and a rope
Title: and a rope
Author: windfallswest
Fandom: Star Trek: the Original Series
Pairing: James Tiberius Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: <----
Length: about 3k
Notes: Also at AO3. A sort of interstitial episode-fic for Shore Leave. This somehow came out as the least crack-toned crack!fic ever. A little fluff for htebazytook, my beta reader and general minion, on the occasion of her birthday. Title, because my dad got the Bonanza song* stuck in my head and there are literally no other words in there right now. Sadly for you.
Summary: Just don't tell Bones about the horse.
"Finnegan!"
"Jimmy boy!"
Kirk ran after the flaming jack-ass, his brain on fire with the same helpless rage he'd felt as a plebe. Except he wasn't helpless at all now-except he was, wasn't he? Two steps behind again, a position he'd never in all his life resigned himself to.
He crashed into Finnegan with an incredibly satisfying impact, and for a moment, just a moment, the body under his was slighter, stronger, taller and he was incredibly aroused. Then there was a woman-Yeoman Barrows?-screaming and something in his brain remembered that he had to respond. Finnegan, the lout, was cat-calling him as he raced off. He was the captain of a starship, dammit, he would not be made to feel a coward for putting the safety of his crew first. Finnegan was still hooting.
He really hated that man.
James Kirk had always wanted to see the eel-bats of Celus II in person, but he had the most damnable luck on that planet. He was always either on duty or en route to a new assignment with a tight connexion to make. On one memorable occasion, he'd been exposed to a Tau Cetan plague virus and spent his whole planned six days of shore leave in quarantine. But now here one was, purple and furred and undulating inexplicably through midair in broad daylight half a quadrant away.
"Huh."
It was getting uncomfortably hot down here by the time Kirk broke out of the tree cover. The dust and rounded boulders appeared almost abruptly, seeming to double the heat. There was a flicker of movement by the ridge, a blue shirt and a flash of white as Spock turned back to him. Kirk knew it was Spock even from behind-the set of his shoulders, the way he held his head; it could be no one else. But he was back with-
Kirk hurried to catch up. Of course Spock was waiting for him. Spock was always there when he was needed. It was practically supernatural. Now there was a characterisation that would drive him into emotionally-stripped hysterics. He was uncannily like a society matron at times. Kirk was tempted to use it on his next personnel evaluation.
Huffing a laugh, he started to wave to let Spock know he'd seen him, but the gesture died as his searching eyes found no trace of life, human, Vulcan, or otherwise, in the landscape. Maybe everyone was right and he did need to take some R&R. Honestly, he hadn't been this turned around since...
Wandering in a mostly easterly direction, Kirk did not find more than the traces of Sulu's passage; but he did see a tall brown bird being chased by a lanky brown canine, as well as a pair of what looked like very large eyes staring out of a rocky outcropping at him, a Plains Cree arrowhead, a very large coloured-ball representation of the element ununoctium complete with circling electrons, and a smaller version of Bones' rabbit.
He was running after Finnegan again. Kirk was sicker than ever of that man, and the fact that whatever alien presence was doing this to him had picked his own childhood demon as their voice in no way lessened his profound desire to bash his cod-Irish head in. If he were simply hallucinating, it said some very unflattering things about his subconscious self-image.
The landscape seemed to change every time he crossed it, and he'd been over it three times now. Instead of cutting abruptly to scrubby earth and weather-rounded rocks, Kirk found himself ear-high in ears of corn and the stunning smell of ripe crops in the summer. The golden tassels rustled ahead and Kirk charged after, barely pausing for incredulity. He was too incensed for that.
But the light and the scent and the softness of turned soil underfoot worked a change on him, and he realised that he could see the figure leading him on this merry chase head and neck above the corn. Short, black hair that shone warmly in the sun, and a long face that turned to look back at him more than once. Always just on the edge of sight; Kirk might think anyone else was teasing him.
Spock wouldn't tease him, but if some aliens were, dangling this is front of him was more vile than distracting him with Ruth, or...
He broke suddenly out into bare desert scrub and rocky outcroppings, dry air abrupt as a slap in the face. On second thought, that damned Irishman was ten times more infuriating than anything else he could imagine. How did he get so far ahead? Younger he might be, but even Finnegan couldn't run that fast.
"Jim!" It was Finnegan again, a hundred metres in front and bounding up the bare rock like a goat.
Bruised and covered more by sweat-adhered dust than the ragged remnants of his uniform was not how James Kirk preferred to make First Contact, but sometimes you just had to make due. The Caretaker didn't seem to mind, so he settled for at least acting like he was Captain of Star Fleet's flagship and not a drunken Klingon.
It didn't look harmless, and he'd better actually brief the away teams on what to expect; but overall he was reassured.
Kirk did in fact return to the ship before resuming his shore leave. For one thing, he wanted to update his log, just on the off chance that this was some sort of incredibly involved trap after all. You tried to show respect for alien cultures, of course, but you still didn't always get semiotics right on the first try: that had been drilled into every crewman who set foot aboard a spaceship.
Also, Kirk thought he might change his uniform and grab a quick shower. As captain, he had a responsibility to present a good face for his ship. Not to mention that a shore leave with half his uniform ripped away wouldn't be very relaxing.
Back on the surface of the planet, he remained unexpectedly alone. He'd been presuming that Ruth would reappear, but apparently resolving his issues with one ghost from his Academy days had also laid the other. Kirk couldn't say what precisely he wanted to see, and somewhat uncannily the planet seemed to produce vague, compelling forms at the edge of sight.
Kirk picked a direction entirely opposite today's adventures and tried to keep an open mind. The forest seemed to extend further in this direction, and the ground rose perceptibly over the next few kilometres. It was good to be moving: between the hike and the brawling, he felt some of the stiffness and kinks that had been plaguing him these past few weeks unwinding. It was more than worth a handful of bruises and scrapes.
About two hours after he'd beamed down, he hit a clearing where the grass came up past his knees. Bright green and blue flowers welled up like water from the ground-tall, genetically altered marigolds.
Hovering over them was a swarm of borealis van gogh. Individually, they were asymmetrical, boxy creatures about the size of a human eye. Airborne, in a swarm they somehow segregated themselves into pastel colour-groups. Swirls and streaks that had reminded the explorer who'd first recorded it of the nineteenth century painter's distinctive impasto. Kirk watched it now with the same wonder he had as a child on Turing Below, with Sam and his parents. They had had a picnic lunch and watched the swarms drift slowly across the prairie. As evening fell, they had started to glow with a faint, gentle luminescence.
Lunch. Now, there was a question. Could the planet provide edible material as well? Kirk had scrupulously attended to every detail except that one. He could always beam up to the ship, of course, but he rather fancied his solitude for a while yet.
Impulsively, he crossed the clearing at a right angle to his previous course, the borealis van gogh parting around him in an alarmed flutter of origami corners. They even smelled right, just a little bit like cut grass.
He had to laugh at his own invocation of cliché when the forest on the other side yielded an apple tree. The fruit was a deep, shining red and almost as large as his fist. An experimental bite convinced him it was indeed edible, and he stopped to pick a few more.
Lieutenant Uhura's protégé, Ensign ZZzzn, usually had second shift, but he was on the comm when Kirk checked in later that afternoon, and Kirk thought he saw Uhura once, on towards twilight. Good; she could use some time off. Riding herd on outgoing communications for the entire ship was an enormous and thankless task. And while Uhura would never descend so far as to scream red rage over subspace or on the bridge of the Enterprise, hearing her quietly offer to do detailed and graphic things to the (no doubt deserving) fellow on the other end of the channel in that smooth, friendly voice was more unnerving than facing a Klingon battle group.
The change in direction had taken Kirk back down out of the hills a little ways, and he was starting to see crewmen more often now. They were all far enough away that they could politely ignore one another, except for the time he walked into the middle of what appeared to be a pillow fight between two ensigns and a lieutenant from Engineering. The fellows all but turned to stone when he appeared in their midst. He felt a little guilty for disrupting their fun, but the expression on Ensign Utor's face when he realised he'd just socked his commanding officer in the face with a leaking sack of goose down was priceless.
"At ease, gentlemen." He nodded to them and continued on.
Through a superhuman feat of self-control, Kirk kept his snickers to himself until he was well out of earshot. He was picking down off his person for a kilometre, though.
Both junior officers and diminutive, prickly quills dropped from his thoughts, however, when a soft sound caught his ear and the thinning trees at last gave way completely. There was a horse standing there, nibbling at a clump of little pink wildflowers. She was a grey mare, at least sixteen hands high; and there was a saddle on her back.
So soon after the encounter with the trio from Engineering, it seemed almost as though the planet were apologising to him for...failing to redirect one or the other of them. Just how did they adjust the planet's topography like that, and with such rapidity?
Kirk approached the creature slowly. Her ears perked up when he remembered the last of the apples he had picked earlier and offered it for the mare's equine delectation. She snuffled warm, horsey breath into his palm and permitted him to stroke her muzzle as she consumed the treat.
Even though the big, solid warmth of her was a lie, he leaned against her shoulder and put his arm around her neck. Kirk was reminded how powerful the simple fact of physical contact could be, and of how isolated he had become as a captain-not mentally, but sometimes he thought there might be something to Bones' harping about how he needed to take better care of himself.
There were still a few hours of daylight left. Carefully, Kirk picked up the reins and drew them back over her head. No objections so far. Prudently, he also checked the girth.
Time to see how accurate these aliens really were. Kirk swung himself up into the saddle.
Very seemed to be his answer. The grey mare responded to just the slightest pressure from his heels on her sides, and soon they were cantering out across the wide alien landscape.
The rolling plains seemed empty as far as the eye could see, although someone else had to be responsible for them, because Kirk had never encountered purple grass before. Maybe this was finally the native ecosystem. Spock would be fascinated.
It conspired with the purple sky to eliminate the horizon, and if he weren't so used to space, the effect might have been almost vertiginous. Topping a rise, he saw that it also made any intruders easy to pick out. Like those large, yellow boulders a half a kilometre away and the little black and blue figure moving towards them.
This time, Kirk was not going to let it go. Even a Vulcan couldn't run faster than a horse.
The grey mare fairly flew downslope, the thudding of her hooves loud in his ears. Loud enough, apparently, to be heard by his target, who stopped by the circle of rocks and turned to observe his headlong approach.
It was Spock all right, down to the colour of his eyes and neutrally questioning expression. Kirk barely waited until they had come to a stop to dismount. He felt he was breathing almost as heavily as his horse, and all his half-formed and huffy incriminations against omniscient aliens left him like a cloud blowing away. He was left standing there with a facsimile of his first officer and a thousand incoherent feelings.
With a frustrated growl, Kirk pushed him up against one of the big yellow rocks and kissed him. Spock kissed him back. After, Kirk stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, mind completely blank. Then he scrambled back onto his horse and rode for the hills.
He and Enterprise (well, he had to call her something) spent that evening and the next day picking out mountain trails. Kirk fried bacon and shamelessly stuffed Enterprise with carrots. He tried to think as little as possible, not that that ever worked. The stars were almost as bright here as they were in space, and Kirk tried to plot where the Enterprise hung in geosynchronous orbit among them. Soil wasn't the same under his feet as deck plating, but a planet hummed with as much life as a ship did.
Kirk left Enterprise regretfully when the time came to beam back up, but there wasn't room for even imitation horses aboard a starship. She'd been a good horse; he hoped someone would take an interest in her.
Enterprise nickered at him and nudged him so forcefully he almost fell over. Oddly heartened, he flipped open his communicator.
"Kirk to Enterprise. One to beam up."
He found Bones and Yeoman Barrows still in the transporter room when he arrived. They both looked very thoroughly...relaxed. The unfortunate Ensign Keel had volunteered to man the transporter room, since his broken leg prevented him from entertaining himself downside. Bones was kibbitzing.
"Back on duty already?"
"I was just telling Mister Keel here that just because he couldn't take his shore leave downside, that was no reason to go ruining all my good work on his leg."
"Yes, sir. Enjoy your shore leave, captain?"
"Not as much as these two, I'm afraid, but it's nice to get out of the processed air every once in a while. We'll get you down next time."
"Sir."
Bones shot him a dirty look for that, but Kirk was impervious to those by now, except on special occasions. Kirk was just glad he was still in good enough shape that he hadn't gotten saddle sores. The uniform boots weren't quite as high as riding boots, but they had helped keep the chafing to a minimum, thus decreasing Bones' opportunities for direct revenge. Kirk sailed out past the three of them, two of whom were trying to muffle snickers. It was good to be home.
Kirk's good mood lasted even through the back-log of paperwork Barrows delivered him at shiftchange. What killed it was Sulu who, once they were underway to system 2G59, next in their search pattern of this sector, asked Spock:
"So, did you ever locate a sample of the native ecology?"
Kirk, who had been playing three-dimensional sudoku in between writing reports, froze.
Ah. You went back down to the planet, Mister Spock? The words stuck in his throat.
"Yes, I was able to obtain several samples. Quite fascinating."
Kirk was still ninety per cent sure that he had not met the real Spock down on that planet. But his Spock-sense was suggesting that some of that last comment was to his address. Kirk cleared his throat and his game and pulled up the reports again.
"Captain." Spock found him, as he knew he would if he was in fact the biggest idiot in the quadrant.
"Yes, Mister Spock?" Kirk sat back from his desk. After a moment's consideration, he also stood up.
"I wanted to ask if you encountered anything...unexpected occurred while you were on shore leave."
"Well, the whole experience was rather unexpected. But now that you mention it, there were a...few things."
"Indeed. As for myself, I had not in fact been thinking about you galloping in on a white horse, kissing me, and then riding away; but the experience was not altogether unpleasant, and my subconscious mind is not always as well disciplined as I might wish, so I reasoned I might compare-"
"You mean that was you?" Kirk interrupted.
Spock cocked his head in that way he had, like the physical action would make his brain jump tracks more quickly. "A white horse, captain?"
"Enterprise was a grey, technically."
"Enterpr-"
"You must never, ever tell McCoy." It was instantly imperative that he be as firm as he could on that point, for whatever good it would do him.
"About which part, captain?"
"About any of it."
"I see. You wish our relationship to remain a secret."
"Rela-" Spock hadn't gone on doing-seeing-er, things, had he?
"That is of course what you desire."
"Well, yes, but-I mean. That is, you-"
"I had thought to wait a time yet before broaching the topic, but it would have been illogical to let this opportunity pass by."
"I-That is, I-" Well, he wasn't used to getting propositions levelled at him like scanner readings, for one thing.
"Captain, I believe you are babbling."
Spock's eyes, though, were unwontedly intense. Well, he'd be damned if he let Vulcan logic have the last word in this discussion. He seized Spock by the shoulders and put a stop to all the nonsense.
"Just don't tell Bones about the horse."
*For those of you fortunate enough not to know, the full lyric is, with a gun and a rope and a hat full of hope.
Author: windfallswest
Fandom: Star Trek: the Original Series
Pairing: James Tiberius Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: <----
Length: about 3k
Notes: Also at AO3. A sort of interstitial episode-fic for Shore Leave. This somehow came out as the least crack-toned crack!fic ever. A little fluff for htebazytook, my beta reader and general minion, on the occasion of her birthday. Title, because my dad got the Bonanza song* stuck in my head and there are literally no other words in there right now. Sadly for you.
Summary: Just don't tell Bones about the horse.
"Finnegan!"
"Jimmy boy!"
Kirk ran after the flaming jack-ass, his brain on fire with the same helpless rage he'd felt as a plebe. Except he wasn't helpless at all now-except he was, wasn't he? Two steps behind again, a position he'd never in all his life resigned himself to.
He crashed into Finnegan with an incredibly satisfying impact, and for a moment, just a moment, the body under his was slighter, stronger, taller and he was incredibly aroused. Then there was a woman-Yeoman Barrows?-screaming and something in his brain remembered that he had to respond. Finnegan, the lout, was cat-calling him as he raced off. He was the captain of a starship, dammit, he would not be made to feel a coward for putting the safety of his crew first. Finnegan was still hooting.
He really hated that man.
James Kirk had always wanted to see the eel-bats of Celus II in person, but he had the most damnable luck on that planet. He was always either on duty or en route to a new assignment with a tight connexion to make. On one memorable occasion, he'd been exposed to a Tau Cetan plague virus and spent his whole planned six days of shore leave in quarantine. But now here one was, purple and furred and undulating inexplicably through midair in broad daylight half a quadrant away.
"Huh."
It was getting uncomfortably hot down here by the time Kirk broke out of the tree cover. The dust and rounded boulders appeared almost abruptly, seeming to double the heat. There was a flicker of movement by the ridge, a blue shirt and a flash of white as Spock turned back to him. Kirk knew it was Spock even from behind-the set of his shoulders, the way he held his head; it could be no one else. But he was back with-
Kirk hurried to catch up. Of course Spock was waiting for him. Spock was always there when he was needed. It was practically supernatural. Now there was a characterisation that would drive him into emotionally-stripped hysterics. He was uncannily like a society matron at times. Kirk was tempted to use it on his next personnel evaluation.
Huffing a laugh, he started to wave to let Spock know he'd seen him, but the gesture died as his searching eyes found no trace of life, human, Vulcan, or otherwise, in the landscape. Maybe everyone was right and he did need to take some R&R. Honestly, he hadn't been this turned around since...
Wandering in a mostly easterly direction, Kirk did not find more than the traces of Sulu's passage; but he did see a tall brown bird being chased by a lanky brown canine, as well as a pair of what looked like very large eyes staring out of a rocky outcropping at him, a Plains Cree arrowhead, a very large coloured-ball representation of the element ununoctium complete with circling electrons, and a smaller version of Bones' rabbit.
He was running after Finnegan again. Kirk was sicker than ever of that man, and the fact that whatever alien presence was doing this to him had picked his own childhood demon as their voice in no way lessened his profound desire to bash his cod-Irish head in. If he were simply hallucinating, it said some very unflattering things about his subconscious self-image.
The landscape seemed to change every time he crossed it, and he'd been over it three times now. Instead of cutting abruptly to scrubby earth and weather-rounded rocks, Kirk found himself ear-high in ears of corn and the stunning smell of ripe crops in the summer. The golden tassels rustled ahead and Kirk charged after, barely pausing for incredulity. He was too incensed for that.
But the light and the scent and the softness of turned soil underfoot worked a change on him, and he realised that he could see the figure leading him on this merry chase head and neck above the corn. Short, black hair that shone warmly in the sun, and a long face that turned to look back at him more than once. Always just on the edge of sight; Kirk might think anyone else was teasing him.
Spock wouldn't tease him, but if some aliens were, dangling this is front of him was more vile than distracting him with Ruth, or...
He broke suddenly out into bare desert scrub and rocky outcroppings, dry air abrupt as a slap in the face. On second thought, that damned Irishman was ten times more infuriating than anything else he could imagine. How did he get so far ahead? Younger he might be, but even Finnegan couldn't run that fast.
"Jim!" It was Finnegan again, a hundred metres in front and bounding up the bare rock like a goat.
Bruised and covered more by sweat-adhered dust than the ragged remnants of his uniform was not how James Kirk preferred to make First Contact, but sometimes you just had to make due. The Caretaker didn't seem to mind, so he settled for at least acting like he was Captain of Star Fleet's flagship and not a drunken Klingon.
It didn't look harmless, and he'd better actually brief the away teams on what to expect; but overall he was reassured.
Kirk did in fact return to the ship before resuming his shore leave. For one thing, he wanted to update his log, just on the off chance that this was some sort of incredibly involved trap after all. You tried to show respect for alien cultures, of course, but you still didn't always get semiotics right on the first try: that had been drilled into every crewman who set foot aboard a spaceship.
Also, Kirk thought he might change his uniform and grab a quick shower. As captain, he had a responsibility to present a good face for his ship. Not to mention that a shore leave with half his uniform ripped away wouldn't be very relaxing.
Back on the surface of the planet, he remained unexpectedly alone. He'd been presuming that Ruth would reappear, but apparently resolving his issues with one ghost from his Academy days had also laid the other. Kirk couldn't say what precisely he wanted to see, and somewhat uncannily the planet seemed to produce vague, compelling forms at the edge of sight.
Kirk picked a direction entirely opposite today's adventures and tried to keep an open mind. The forest seemed to extend further in this direction, and the ground rose perceptibly over the next few kilometres. It was good to be moving: between the hike and the brawling, he felt some of the stiffness and kinks that had been plaguing him these past few weeks unwinding. It was more than worth a handful of bruises and scrapes.
About two hours after he'd beamed down, he hit a clearing where the grass came up past his knees. Bright green and blue flowers welled up like water from the ground-tall, genetically altered marigolds.
Hovering over them was a swarm of borealis van gogh. Individually, they were asymmetrical, boxy creatures about the size of a human eye. Airborne, in a swarm they somehow segregated themselves into pastel colour-groups. Swirls and streaks that had reminded the explorer who'd first recorded it of the nineteenth century painter's distinctive impasto. Kirk watched it now with the same wonder he had as a child on Turing Below, with Sam and his parents. They had had a picnic lunch and watched the swarms drift slowly across the prairie. As evening fell, they had started to glow with a faint, gentle luminescence.
Lunch. Now, there was a question. Could the planet provide edible material as well? Kirk had scrupulously attended to every detail except that one. He could always beam up to the ship, of course, but he rather fancied his solitude for a while yet.
Impulsively, he crossed the clearing at a right angle to his previous course, the borealis van gogh parting around him in an alarmed flutter of origami corners. They even smelled right, just a little bit like cut grass.
He had to laugh at his own invocation of cliché when the forest on the other side yielded an apple tree. The fruit was a deep, shining red and almost as large as his fist. An experimental bite convinced him it was indeed edible, and he stopped to pick a few more.
Lieutenant Uhura's protégé, Ensign ZZzzn, usually had second shift, but he was on the comm when Kirk checked in later that afternoon, and Kirk thought he saw Uhura once, on towards twilight. Good; she could use some time off. Riding herd on outgoing communications for the entire ship was an enormous and thankless task. And while Uhura would never descend so far as to scream red rage over subspace or on the bridge of the Enterprise, hearing her quietly offer to do detailed and graphic things to the (no doubt deserving) fellow on the other end of the channel in that smooth, friendly voice was more unnerving than facing a Klingon battle group.
The change in direction had taken Kirk back down out of the hills a little ways, and he was starting to see crewmen more often now. They were all far enough away that they could politely ignore one another, except for the time he walked into the middle of what appeared to be a pillow fight between two ensigns and a lieutenant from Engineering. The fellows all but turned to stone when he appeared in their midst. He felt a little guilty for disrupting their fun, but the expression on Ensign Utor's face when he realised he'd just socked his commanding officer in the face with a leaking sack of goose down was priceless.
"At ease, gentlemen." He nodded to them and continued on.
Through a superhuman feat of self-control, Kirk kept his snickers to himself until he was well out of earshot. He was picking down off his person for a kilometre, though.
Both junior officers and diminutive, prickly quills dropped from his thoughts, however, when a soft sound caught his ear and the thinning trees at last gave way completely. There was a horse standing there, nibbling at a clump of little pink wildflowers. She was a grey mare, at least sixteen hands high; and there was a saddle on her back.
So soon after the encounter with the trio from Engineering, it seemed almost as though the planet were apologising to him for...failing to redirect one or the other of them. Just how did they adjust the planet's topography like that, and with such rapidity?
Kirk approached the creature slowly. Her ears perked up when he remembered the last of the apples he had picked earlier and offered it for the mare's equine delectation. She snuffled warm, horsey breath into his palm and permitted him to stroke her muzzle as she consumed the treat.
Even though the big, solid warmth of her was a lie, he leaned against her shoulder and put his arm around her neck. Kirk was reminded how powerful the simple fact of physical contact could be, and of how isolated he had become as a captain-not mentally, but sometimes he thought there might be something to Bones' harping about how he needed to take better care of himself.
There were still a few hours of daylight left. Carefully, Kirk picked up the reins and drew them back over her head. No objections so far. Prudently, he also checked the girth.
Time to see how accurate these aliens really were. Kirk swung himself up into the saddle.
Very seemed to be his answer. The grey mare responded to just the slightest pressure from his heels on her sides, and soon they were cantering out across the wide alien landscape.
The rolling plains seemed empty as far as the eye could see, although someone else had to be responsible for them, because Kirk had never encountered purple grass before. Maybe this was finally the native ecosystem. Spock would be fascinated.
It conspired with the purple sky to eliminate the horizon, and if he weren't so used to space, the effect might have been almost vertiginous. Topping a rise, he saw that it also made any intruders easy to pick out. Like those large, yellow boulders a half a kilometre away and the little black and blue figure moving towards them.
This time, Kirk was not going to let it go. Even a Vulcan couldn't run faster than a horse.
The grey mare fairly flew downslope, the thudding of her hooves loud in his ears. Loud enough, apparently, to be heard by his target, who stopped by the circle of rocks and turned to observe his headlong approach.
It was Spock all right, down to the colour of his eyes and neutrally questioning expression. Kirk barely waited until they had come to a stop to dismount. He felt he was breathing almost as heavily as his horse, and all his half-formed and huffy incriminations against omniscient aliens left him like a cloud blowing away. He was left standing there with a facsimile of his first officer and a thousand incoherent feelings.
With a frustrated growl, Kirk pushed him up against one of the big yellow rocks and kissed him. Spock kissed him back. After, Kirk stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, mind completely blank. Then he scrambled back onto his horse and rode for the hills.
He and Enterprise (well, he had to call her something) spent that evening and the next day picking out mountain trails. Kirk fried bacon and shamelessly stuffed Enterprise with carrots. He tried to think as little as possible, not that that ever worked. The stars were almost as bright here as they were in space, and Kirk tried to plot where the Enterprise hung in geosynchronous orbit among them. Soil wasn't the same under his feet as deck plating, but a planet hummed with as much life as a ship did.
Kirk left Enterprise regretfully when the time came to beam back up, but there wasn't room for even imitation horses aboard a starship. She'd been a good horse; he hoped someone would take an interest in her.
Enterprise nickered at him and nudged him so forcefully he almost fell over. Oddly heartened, he flipped open his communicator.
"Kirk to Enterprise. One to beam up."
He found Bones and Yeoman Barrows still in the transporter room when he arrived. They both looked very thoroughly...relaxed. The unfortunate Ensign Keel had volunteered to man the transporter room, since his broken leg prevented him from entertaining himself downside. Bones was kibbitzing.
"Back on duty already?"
"I was just telling Mister Keel here that just because he couldn't take his shore leave downside, that was no reason to go ruining all my good work on his leg."
"Yes, sir. Enjoy your shore leave, captain?"
"Not as much as these two, I'm afraid, but it's nice to get out of the processed air every once in a while. We'll get you down next time."
"Sir."
Bones shot him a dirty look for that, but Kirk was impervious to those by now, except on special occasions. Kirk was just glad he was still in good enough shape that he hadn't gotten saddle sores. The uniform boots weren't quite as high as riding boots, but they had helped keep the chafing to a minimum, thus decreasing Bones' opportunities for direct revenge. Kirk sailed out past the three of them, two of whom were trying to muffle snickers. It was good to be home.
Kirk's good mood lasted even through the back-log of paperwork Barrows delivered him at shiftchange. What killed it was Sulu who, once they were underway to system 2G59, next in their search pattern of this sector, asked Spock:
"So, did you ever locate a sample of the native ecology?"
Kirk, who had been playing three-dimensional sudoku in between writing reports, froze.
Ah. You went back down to the planet, Mister Spock? The words stuck in his throat.
"Yes, I was able to obtain several samples. Quite fascinating."
Kirk was still ninety per cent sure that he had not met the real Spock down on that planet. But his Spock-sense was suggesting that some of that last comment was to his address. Kirk cleared his throat and his game and pulled up the reports again.
"Captain." Spock found him, as he knew he would if he was in fact the biggest idiot in the quadrant.
"Yes, Mister Spock?" Kirk sat back from his desk. After a moment's consideration, he also stood up.
"I wanted to ask if you encountered anything...unexpected occurred while you were on shore leave."
"Well, the whole experience was rather unexpected. But now that you mention it, there were a...few things."
"Indeed. As for myself, I had not in fact been thinking about you galloping in on a white horse, kissing me, and then riding away; but the experience was not altogether unpleasant, and my subconscious mind is not always as well disciplined as I might wish, so I reasoned I might compare-"
"You mean that was you?" Kirk interrupted.
Spock cocked his head in that way he had, like the physical action would make his brain jump tracks more quickly. "A white horse, captain?"
"Enterprise was a grey, technically."
"Enterpr-"
"You must never, ever tell McCoy." It was instantly imperative that he be as firm as he could on that point, for whatever good it would do him.
"About which part, captain?"
"About any of it."
"I see. You wish our relationship to remain a secret."
"Rela-" Spock hadn't gone on doing-seeing-er, things, had he?
"That is of course what you desire."
"Well, yes, but-I mean. That is, you-"
"I had thought to wait a time yet before broaching the topic, but it would have been illogical to let this opportunity pass by."
"I-That is, I-" Well, he wasn't used to getting propositions levelled at him like scanner readings, for one thing.
"Captain, I believe you are babbling."
Spock's eyes, though, were unwontedly intense. Well, he'd be damned if he let Vulcan logic have the last word in this discussion. He seized Spock by the shoulders and put a stop to all the nonsense.
"Just don't tell Bones about the horse."
*For those of you fortunate enough not to know, the full lyric is, with a gun and a rope and a hat full of hope.