Star Trek: Do not own.

Characters: Do not own.

Fascination/borderline obsession with Star Trek: Yes. Very yes.

This is just something I threw together. Actually, it's my first fanfiction. If you like it, let me know and I'll see what I can do about another chapter.

…

"Look what you've gotten us into this time, you logic-ridden bio-comp!" McCoy was sitting at the controls, trying fiercely to get the shuttlecraft off-course, as its current course was heading straight for a large mass of water on an unnamed planet's surface; the planet they were supposed to be surveying for scientific purposes. "We're about to crash on an unfamiliar planet, and you're just sitting there, meditating!" He spat the word.

"Doctor, all other options have been exhausted. The controls are unresponsive; the doors are sealed tightly shut. We have no other alternative but to prepare for impact." He glanced up from behind his steepled fingers. "Also, I find it hard to believe that pounding your fist against the controls is going to have any positive results."

"Well, think of it this way." McCoy put on his best sarcastic tone as he turned towards the Vulcan, both ignoring the stream of planetary information that was erratically spewing from the speakers. "I am venting my frustrations on something other than your green-tinted hide, and burning calories to boot!"

"Your Old-Earth concern for burning calories is hardly logical, Doctor; we may need as much stored energy as we have left, assuming we survive the crash." McCoy was about to execute a new sarcastic attack when they hit the surface of the ocean. Any attempts at speech were thrown to a halt as the two lone passengers of the craft were thrown to the back of the shuttle.

Spock leapt into action. Knowing that the shuttlecraft doors would have weakened from the impact, he summoned all of his Vulcan strength and forced the doors open. He then shouted a command to McCoy to grab the floatation pads that spent most of their time as insulation under the seats. The doctor brought them, and together they pushed themselves free of the quickly-sinking craft.

Only McCoy looked back as the two paddled their way to shore.

…

Once they stepped onto the pebble-laden shore, Spock grabbed McCoy's floatation device and walked to the towering, pockmarked cliffs jutting up three stories high on their left.

"Just a minute, Spock! What are you doing with those pads?"

Spock stopped and turned, his face hard to distinguish in the quickly-fading light. "I am taking them to a place where they will be sheltered. This planet's weather patterns are very temperamental and we have no guarantee that they won't blow away. After I locate a suitable place to reside, it is imperative that we gather whatever supplies we can find before heading to rest." he walked a bit farther, examining the cliff face.

"Shouldn't we sleep first, to gather as much strength as possible?" Spock shook his head.

"We need to use all the resources available to us. You are still filled with adrenaline; it would be prudent to utilize that resource. Look for objects that may prove useful." Spock proceeded to stride away from the unyielding menagerie of stone and across the rocky shoreline.

…

After a few hours, the two had an assortment of objects that had washed up, scattered around the inside of a cozy-looking hollow in the cliff wall: a few metal shards of the shuttlecraft, a pair each of phasers, tricorders and communicators (all inoperable due to the water), McCoy's waterproof bag of medicinal supplies, a spare pair of uniforms, and all the native vegetation they could find. A few dry, grey leaves were smoldering in a pile near the entrance, and McCoy and Spock were debating whether to use one of the two tri-ox compound doses on the fire.

"The tri-ox compound would allow the plant's cells to take in more oxygen, helping them burn! The atmosphere here is fine, we don't need to worry about oxygen lack. Just so long as we get this puny fire ablaze!"

"Doctor," Spock started, eyebrow raised. "We are uncertain of the plant's chemical composition. It might not be made of combustible matter. Also, even if the plants are similar to Earth's or Vulcan's, plants use oxygen to use the energy stored in their sugar molecules. Tampering with their functions might result in a plant that is too combustible, endangering our supplies. The worst scenario possible is that it would alter the plant's genetic makeup, creating a species that uses oxygen instead of carbon dioxide to produce its energy. This could cause an excess of carbon dioxide in the air, permanently altering the planet. The risks outweigh the benefits. It would be illogical to—" McCoy, who had first been listening to the science officer's lecture and then turned his attention to adjusting their water-logged supplies so that they would dry evenly, snapped.

"You and your cold Vulcan blood and your colder Vulcan logic! I'm so irritated I'm burning up!"

Spock raised his eyebrows. "Your observation is fascinating. I had not noticed the increase in temperature, as I am quite comfortable right now." McCoy mumbled something like "see what I mean?" as Spock stepped closer to the edge of their discovered shelter. After a moment he came back inside.

"The weather outside is reminiscent of your 'winter'. Temperatures have dropped far further than the density of the atmosphere would allow. The source of heat is the 'puny' fire, which seems to be putting out all heat and no light, in terms of energy." McCoy squinted down at the pile of smoking foliage.

"You're right Spock. I hadn't noticed it before. Our equipment'll dry out in no time!"

"Your statement is inaccurate, but its meaning is more or less correct. However, without a light source, we are going to need to find some other means of navigating this cave in the dark."

"Couldn't we just sleep it out? I'm pretty bushed." Spock couldn't judge the accuracy of that statement, as his eyes were built for the blinding light of Vulcan and took time to adjust to the almost pitch-black state of affairs.

"Doctor, were you listening to the data on the planet that the computer was providing?"

"No, since I was busy panicking. Why?" McCoy scoffed.

"Because at our current latitude, nighttime lasts approximately 46.34 hours at this time of year."

Silence enveloped the suddenly miniscule room, and was suddenly broken by a thud. Then another.

"Are you well, Doctor?"

"Trapped in a God-forsaken pitch-black sauna trying to pass as a cavern for almost two days with that computer…" Spock evaluated the mystery noise as Bones hitting his head against the cavern wall.

"Please stop ramming your head against the wall, Doctor. Your intelligence will be invaluable if we are to survive, and mysterious "cave paintings" left here for future hominids to discover would be a violation of the Prime Directive." The noises stopped.

"Did… Did you just attempt to make a joke?"

"I attempted to distract you from harming yourself. I take it I was successful."

Silence.

"It's a good thing I'm such a positive person. An optimist through and through."

"That statement is inaccurate. However, I wish to know what made you say so." McCoy could've sworn he heard a bit of cynicism in the Vulcan's voice, but decided he had imagined it.

"I've decided to make the best of the situation. It'll be a test of my character and inner stability. I'll survive this; not only being stranded on a deserted planet…" Spock could hear Bones laying down on the foliage-in-waiting, preparing for sleep.

"… but also being on a deserted island with you!"

…