Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Things didn’t get better at school. No matter how strategically Leonard managed to place himself at lunch, the attacks kept coming. It wasn’t anything physical, but the attacks were vicious nonetheless. They treated him like an idiot, like a child-- worse than a child; not only was he behind in school, he hadn’t passed any of their damned coming of age rituals, and they never let him forget it.

He was unaccepted.

Unwanted.

And utterly miserable.

He did his best to hide it from his parents and, to his knowledge at least, he seemed to be succeeding so far. While he did blame his father for his current predicament, Leonard was too damned stubborn to admit defeat. There had to be a way to get under the skin of those green-blooded hobgoblins, a way that didn’t leave Leonard feeling empty and alone.

“At least I have one friend,” Leonard muttered, and pressed his face into I-Chaya’s fur. After their first, rather terrifying, meeting, Leonard had found himself seeking out the company of the sehlat. Hell, he listened, and he wouldn’t judge any weakness Leonard confided in him,or give a sarcastic, self-important quirk of a pointed eyebrow that said volumes without even a sound.

He was used to being surrounded by animals, after all. Even if I-Chaya was nothing like any of the animals on earth, he was still warm, his fur was still soft, and the sounds he made when Leonard spoke to him were comforting in a way only animals could be.

The sehlat craned his head around and pushed it against Leonard’s side. Leonard sighed softly, and lifted his head. “Thanks,” he said softly, stroking the sehlat. It was small comfort, but comfort all the same.

“There has to be a way,” he muttered out loud. “Hell, they’ve even stopped bothering Spock in favor of me, the complete outsider. Dammit! It’s not like I asked to be brought here,” he grumbled, his fingers tightening in I-Chaya’s fur.

The sehlat rumbled and turned his head to look up at Leonard, his long fangs brushing over Leonard’s thighs, but he didn’t notice that anymore. “I’ve just got to prove to those green-blooded ingrates that I have just as much a right to be here as them.” Leonard stared into the sehlat’s eyes, and remembered the day he’d first met him. Spock had given him a tour and then--

“What was it he said?” Leonard asked himself, a frown creasing his brow. “Something about a trial. The...the kahs-wan! That was it!” He’d looked it up after Spock had completely dismissed him as being unable to complete it.

It was an utterly insane ritual. Honestly, he didn’t get how Vulcans could pretend they were all high and mighty when they sent kids off into the desert without food, water, or weapons for ten days!

But Spock had done it. Maybe that was it. If he could prove to them that he was just as tough as they were-- He was just as smart! Just not in what Vulcans considered to be worthy areas. But this… this he could do.

“Wouldn’t survive, my ass,” he muttered darkly, and pushed himself up from the ground. “That’s what I’ll do, then. I’ll show them. I’ll complete the kahs-wan and then laugh in their smug faces.”

I-Chaya pushed himself to his feet with a noise Leonard had never heard before. He looked at the sehlat and stroked his head. “Don’t you worry, I-Chaya. There’s a whole lot more to me than it seems.” If this was the only way, then he’d be damned if he didn’t try it. He’d show them all: the grown-ups who talked down to him, the bullies, and Spock.

“This is just between us though. Okay?” He crouched down and wrapped his arms around the sehlat’s neck. “I’ll see you in ten days.”

Now all he had to do was pilfer the supplies he needed, then get out of the stupid ambassadorial compound and into the Forge.

Chapter Text

Spock was not used to being woken up in the middle of the night. He always woke on his own, either with the sun, or when he intended - a skill he had developed early in life. To say that being dragged from his bed in the dead of night was unpleasant, would be putting it more than mildly.

He was not entirely sure what had disturbed his repose, other than the unusual absence of I-Chaya. This had occurred several times in the past few weeks, and he suspected the sehlat was prowling the compound at night with the intention of visiting Leonard. It was not a choice he found particularly agreeable, but the sehlat was free to make it, if it wished. Spock was not a cruel master.

He rose, dressing himself warmly, and ventured out. Perhaps it was illogical, but the compound did not feel right. He would find I-Chaya, ensure his well-being, and return to his bedroom with no one the wiser for his nocturnal wanderings.

But the sehlat could not be found; the longer Spock sought, the more concerned he grew. I-Chaya might be in the McCoys’ rooms, one of the few places he could not venture himself, but none of the other occupants of the compound would have allowed I-Chaya to enter their dwelling.

He found a door ajar in one of the store-rooms, and entered with caution, prepared to confront an intruder, but none were in evidence. Supplies were missing, however. Survival gear. A thermal sleeping bag, boots, an enviro-suit for water conservation, a condenser--

A switch clicked in his brain, and if he were human he might have scowled. Sitak and the others had taunted Leonard with his inability to survive even an elementary test such as the kahs-wan; therefore, he had undertaken it on his own, much as Spock had in his youth.

Spock did not stop to take further inventory, turning on his heel and running for the compound’s transporter pad.

The panel was still on and one of the pads was warm.

He checked the coordinates: set for auto-delete. He hadn’t thought Leonard was that skillful with the machine, but apparently he’d badly underestimated him-- just as Leonard had badly underestimated the Forge. It seemed the only sensible thing the human had done was to take I-Chaya with him. The sehlat could find water; it would hunt food for them both and defend Leonard against predators, if it could.

Spock keyed the comm, waking his father.

“The human Leonard McCoy has taken survival supplies and transported himself into the Forge. I assume he intends to prove himself to his schoolmates by passing the kahs-wan. I am unable to ascertain his whereabouts.”

Spock stood by the transporter as the compound came awake around him by stages, frowning. Scans might not reveal a human in the Forge; there were radioactive hotspots, chemical springs, and plenty of large predators to confuse scans. Even a starship might not find him scanning from orbit.

How did the boy think? What would he attempt? He would doubtless believe he could manage the Forge, but he would not be fool enough to face it head-on. He would seek concealment nearby, on the fringes of the desert where he could wait out the ten days, then return home with a minimum of danger.

The mountains were a relatively intelligent choice, perhaps; they would have caves and refuges, and were not subject to the most dangerous radiation. There was water to be had there, and shelter from the punishing sun. But all of those things made them an ideal habitat for le-matya. No cave Leonard might choose would be free of occupants, and he had no weapon. Nor, perhaps, did he possess the skill to make one.

Spock went to the stores and provisioned himself, disregarding the frenzy of adults scattered through the compound; his father had woken David and Eleanora, whose presence represented a note of panic amidst the Vulcan calm. He was making his way to the exit when Leonard’s father stopped him.

“Spock,” David called, his eyes wild, and Spock turned to him. “Do you have any idea where he may be?”

“I have formulated a number of potential theories regarding his whereabouts.” Spock acknowledged. “I believe I have a significant chance of locating him.”

“The bio-scans aren’t turning anything up.” David looked haunted; Spock felt both touched and uncomfortable with the overt display of worry and grief. “Does he have a chance?”

“He took I-Chaya with him,” Spock said quietly. “I estimate I-Chaya’s assistance gives him an 11.7% chance of survival over the ten-day period.”

“Find him soon, then, if you can.” David looked bad, almost gray with terror.

“I will do my best.” Spock made his exit without fuss, leaving a comm note for his mother and father. He shouldered his pack, looking out toward the horizon, and pulled out the small bioscanner he’d taken. He would begin walking the perimeter of the foothills in a northerly direction and hope it led him to them before Leonard was devoured by le-matya.

Chapter Text

Leonard had transported himself somewhere into the Forge, so there would be few or no tracks to find and follow. However, Spock was not hampered by the lack, having explored extensively within a day’s walk of his home. He was well familiar with the terrain. He also knew the maps of the area well, having made significant contributions to some of them, and he also knew Leonard was not entirely stupid. The human boy would pick a place close enough to permit him to walk home, a place with water easily available.

What Leonard did not, perhaps, fully realize was that any areas with exposed water were focal points of predatory animal activity, and frequently served as the gathering places for entire tribes of le-matya. That was why Spock’s estimate of his survival chances had been so low.

He trotted through the desert rapidly, little puffs of red dust rising from beneath his shoes. As he ran, he kept alert for any signs of tracks or unusual animal activity. Those would be the most likely signs of Leonard’s presence.

He turned aside from his track from time to time to investigate small caves, but they were not next to obvious sources of water, and so he glanced quickly into them and moved on. The sun climbed to its zenith, then began to descend in a cloud of dun, blurring its edges and dulling its glow.

Tonight would be a hunting night. Invariably a few animals grew disoriented and became lost in sandstorms, and became easy prey for predators. Others refused to leave the water holes despite the le-matya who lurked nearby, unable to find their paths to shelter. Those became easy prey, their only safety to be found in numbers once the le-matya had glutted themselves and were unable to eat any more.

It would not be a good night for Spock to be out. Already he’d been forced to close his nictitating membrane, to protect his eyes from the onslaught of dust. It limited his perception slightly, shortening the scope of his vision and blurring it at longer distances.

Spock drew near a large waterhole around mid-afternoon, but there was no sign of Leonard there, and none of the caves Spock knew had any tracks at their mouths. He frowned. He could make a second watering hole by dusk, but perhaps Leonard had elected to go south.

Perhaps the human had overestimated his speed of travel for the return home. It seemed likely he was inexperienced with desert and mountain trekking.

Spock abandoned his fruitless search and returned to the desert, pushing harder in order to make the second set of cave formations by nightfall. This section of desert was much rougher; it had been precisely far enough from the epicenter of an ancient atomic explosion that debris and rubble had survived to fall to the ground, and now lay twisted into deadly dust-shrouded mazes. A careless misstep might lead to being sliced open on the huge, razor-sharp shards of glass or metal.

He raced the sun with as much prudence as he could, speeding up beyond reasonable caution when he neared the water hole and heard the hunting cry of a le-matya, a snarling growl that scraped over the desert, caterwauling up the scale until it moved out of the range Spock could hear.

That cry meant prey was close at hand. Spock wished he had another hour of daylight; the le-matya could see a great deal better in the dark than he, and he would have extreme difficulty locating any sign of Leonard after the sun set, whereas the animals could hunt both Leonard and Spock by scent.

His communicator was unable to reach the relay satellite; Perhaps there was too much background radiation nearby.

Several small herbivores scattered as Spock ran past the pool of the oasis; none of the predators lurked here. The scream came again, echoing among nearby cliffs. They had their prey cornered.

As Spock rushed on, another sound became audible: the growling of a sehlat.

I-Chaya.

He dug in his pack as he ran, and though it was illogical to worry, his heart rate increased and fight-or-flight chemicals surged in his system. He had a low-powered phaser, the most powerful weapon a private citizen could be licensed to carry in peacetime. It would discourage predators, but could not kill them-- and if they had engaged their full bloodlust, they would pay it little attention.

He rounded a final turn and found a pack of four mature le-matya, their sleek dark skins rippling with muscle. They held Leonard and I-Chaya at bay against a sheer cliff, advancing by snarling increments. I-Chaya had his fangs and claws, all dripping green; Leonard brandished a long, dried, woody flower spike broken from a g’teth bush, thrusting it forward aggressively to drive the beasts back when they came too close.

Spock veered to the side, firing three stunning bolts, seeking stones to throw with his free left hand. The gun had a limited charge. It would have been a logical precaution to pause at home and procure a better weapon, but had he done so, he would not have made it here in time.

“Aim for their eyes,” he shouted. The stalk Leonard held was fibrous, and the fibers would be caustic when they came in contact with a mucous membrane.

“Their claws are venomous,” he called, retreating slightly as two detached from the main pack and turned to investigate him.

Making a tactical decision, Spock ceased fire, maneuvering toward the edge of the trail, where the side of the mountain crumbled away in a steep cliff face. He kept both eyes on the le-matya, pretending sluggishness and weakness like Leonard’s-- or even more so. The creatures stalked forward, licking their chops, thinking him easy prey. He pretended to stumble, and came up limping; Leonard shouted with alarm.

“I am well,” Spock snapped. “Defend yourself!” There was no way this could be done without loss of life. Preferably it would not be his own.

Spock neared the cliff face, then pretended to stumble again. As one of the le matya pounced, he shot, and the stunning beam made it twist in midair, yowling. It fell not far away; he leaped up and kicked it savagely, propelling it over the cliffside. It fell away, its snarling cry receding as it descended.

The other backed away, growling; it would not be so easily misled. Spock eyed it warily, unable to spare the attention to watch I-Chaya and Leonard.

He heard a scream, and thought I-Chaya’s fangs must have scored; Leonard uttered what seemed to be an encouraging whoop. Spock sidled away from his own beast, moving out onto the cliffside away from the path. Footing was treacherous, at best, but he thought the le-matya might choose not to pursue. At the very least, it would not be likely to leap for his throat.

A second scream echoed, and Spock glimpsed a beast bounding away, the point of Leonard’s broken g’teth stalk protruding from its eye. Now that his own foe was the final remaining threat, he drew the gun again, hoping the le-matya would feel its solitude presented peril and be persuaded to retreat.

The thump of paws alerted him to I-Chaya’s arrival; now the le-matya stood pinned between Spock’s gun and the sehlat’s flashing fangs.

“I-Chaya, ishanai yasha!” But it was too late; trapped between the weapon and the sehlat, the le-matya turned to flee in desperation. It slashed at I-Chaya as it went, claws scoring his foreleg; Spock gave a wild cry and lunged forward, too late.

Chapter Text

Leonard staggered forward, past the steaming corpse of a disemboweled le-matya.

“Its claws are venomous!” Spock fell to his knees beside I-Chaya in despair. Blood streamed from the wound. They were too far from help; the sehlat would surely die.

“Put direct pressure here!” Leonard grabbed Spock’s hands-- a flare of fear, anger, and determined wrath surging into Spock through the contact-- and shoved Spock’s hands to a position near the joint. “Find the vein and don’t let up.”

Leonard leaned forward instantly and began to suck and spit at the wound, trying to draw out more blood and poison, working until the stone next to him was slick with blood. Then his hands fumbled at the pouch he wore by his belt, drawing out a hypospray and various salves and ointments. “Goddammit, that’s no good. That either.” He seized on an ampoule and plugged it in. “I can’t guarantee this is 100% right for his physiology,” he grumbled, injecting the contents. “Hope that’s his brachial artery. I haven’t done any dissections of his species.”

“What is that?” Spock snapped sharply.

“Le-matya antivenin. Made for humans. You don’t think I’d come out here without some of that, do you?” Leonard began to clean the wound, the antiseptic making I-Chaya flinch. “Can you keep him quiet?”

“Not without releasing pressure on the vein.”

“I’ll make a tourniquet.” Leonard whipped off his belt and snugged it tight about I-Chaya’s leg above the elbow joint. “Now quiet him down. I’ve got to operate.”

“You do not know what you are doing!”

“I know better’n anybody else for miles!” Leonard snapped. “Do your damned Vulcan hoodoo and tell him not to eat me alive, if you want him to make it!!”

Spock obeyed, trying to establish a contact that would calm I-Chaya, sending images in an effort to explain that what they did might be painful, but that it was necessary and would ultimately aid his chances for survival. He tried to suppress I-Chaya’s pain as much as he could, though he had not been trained in that discipline. I-Chaya whined, but submitted to treatment.

Hissing through his teeth, Leonard cut away thick hair and sliced into tissue that was already starting to fester and suppurate. “Gotta debride the tissue that’s already dead from the venom. Keep the stuff from spreading any further.” He hesitated and made a deeper cut, looking for healthy flesh. “Goddammit, I’m not set up to amputate.”

“Amputation?” Spock was dismayed by the too-high pitch of his voice.

“Not gonna try it. Not yet.” Leonard growled. “Not till that’s his only option.” He pared away the necrotic flesh and tossed it aside. “Damn it, he’s losing muscle tissue. He’s gonna have a hell of a limp even if he keeps the leg.”

Spock curled his arms around I-Chaya’s head, feeling a terrible tightness in his chest as he watched Leonard work.

“Looks like healthy tissue here. I’m gonna risk closing him up.” Leonard even had a hand-held protoplaser in his little kit; he plied it with a sure hand, and the bleeding stopped as thin scar tissue formed over the top. “We’ll need to get under cover. There might be more of those things, and I broke my stick.”

Spock glanced around. There was a cave entrance a few hundred yards up the path.

“Can you help me carry him?”

“I won’t be much help with that, but I brought a survival tent. If we can get him rolled onto that, we can pull it like a travois.”

Spock did not know what a travois was, but he could grasp McCoy’s meaning. He pushed his weapon into the waistband of his trousers as McCoy packed his gear away.

Together they maneuvered the whimpering sehlat onto the tent and Spock tied the flaps into a rough breastband so he could put it across his chest and drag I-Chaya after him. McCoy preceded them, moving any rough stuff he could and trying to mound up dirt to soften the worst of the rest.

They reached the cave just after nightfall, and Spock ventured in with his weapon drawn. It seemed to have belonged to the le-matya who had attacked earlier, and was unoccupied except for their rank animal scent.

He maneuvered I-Chaya inside, then broke several more g’teth spikes and piled them inside the cave for Leonard to use as weapons in case the surviving le-matya returned to their den.

“Can you find me some alam-vedik leaves? Stuff’s got a ton of ichthammol in it. It’ll make a good drawing salve when I have to open this back up and let it drain,” McCoy muttered. “And if there’s any cholla anywhere, I can steep the roots and make a painkiller for him.”

Spock raised a brow, startled by Leonard’s familiarity with the native vegetation. “I will bring what I can. And firewood, as well.”

“Good. We’re gonna need to keep him warm, and it’s cold as a witch’s tit in here already.”

Spock didn’t inquire about the relative temperature of mammary glands, trotting away to find the plants they needed.

When he returned, Leonard was kneeling by I-Chaya, stroking his fur and talking to him, soothing. It might have been smarter to stand by the cave entrance with a g’teth spike, but Spock couldn’t fault Leonard in his care for the wounded sehlat; I-Chaya’s whimpers had subsided and though he breathed too rapidly he lay still, his leg outstretched before him. Spock examined the new, fragile tissue; it seemed to be mending.

“He is responding well, Leonard.” Spock hesitated. “Thanks to your care. It is typical for le-matya venom to prove fatal.”

McCoy stopped stroking the sehlat’s thick fur and cleared his throat, gruff.

“That’s all well and good unless you remember he got hurt thanks to me being stupid enough to come out here in the first place.” McCoy’s voice softened. “The damn thing jumped up onto the transporter with me after I keyed my beam-out. ….He kept the pack off me till you came.”

Spock piled dead vegetation and struck a spark, kindling fire. “Fire will help keep the remaining le-matya at bay. I will go out and fetch more fuel.”

“Watch out. There’s all sorts of things out there.” Leonard flushed, looking away. “As I guess you know.”

Spock went back and forth several times gathering the medicinal herbs Leonard required and also dried vegetation, especially the thick woody stems of dehydrated cacti. He stacked them near the fire and checked to ensure there was adequate draft to prevent carbon monoxide poisoning. Fortunately the cave seemed well-ventilated.

Then he returned to Leonard and I-Chaya, whose injured leg gleamed with freshly-applied salve Leonard had ground from the alam-vedik Spock had brought. “I have brought edible leaves and roots,” he said. “And for I-Chaya, I have butchered the carcass of his foe and brought him a choice cut. I believe it is rightfully earned.” He laid the raw meat before the sehlat and began to cut it up so I-Chaya could eat it easily.

“It sure is.” McCoy eyed Spock warily nonetheless. “Did you make that?” He pointed to the glittering obsidian blade in Spock’s hand, wrapped in a rag torn from the hem of his tunic.

“It chipped away from the rock face quite readily. I had little finishing to do.” Spock acknowledged.

“Guess I was pretty stupid coming out here alone.” Leonard folded his arms around his knees. “Thanks for coming after me.”

“It was the logical thing to do.”

“Goddammit!” Leonard flared. “I’m trying to be grateful here!”

“I did not intend to disregard your gratitude.” Spock blinked at him, baffled. “The logic of an action does not necessarily detract from its altruism.”

Leonard rolled his eyes to the heavens, gnawing on a root and shivering despite the fire. “Damn thing’s bitter.”

“It is, nonetheless, nourishing.” Spock ate one of his own. “It is permissible to reject the fibrous remains after extracting the pulp.” He did so neatly, transferring a mouthful into his palm and then tossing it into the fire.

“Good to know.” Leonard spat a handful of shreds directly into the fire, and Spock considered politeness vs. the desirability of keeping one’s hands clean. His hands were already a mess, so he continued to use them as an intermediary between his mouth and the fire.

The temperature was dropping; their breath made puffs of condensation on the air. Spock finished his meal and put the remnants away where Leonard could reach them, if he wished. He moved closer to Leonard, until they were both leaning against I-Chaya’s belly, bracketed by his outstretched legs.

“Le-matya will not approach a fire,” he said. “We should rest. My communicator did not have the capacity to transmit from this place. Tomorrow we will have to walk until it does, or until the searchers pick us up, or perhaps even until we reach the compound.”

Leonard swallowed and nodded. “I can’t face any more of this stuff.” He pushed his share of the food aside. “Maybe in the morning.”

Spock nodded, adding another stick of dried cactus to the fire. It was substantial enough to burn for a time.

“Leonard….” he did not know how to continue.

“Yeah, what?” McCoy prompted, a little impatient. He looked exhausted. Vulcan’s higher gravity was difficult for humans, and he was still not fully acclimated.

“Why did you choose to attempt the kahs-wan without preparation or training?”

“I’ve done my share of camping out in the Sonora with my uncle. Baja California, Death Valley. I’m not entirely helpless in a damn desert.”

“The Sonora is a temperate desert in the western portion of the North American continent,” Spock murmured, recollecting his Terran geography. “As deserts go, it is a relatively mild one even by Terran standards. For example, when compared to the Sahara or to certain portions of the middle east, its survivability quotient is extremely high. And yet, even the Sahara compares favorably to Vulcan’s Forge in terms of human survivability, with relatively few large predators or terrain-based hazards to--”

“I get it, all right? Jeez.” Leonard snapped. “I was just gonna hole up in a cave like this with my condenser and wait out the time, then try to make it back to the compound. I wasn’t gonna go wandering all over hell and through half of Georgia.”

The words appeared to bring on an emotional surge; Leonard swallowed hard and began to blink back moisture from his eyes. He glared at the roof of the cave. “If a fucking seven-year-old can do it, I ought to--” he stopped, losing his battle with tears, and dashed them away from his cheeks, furious. “I just want to go home, goddammit.”

Spock waited in silence while he composed himself. “You could survive the kahs-wan, with proper training.”

“Yeah, like I’m gonna get that any time soon. I get up, haul off to that hell-pit you call a school, get my ass kicked all day by machines, spend the rest of my day with a bunch of you so-called superior beings making my life a living hell for no good reason, then go home worn out and sleep till it’s time to do it again. I don’t have any friends, I don’t get to do anything fun.”

Spock considered. “Passing the kahs-wan will not win you the respect of Sitak and his friends.” He paused. “They are not honorable; they have poor character and regularly violate the principles of Surak. You should not value their opinion.” The words had been spoken to him often by both his mother and his father, but had proven hard to credit; though it was illogical, speaking them now to Leonard in this way gave additional veracity to them in Spock’s mind.

“You’re probably right. Bullies are bullies on any damn world, I guess, and they don’t ever quit. But passing the kahs-wan might win me my own respect, you ever think of that?” McCoy snapped, still wiping at his eyes.

“I will train you.” Spock made the offer in terms of an incontrovertible fact.

Leonard blinked at him, so startled he forgot his sniffles. “What?”

“I will train you in the skills you need, and when you are ready, you will take the kahs-wan.” Spock pushed the cactus limb deeper into the fire. “You have already begun your training by obtaining knowledge of flora with medicinal properties. I will set a course of study and we will undertake practical preparatory activities together.”

McCoy scoffed. “You wouldn’t.”

“I will.” Spock raise a brow. “If for no other reason than your care of I-Chaya, who would be dead by morning had you not treated his injury.”

McCoy gave him a sidelong glance, suspicious, burrowing back into I-Chaya’s warm fur. “And what about the bullies?”

“To thwart them, you must learn to control your emotions,” Spock said quietly. “Emotional outburst is what they seek; evidence that they have succeeded in causing pain. They perceive it as weakness, and it… delights them.”

“Talk about hypocritical.”

“Indeed.” Spock also nestled closer to the sehlat-- and to Leonard as well. The temperature outside was dropping rapidly, and the interior of the cavern did not retain much heat, a drawback to its excellent ventilation. “I can assist with that as well, if you are agreeable. It will require you to undergo a program of meditation and calming techniques. You may not succeed in eliminating your emotions, but by controlling them, you should be able to choose a more opportune moment when they may be applied to the detriment of your foes.”

McCoy blinked at him for a moment. “I actually like the way you think, for once.” He huddled into his jacket, tucking his chin inside the collar.

“I acknowledge the compliment.”

McCoy chortled. “Is that how you say ‘you’re welcome?’” His voice slurred a little; he was clearly exhausted.

“Perhaps it is so,” Spock agreed. “If liking the way I think is how you say ‘thank you.’”

“Touché.” Leonard nestled against I-Chaya’s elbow, careful not to jostle his injured leg.

Sleeping Trio by Liaduval

Spock waited until the human boy drifted off to sleep before sliding next to him to conserve body heat, wrapping one arm about Leonard’s waist and pulling him close. He had observed that Terrans could be unpredictably touchy about personal contact, but in this situation, it was only logical. The temperature could drop to approximately 4 degrees centigrade on a night like tonight, adequately cold to cause even Spock to risk dangerous levels of hypothermia. He resolved to wake often throughout the night in order to feed the fire.

Before long, all three of them slept.

Chapter Text

Spock woke frequently through the night, feeding the fire and observing as the dust storm he had predicted gathered and broke over the outcrop where they sheltered. Leonard slept heavily, failing to be roused even by the electrical discharges and sonic concussions that occurred frequently when sufficient static built up between the dust particles.

I-Chaya seemed to be recuperating well; if not for Leonard’s treatment, the sehlat would be convulsing in his death throes by now, and Spock would have had to administer mercy.

Dawn came, its light diffuse and dull red. Leonard choked a little, clearing his throat, and turned toward I-Chaya, blinking dust and grit out of his lashes. “Time izzit?”

“Just past dawn,” Spock said, and pushed their little heap of edible vegetation toward him.

Leonard sighed and made a face. He picked up a leaf and sniffed it, then took a distasteful bite. “What was that you said about getting us home?”

“The winds have not yet died. Perhaps they will not fall today.” Spock rose and went to the mouth of the cave to look out, raising his nictitating membrane against the grit. A flash illuminated the sky, zigzagging crazily amidst the dust. “It is not safe to leave the shelter of the cave until the sandstorm is past. The atmosphere is ionized, and electrical charges could strike at any place or time.”

“I-Chaya needs fluids.”

“I may venture out to find water later.”

“There might be more le-matya.”

“My communicator will not function,” Spock said after checking it once more. “Perhaps the dust storm is at fault.”

*****

They waited for two days before the storm died, subsisting on leaves, roots, and dirty water Spock fetched on rare excursions from the cave. I-Chaya recovered slowly, though Leonard fretted over him at every opportunity, insisting on opening his wound to allow it to drain. “There was still a trace of venom in his bloodstream after I disinfected everything. But maybe it’s not enough to take his leg.” He sighed. “We need to get him back to civilization and find a vet. You do have vets on this planet, right?”

“There are a number of doctors who specialize in the treatment of domesticated animals.”

Leonard nodded, closing the sehlat’s leg back up.

Spock began to construct a more permanent travois, gathering materials whenever he went to the oasis. Leonard accompanied him to help carry the items he gathered, and Spock began instructing him in the fine art of desert survival, starting with tracking. McCoy’s human senses were not so keen as Spock’s; he could neither smell nor hear predators from an adequate distance, and Spock began making plans to compensate for that when Leonard actually took the kas-wahn.

On the third day the travois was complete, and the dust finally subsided enough to make it safe for travel. Spock helped Leonard bundle his head against the sun and they set out, towing I-Chaya. Leonard was not quite strong enough to lift half the sehlat’s weight, which made getting around obstacles rather challenging, but he walked stubbornly, refusing to give up even when the heat made him stagger.

Spock forced him to stop midday, and they sheltered under an overhanging ruin.

“When you get him home tell them what he did for me,” Leonard said, a little muzzy; Spock frowned, suddenly realizing the human was, perhaps, not entirely in his right mind.

“Do you mean I-Chaya?”

“Course I do.” Leonard’s lips were cracked, and Spock dribbled a little of their precious water between them. They were not making good time, largely thanks to the injured sehlat, but also because they would now have to wait until nightfall before moving on.

“Course, you should tell them what you did too, that you came out here ’n saved me. Even if you just did it to get him back.”

“I came because you were in danger of death,” Spock corrected him.

“Bet you did it because my daddy asked you to.”

“That as well,” Spock acknowledged. “But I was already preparing to depart.”

“Then you did it for the glory.”

“Vulcans are not subject to such motivations.”

Leonard laughed, a dry, hacking sound. Spock eyed him with alarm; he had, perhaps, overestimated the Terran boy’s endurance.

“I must find a shelter where I can leave you with I-Chaya and go on until I find a place where I am able to transmit,” Spock said, reluctant to leave the human, but it was a logical choice.

“No,” Leonard laid a hand over Spock’s arm, making him flinch. The human’s emotions were raw, roiling right at the surface of his thoughts. “I can’t protect him alone.”

“I am more concerned regarding your welfare,” Spock explained. He would have touched Leonard to ascertain his temperature, but he realized he had no idea what would be a normal range.

A soft hum suddenly caught his attention. Without delay, Spock sprinted into the open, digging through his gear swiftly, then tilting a small mirror to reflect sunlight toward an overflying hover-vehicle, which banked into a turn and came back around.

I-Chaya and Leonard staggered up to his side, alerted by the whine of the engines.

“Good timing,” Leonard said, and when the sehlat lay down, he sank down against its side, the last of his strength deserting him. The car landed and two Vulcans climbed out in haste. Spock went forward alone to greet them.