presence maybe enough to break through the Captain's delusion?"

McCoy sighed.

"He really trusts ya Spock. I mean, yer not all the way there yet but its the kind of trust Jim's turnin' over to ya, its different… doesn't come easy or cheap from either sides. Ya've probably had it rough gettin' in standin' with him, but I can guarantee it's been just as hard for Jim givin' himself up and lettin' ya in."

"You believe that I possess a deeper connection with the Captain than even yourself?"

"Yer makin' an attempt to figure out the whole horse thin'. More than I ever did. Plus I already tried to talk him down and got goose egg for the last hour and a half."

"You are relying on my friendship or our combined efforts to calm him."

McCoy nodded in agreement. "Only other thin' I could think of was Nemo A534 or Cody. No way in Hell that's goin' to happen."

Spock cocked his head for a second and started to speak but tensed when McCoy grabbed a hold of his elbow and tugged the First Officer down to the last isolation unit at the far end and stood before the clear walls.

"He's down here, had to half chase him into it." McCoy growled.

The unit was in disarray. Equipment toppled and scattered across the floor, some damaged so bits of glass and twisted metal swept across the metal floor. The spread was torn from the biobed and heaped in a pile on the floor and the linked status and vid screens were flashing erratic images and stings of typed and numerically encrypted code.

Standing center the room, his back to the door and observation wall, was Jim Kirk. He was still wearing the light weight fabric sleep pants Jim preferred, the gray of the clothing adding nothing to his already ashen skin. There was something looped around Jim's neck but Spock could not see it clearly. His feet and torso were bare, muscles tense and slicked with sweat, rolling in beads down his spine to a damp spot at the waist band of the pants. Every so often a shiver rippled through his frame before settling. His head was bowed and fingers dug into his soaked hair, pressed over his ears as if to block out sound.

Save for the expansion and retraction of Jim's ribcage there was no other movement.

The flat plane of Jim's left shoulder blade was occupied by an image the size of Spock's hand. A stylized and tribal shape of a horse with deeply arched neck and galloping hooves. The abstract curves and spikes shaped and rearranged to form the totem was inked into Jim's flesh in thick lines of black, strips of a cerulean blue as vivid as Jim's eye color and shades of silver that at times bubbled up and threaded through the young captain's iris.

McCoy had tensed up again, his hand let go of Spock's elbow and hovered over the key pad to type in his CMO access code.

"Ready?"

"I don't believe so." Spock replied evenly.

"Good. Stick with honesty when we get in there."

McCoy submitted the code and the access door of the unit slid open with an audible rush of air.

Jim leapt at the noise, his muscles cording tight and snapping as he bolted, whirling and clipping his hip loudly on the corned of the biobed. Off balanced he crashed down to one knee with a crack of bone of metal and a snarl ripped from his raw throat. Jim didn't stop moving rolling back to his feet and dancing away until his back was pressed protectively against the far wall and his eyes fixed on the door.

Spock and McCoy hadn't even stepped into the unit.

Spock hadn't swallowed harder and more visibly since he was a child.

Jim's bare torso heaved and breaths that rattled and wheezed in his chest like a quarter in a can, the breath only escaping his lungs in rushed pants through Jim's nose. His jaw was solidly and decidedly locked shut.

The loop around Jim's throat hung effortless and beckoning in the Half-Vulcan's sight.

Since Spock had first seen Jim trotting with horses at the Officer's Gala a flash if silver around Jim's neck had intrigued and confused him. Especially when in times of stress Jim's hand would travel to his collar, toy with the silver at his neckline. The First Officer only caught the barest glimpses of silver, some times accompanied by a flicker of black material.

The necklace was more of a collar. An inch wide and just loose enough for it to go unseen under a shirt or uniform hem. The black material was not entirely black, sporting streaks of ivory white and were a collection of thin fibers twisted and knotted together into a braid. It took a Spock a minute to deduce that the braid was made of horse hair.

Woven into the coarse hair were small metal beads, silver or steel. And strung from the front was a metal medallion, an open circle quartered by lines and each quarter was wrapped tightly with horse hair strung with a different color glass beads. The top quarters black and white, the bottom red and yellow.

Spock had never seen the symbol before, in any of his allotted or personal studies. It's meaning escaped and fascinated him. The First Officer swiftly buried the attention for a more appropriate time to investigate further and refused on Jim.

Spock knew it was common knowledge not to look a frightened animal in the eye, but some distaste for the comparison, the half-Vulcan caught and locked eyes with Jim.

His pupils were blown wide, the slim rings or iris around them were steel grey, no trace of cerulean in the dilation.

But above it all there was an almost complete lack of humanity. The barely controlled ferality that Spock had become accustomed to lingering at the edges of Jim's eyes had broken away and swept him up. The feral nature was swallowed up by something that could be called nothing but savagery.

Spock hadn't realized that a few minutes had passed with the only movement Jim's heaving chest and flaring nostrils.

Spock slowly and carefully took a step into the unit, keeping his eyes firmly locked with Jim's. The bitter scent of Jim's sour sweat growing stronger as he passed through the doorway. The instant he moved Jim started shivering violently, he backed up closer to the wall and his lips twitched as if he wanted to bare his teeth. A flicker of alien recognition passed over Jim's eyes.

"Sumaitu taka…" * The captain snarled at Spock.

His hand moved to his neck, not to toy with the necklace but to wrap around the flesh of his throat. His fingers dug into his own skin and Spock felt an unpleasant flare of guilt and pain.

Jim recognized him but in his instability only knew Spock for the threat the First Officer had once made on his life. The only thing Jim remembered of the half-Vulcan was the feeling of fingers cutting away air.

"Sumaitu taka... wacignuni wagi, wakte hunkesni na cate ihake, wakte teca na waniyetu ota, wakte sukawaka… mitawa glogloska nape nitawa hi…" *

Spock internally flinched. These were the words, whispered and hummed under Jim's skin in swirling, churning designs, boiling up from the depth of his muscles and bones, pooling in his joints. The silent chatter and ancient language that soothed coaxed.

Now they slipped through Jim's lips like strings of heated wire, cutting and burning, hissing and growling. How was it that something meant for healing could be poisoned and corrupted so deeply?

Spock moved slowly and steadily closer boots crunching in metal and glass, pushing past discomfort and what could have been called fear within himself. He'd strived and struggled for Jim's companionship for over a year, grasping at fraying threads and pouring himself into it a fledgling bond that was threatened now by Jim's waking nightmare.

Spock felt his determination harden. He would not start from the beginning again.

"Jim-"

Jim flinched and snorted through his nose.

"Sugmanitu hota i… wica gnaye wico iye…" * Jim snarled back, pressing himself flush against the wall though Spock still had several dozen feet to cross before being close enough to touch.

"Jim. You must calm yourself. You are endangering your health and mentality." Spock tried to soften his voice and adopt a soothing tone he remembered his mother using in his childhood. As he moved closer Spock racked his deep mind, searching for something he could use to break through Jim's fog of emotion and strain.

His slow approach coiled Jim tighter and tighter, if Spock kept the pressure up Jim would either fight or bolt. Neither settled well with Spock, this needed to end quickly. The First Officer knew he could easily over power Jim, physically and mentally if he needed to.

Spock would not bring himself to that, he wouldn't allow it to go that far. Jim had to come on his own free will.

"Mitawa glogloska nape nitawa hi wancala…hi el kte miye… sumanitu-" *

"Inaji." Spock commanded sharply.

Jim stiffened, looking at Spock in shock. The savagery flickered in his eyes, wavering as confusion and suspicion.

Spock took a shallow breath and carefully drew on the word again. It sounded foreign in his ears and felt heavy on his tongue. The half-Vulcan carefully drew back on the memory of how Jim had said it, the pronunciation was no doubt perfect but would it carry the same weight spoken by someone that didn't know its origin or meaning?

Despite all the possibilities and probabilities of error the use of the word had already settled into effect.

"Inaji." Spock repeated and moved closer, trying to appear relaxed. Jim's head cocked, though he stayed pressed to the wall but his face was twisted in surprise and confusion. The hand clawed into his throat relaxed and fell away.

"Sica ma…sumanitu taka tuwe slolye ki wico iye…" *

"Inaji, Jim." Spock repeated awkwardly. "Iyena."

The use of another word from this ancient language and Spock's memory.

Jim licked his lips and for the first time tore his eyes away from Spock and looked towards McCoy, before flicking back, the tension and savagery in the young captain faltered minimally before tensing up again when McCoy spoke.

"Goddamn Spock. Whatever the Hell kind of voodoo yer doin' keep it up. I'll be back." McCoy backed out, slipping through the door when it slid open then rushed down the hall and out of sight.

Spock stayed put, his eyes on Jim's face though Jim's own vision moved restlessly, trying to follow McCoy and keep his eyes on Spock.

"Jim." Spock's voice brought steel eyes snapping back to lock on him.

The young captain studied Spock for a few very long seconds, allowing him the slow steady approach and said something unintelligible under his breath but the hot wire was gone from Jim's voice. It was still taught with tension but it didn't cut as it had. Suddenly Jim pushed off the wall and the First Officer froze mid step.

Jim's steel colored eyes flicking from Spock to room around him, his movements stiff and wary as the young man closed the distance, leaving only a foot and a half of room between them. Spock stayed rigid and still when Jim cautiously stepped around to circled behind Spock once. If the half-Vulcan showed some kind of trust it would be returned, though every instinct Spock had told him to keep his eyes on Jim.

Slowly the young captain came back to stand in front of Spock. Then gingerly, as if afraid of being caught or rebuffed Jim reached out and slowly brushed his fingers across Spock's elbow before jerking back.

Spock kept his eyes on his captain but got the full effect that Jim truly believed he was in the midst of a dream. The power of his own mind swallowing Jim so completely he was lost, trying to hide from the trauma and the aftershock of the flood of bottled emotion that followed. Some how the defense mechanism had been corrupted, gone violently wrong and trapped Jim in a nightmare.

The tense captain rubbed his fingers together and scratching at his palm before, encouraged, reached out to press his finger tips into the same point over Spock's elbow. The half-Vulcan felt a slight hum of energy through the fabric of his sleeve. Jim paused, keeping his fingers pressed into the spot. Then the pressure increased, Jim twisted his hand to lay his palm flat across Spock's bicep.

The hum increased but the pressure stayed the same. Jim gave Spock the slightest push, but not breaking contact, letting his hand slid up to the top of Spock's shoulder, then dip into the structure of the collar bone before resting securely there, the thin layer of fabric between the hum of Jim's waking nightmare and Spock's solid reality.

Jim swallowed then let out a breath, it sounded like an arrow being pulled from a wound.

Jim pulled his hand back and stepped backwards. Spock didn't hesitate following at the arm's length distance until Jim's back connected with the wall and his knee buckled, he slid to the floor and slumped almost lifelessly.

His pupils had shrunk back to normal size, the steel and savagery bled out to a thin trickle of silver at the edge of cerulean pools. His breathing evened but was still an unhealthy wheeze, whistling through Jim's nose. Tremors and twitches washed over Jim's muscles and frame in a continuous ripple. His hands shook, but stayed lifeless in his lap. Jim's eyes glazed over, dulled with exhaustion and the haze of just waking from a terror.

His eyes flicked to Spock as the First Officer folded his long frame to kneel at Jim's side, hovering protectively. Jim's head lolled back, skull connecting quietly with the wall as he tried to keep his eyes on Spock. His lips parted, the cracked wheeze of a breath hitching.

"Spock…"

There was a loosening in Spock chest at the sound of his name.

"Mitawa tokahe." *

A/N: Whoa… that was long. And kind of damaging. Decided to really play up the self-destructive power of the human mind. Huh… hope I didn't over do it… anyway…

More Lakota Sioux! Yay!

1) Sumaitu taka – wolf

2) Sumaitu taka... wacignuni wagi, wakte hunkesni na cate ihake, wakte teca na waniyetu ota, wakte sukawaka… mitawa glogloska nape nitawa hi – Wolf… wandering shadow, killing weak and weary, killing young and elderly, killing horse… my throat escaped your teeth…

3) Sugmanitu hota i… wica gnaye wico iye… - Wolf howl… trick words…

4) Mitawa glogloska nape nitawa hi wancala…hi el kte miye… - My throat escaped you once… come to kill me

5) Inaji – Stop

6) Sica ma…sumanitu taka tuwe slolye ki wico iye… - Bad medicine… wolf that knows the words…

7) Iyena – Enough

8) Mitawa tokahe – My first

Alrighty: TRIVIA!

Can anyone tell me who Nemo A534 wass in history? No a lot of people know or recognize him for what he was.

AND

Which of Shakespeare's historic plays is the line "A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!" ?