A/N: Okay, since you guys convinced me to do the Arizona road trip, here it is. As an official sequel to In Between. This is quite a bit more lighthearted than In Between, since I want to try my hand at fluffier atmospheres...I write too much depressing stuff... And so I apologized if you feel like there's a bit of a disconnection between the two stories? YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

What's lovely about this is that it still counts as an "in between" scene, because…..well, they had to be doing something during the year before the rechristening of the Enterprise, right? OHOHOHO. Hope you enjoy, I had lots of fun with this one. I must say, writing a setting on Earth after all of the fics I've done in space and random made-up planets is WEIRD. And strangely reassuring, haha. Good old Earth. I also feel like I haven't written enough UST in a while, so this was also quite refreshing.

Also, I have never been to the Grand Canyon or Arizona, soooooo um I apologize ahead of time if I make any terrible glaring errors. The extent of my research is pretty much limited to the Internet and general imaginative nonsense, hahaaa. But, hey, this IS set in the future so I can take some creative license, right? Right...?

...

"I have never been to Arizona."

Jim was too caught off guard by the unexpected statement to answer, his mouth gaping and closing uncertainly until he hesitantly tried to clarify, "Arizona?"

"As most of my time on Earth has been spent on Starfleet business, I have never taken the opportunity to visit the acclaimed natural spectacles of the planet. I believe there is one such spectacle in the state of Arizona.."

Jim frowned in concentration. He'd never been particularly good at guessing games. "Are you- are you talking about the Grand Canyon?"

"It is not so 'grand', I believe. Vulcan's canyons were much more awe-inspiring."

Jim felt his lips twitch into a slow grin. "Come on, you've never even seen it."

"Perhaps I will visit, afterwards."

Now it was Jim's turn to fall silent. Afterwards. He hadn't even considered the possibility of there being an 'afterwards'. It was one thing to hope, to fight, it was another to think about an 'after'.

"Tell you what," he said at last. "After this….how about I take you there? We'll make it a road trip, just the two of us."

Day One

"Are you ready?"

Spock raised his eyes warily to appraise the human before him. Jim was grinning widely, practically bouncing with excitement. He had two duffle bags slung casually over his right shoulder, a helmet tucked under his left arm. There was something strange about seeing the captain in civilian clothing, Spock decided. He looked altogether too relaxed in them; the way the thin shirt and jacket clung to his frame was almost indecent. A pair of amber driving goggles hung about his neck, and it was a lurching reminder of the upcoming ordeal.

"I am uncertain," Spock answered at length, taking one of the bags Jim now proffered to him. The clothes that Jim had provided for him, deeming his customary wear utterly inappropriate for road travel….jeans, he recalled absently, scraped awkwardly against his skin as he moved. It was not an altogether unpleasant feeling, merely unfamiliar, yet it served as another reminder of the strangeness of this situation.

"Aw, come on. This is going to be great," Jim said brightly. He moved past Spock briskly to the motorcycle parked on the side of the road. With a small, indulgent sigh, Spock followed. It had not been long after Jim had been dispatched from the hospital, a scarce three days, in fact, before he had abruptly brought up the subject of the trip. Honestly, Spock had completely put it out of his mind, thinking that it was an unlikely venture. He should have suspected that Jim would defy his expectations yet again.

Of course, he had made the appropriate arguments against the outing. Jim was still recovering. Dr. McCoy would be furious beyond the capabilities of human speech. There was an immense amount of paperwork left to compile, not to mention the delicate situation surrounding his apparent "death" to maintain. Jim had waved away all of Spock's perfectly legitimate protests with his usual flippancy, declaring that he had thoroughly earned himself a week of vacation "that hellhole of a mission," and since he had promised Spock a road trip...

"Your enthusiasm is somewhat concerning," Spock commented dryly, eyeing the vehicle before him skeptically. Where Jim had gotten it, and so quickly, he did not know, and neither did he think he wanted to.

Jim chuckled, strapping his duffel to the side of the bike before swinging a leg over and straddling the seat. He balanced on the balls of his feet as he tossed the motorcycle helmet at Spock. Spock caught it neatly, balancing the helmet in his hand doubtfully. "You have only the one," he said accusingly.

Jim shrugged casually. "I'm fine without one."

"That is unacceptable," Spock told him sternly. "This is a severe violation of safety regulations, and-"

"Look, I've done this for half my life, Spock. This is, what, your first time ever? Trust me, you'll need it more than I will. Now come on." Jim bounced impatiently in the seat. "Let's go."

Spock considered protesting again, then resigned himself to the fact that it would only serve to solidify Jim's determination. The helmet was an unfortunate shade of bright pink, a garish monstrosity Spock heavily suspected Jim would not normally possess. He did not know whether to be amused or irritated by this obvious act of provocation and settled on a slightly miffed indifference.

With the air of undertaking a grave task, he put the helmet on over his head, his ears suffering slight discomfort at the unaccommodating confines, and studiously ignored Jim's suspiciously twitching grin. Primly, Spock then set himself to the task of securing his own luggage on the side of the motorcycle, then paused uncertainly at the vehicle's side. Jim patted the seat behind him with an irking grin. "Hop on."

Spock exhaled resignedly and tentatively seated himself behind Jim. The motorcycle dipped and swayed with his weight, the leather creaking beneath him as he settled himself awkwardly. An alarming tilt to the right had him tightening his knees about the sides of the wide seat, reaching out with his hands to-

He did not know what to do with his hands.

As if Jim had sensed this problem, he reached back around without looking and grasped Spock's wrist, pulling it around himself so that it rested flat on his stomach. Spock tensed at the sudden closeness this position brought them to, instinctively trying to pull back as soon as Jim released him.

"You've got to hold on," Jim told him, turning his head to eye Spock reproachfully over his shoulder. "Don't want you falling off or anything."

Spock felt a muscle tic involuntarily at the side of his jaw. "This is not nec-"

"Those are the rules, Spock," Jim's voice lifted in an annoying lilt. "Gotta follow the rules."

Spock took a breath. Then another. Feeling sufficiently stabilized now, he brought his other hand around and placed it tentatively on Jim's side, fingertips resting nervously against his black leather jacket. Tutting, Jim took him by the wrist once more and pulled him forward firmly until Spock's arms were practically wrapped around his waist, his chest bumping against Jim's back.

"Don't argue," Jim said softly, and at this proximity, Spock could feel the rumble of his voice against his chest. Then Jim pulled up his goggles, leaned forward to start the engine, and they were off with a coughing splutter and the smell of exhaust and screeching rubber.

The experience was neither better nor worse than Spock's half-formed expectations. It was loud, it was jolting, the wind harsh and cutting if he did not hide his face behind Jim. Pebbles bounced against the metal of the motorcycle, occasionally pinging off his legs and leaving slight stinging sensations behind.

But it was not all bad, he had to grudgingly admit. There was a certain exhilaration at traveling in open air at such high speeds that somewhat justified Jim's liking for this traditional mode of ground travel. Something primal and fascinating about the howl of the wind and the smell of dust and sunlight. If he was to close his eyes and spread his arms- not an advisable action, by all means- he thought that it would not be unlike flying. Or falling, he supposed, depending on the perspective one took. But his arms remained locked around Jim's waist, and that too was not altogether unpleasant.

The first sharp turn Jim made caught Spock off guard, lost as he was in his contemplations. He automatically pressed closer to Jim, his fingers digging slightly into his abdomen, and thought he felt Jim shudder beneath his palms. Self-consciously, he attempted to loosen his grip, despite every self-preservative instinct telling him not to, and Jim yelled something intelligible into the rushing wind.

Spock was forced to lean over Jim's shoulder to hear. "What was that?" he inquired, raising his own voice. He was not used to having to shout, and the wind rushed down his throat in an odd tickling sensation.

"Hold on tighter back there!" Jim bellowed. If he but turned his head, Spock noticed abruptly, he would be…..they were much closer than he had initially realized. He pulled his head back behind Jim swiftly, obediently tightening his grip.

It was not long after that that he began to become exceeding aware of the intimacy of their positions. Jim's body slouched slightly forward over the motorcycle as he drove, the angle forcing Spock to lean against him in order to maintain his grip around his waist. If he was to relax the slightest degree, he would find his chest completely melded to Jim's back. He therefore stiffened his spine and resolved grimly to hold the position. This proved to be an overestimation of his own physical limits, and as the long minutes passed, he found himself leaning more and more against Jim in a completely unacceptable manner.

He was burningly conscious that his knees were pressing against the sides of Jim's thighs. It was an unavoidable position, but that only seemed to make the matter worse. He was not supposed to be trying to justify this situation. Or enjoying it. Most definitely not the latter.

He found that he disliked the feeling of the wind in his face and made an effort to shield himself behind Jim's head as best as he could. This brought his face discomfortingly close to the back of Jim's neck, the tip of his nose occasionally bumping forward and brushing across the strip of exposed skin over his collar. Jim smelled like sweat and soap and sunlight, and he did not know what to think of the odd, yet not completely displeasing combination.

"You know, we don't have to go straight there and back," Jim remarked, when they paused for a midday respite. Instead of stopping at the nearest town as Spock had anticipated, Jim had simply chugged his way to the side of the road and flung himself down on a patch of grass with a contented groan and stretch. Now he was sitting up, eating a rather crushed sandwich from his bag and licking the last crumbs from his fingers musingly.

Spock sat beside him, running his hand through the short blades of dry grass absently. "What do you propose as an alternative route?" he inquired, when it became evident that Jim was waiting for a response of some kind.

"Well. We've got a week, you know. I figure….we could slow down a bit tomorrow once we hit Nevada, see the country a bit." Jim waved his finger in a vague motion, indicating some sort of circuitous route. "No point in missing out, right?"

Spock honestly had no strong opinion towards the matter, but felt obliged to murmur in agreement. He did not often have the opportunity to see Jim in such a lighthearted mood, after all, and he had no particular dislike towards the thought of viewing more of Earth's natural landscapes. There was little of it left, after all, and where better to begin his observations than an environment that resembled his home planet?

"All right then, we've got a plan." Jim grinned and leaned sideways, jostling Spock in a casual manner that he assumed to be a friendly gesture. There was a brief moment of struggle in his mind as he attempted to decide whether it would be appropriate to reciprocate the action, but Jim stood before he could reach a conclusion, brushing off the seat of his pants in a manner altogether too distracting for Spock's liking. Or perhaps he liked it too much.

They stopped for the night at the outskirts of a small, quiet town on the border of Nevada, just seven hours short of their destination. "You know, Vegas isn't that far off," Jim remarked, with a casualness too deliberate for innocence. Spock only looked at him patiently, and Jim had sighed ruefully. "Another time, then." There was the suggestion of a promise in his words, and Spock was mystified at the pleasant buzzing sensation it caused in his mind.

The motel Jim selected was likewise small, but respectable enough. The woman behind the counter gave the two of them an odd look when Jim requested a single room, giving Spock a particularly curious look, but professionally said nothing. Jim seemed to find the situation amusing, breaking into quiet chuckles as soon as the elevator doors closed.

"Did you see her face?" Jim chortled, his grin creasing the dust smeared across his skin. "She totally thought we-" His eyes darted to Spock, and he fell abruptly silent.

Spock waited politely, but Jim did not continue and so he did not inquire further into the matter. Let Jim have his mysteries; he certainly had his own.

The room was not much smaller than his own quarters aboard the Enterprise, furnished with a desk, an old holovision set, and two single beds that were, in Spock's opinion, far too close to each other.

Jim declared the room to be satisfactory, and proceeded to claim the bed closest to the bathroom by throwing his duffel upon it, flinging himself facedown next to the bag promptly afterwards. "Ughhhhhhh," he groaned obnoxiously into the covers, toeing off his shoes wearily and letting them clunk dully onto the worn carpet.

"You are still dirty," Spock reminded him, carefully setting his own bag at the foot of the other bed.

Jim turned his head slightly to peer at him with one eye, an undignified snort escaping as he took Spock in. "You can take that off now, you know."

Spock started, his hands lifting to touch the helmet. He had not realized that he was still wearing it. It was no wonder, he deplored, that the receptionist had eyed him so. He pulled the thing off with distaste and placed it down with more force than necessary beside his duffel.

There was another noise of humor from the bed, and he turned with a disapproving frown.

"Helmet hair," Jim wheezed. "God, and I thought it was bad before." He extended an arm towards Spock lazily. "Come here."

Spock hesitated. There was something about the glint in the one blue eye he could see that spoke of mischief.

Jim gestured again, more impatiently, "Come on."

Spock gave up and went obediently to Jim's bedside. Once there, Jim gripped the edge of his jacket, tugging insistently until Spock was forced to kneel out of sheer exasperation. Jim's face was now inches from his own. He could make out every individual eyelash, every grain of dirt caught against the pale outline of where his goggles had sat. Every light freckle against wind-burned skin.

Jim reached out absently, combing through Spock's hair with surprising meticulousness, smoothing down the unruly tufts. Spock, not knowing what else to do, closed his eyes and endured the unexpected grooming. He could feel the warmth of Jim's fingers against his scalp, felt the tickling pressure of his light touch. Once, Spock dared to open his eyes and saw that Jim had turned his face fully towards him, both eyes fixed intently on his task. His gaze dropped down to meet Spock's, and there was something in his expression that Spock could not bear to see...or perhaps he wanted to see it too much.

He did not open his eyes again after that.

At long last, Jim's administrations ceased, and Spock peered at him suspiciously. The human had fallen asleep, his back rising and falling gently with every quiet snore. His mouth had fallen slightly open; there was a smudge of dirt at the corner of his parted lips that Spock found himself staring at.

He stood abruptly, raising a hand unconsciously to his head and sliding his own fingers through his hair. He could feel Jim's phantom warmth still, and paused to examine the stirring his chest at the sensation. He regarded the sleeping man sprawled before him, limbs awry and still clad in his dirty travel clothes.

His options were unfortunately limited at this time.

Spock hesitated for a long, reluctant moment. He then proceeded to shower quietly, encountering only a slight moment of confusion with the controls, and, realizing with annoyance that he had yet to unpack clean clothing, padded over to the bed and looked inside the duffel Jim had insisted on packing for him. He had not protested at the offer, having no necessities with him at the time, but now a certain sense of trepidation was filling him as he unzipped the bag and examined its contents thoroughly for the first time.

The first garment he pulled out was apparently one of Jim's old shirts, judging by the worn state of the fabric. He rubbed the dark material between his fingers in contemplation, then pulled it over his head. The cotton was soft against his face, and it smelled irrationally of Jim.

He did not recognize the peeling logo on the front of the shirt, but it was an irrelevant matter. Digging deeper into the bag, he found himself staring at a pair of undergarments that looked suspiciously familiar. In fact, it was the pair he had found beneath the pillow of Jim's bed that one night. He cast an amused glance at Jim's prone form, and gingerly put on the briefs. Upon discovering that there was not a serviceable pair of trousers within the bag, he resigned himself to be the victim of Jim's unwitting negligence yet again and gave up the task.

Spock went to sleep that night with a prickling awareness of Jim's sleeping form practically an arm's reach away. If he so desired, he could stretch out an arm and touch his face, run his fingertips along that shadowed jaw…..

He rolled away firmly and closed his eyes. Morning seemed altogether too far away.

A/N: Chemistry. Chemistry everywhere. They're too hot, I can't. I can't not do it. Suggestions for future scenarios are more than welcome. So far I've got wet Jim in a towel and single-bed motel rooms so you have that to look forward to, lol.