Welcome back! The cold is starting to affect our two officers. McCoy does his best to help, but can he even help? In any case, there'll be some more bantering between them. I mean, what do you expect with those two? But they're trying their best. Have fun reading it!

After half a day of sitting around and doing paperwork, Chris Chapel took a lift to the bridge. Staring at an asteroid belt could not be worse than staring at the beds in a deserted sickbay.

The bridge was eerily silent as well.

"No news yet, Doctor," Jim Kirk said, not taking his eyes off the viewscreen. "We're following their trail, but it's still faint and dispersed in some areas."

Christine nodded, wondering if he expected her to leave again. But she remained at her place next to the centre seat, and he didn't seem to mind.

"How long before their status becomes critical?" the Captain asked.

Doctor Chapel sighed. "I can't say for certain, depending on their energy reserves, it could be within the next few hours or tomorrow. I don't know what these minerals you found could do with the shuttle, but we have to assume there are damages to its power supply either way." She paused and then decided that it would not help to sugarcoat the truth. "We're looking at hypothermia or oxygen deprivation, depending on which systems are compromised. We had better find them by tomorrow at the latest," she said. "Sickbay remains ready."

Kirk nodded curtly, keeping his gaze fixed on the field of asteroids ahead. "Thanks, Bones. We'll try our best."

Pavel Chekov threw him a quick glance over his shoulder and then he realised what he had said.

"I'm sorry, Chris," he murmured, noticing her shocked glance. "I was thinking of the two of them, stranded on some asteroid, possibly nearby. But we can't see them. And because the ion trail is so dispersed, we're zig-zagging around, and a distance that took them some minutes takes us hours."

"Couldn't we ascertain the trail's original heading by extrapolating from its rate of dispersion?"

Kirk smirked at the Doctor. This wasn't a bad idea. And it would work if they were not flying through a manifestation of Murphy's law.

"Mr Chekov."

"We tried," Pavel said, turning around in his seat. "Usually, we should be able to apply the normal rate of decay to a partially dispersed ion trail and ascertain the place of particles in space a given time before. But this time, the dispersion rate is too irregular, due to active interference, probably by the same minerals that are cloaking our shuttle."

Christine met the Captain's amused look after the young navigator had turned back to his station. She wasn't sure she had understood every bit of Pavel's rapid monologue of technobabble.

"Someone's eaten our breadcrumbs," Jim Kirk murmured.

Spock shuddered. He chastised himself for not being able to suppress it anymore, but he knew the cold was getting to him.

"Do we have enough juice to record messages?" McCoy asked from the other seat.

"Go ahead," Spock answered, and stood up to go to the back portion of the shuttle.

The Doctor held him back. "You're not leaving a farewell message?"

"I will write a message while you record one."

"Nonsense, Spock. They'll be happy to hear your voice." He nodded towards the pilot seat. "Sit down, Spock, we'll record it together."

Spock sat back down, grudgingly. He shuddered again, and this time the Doctor had noticed.

McCoy frowned at Spock. He had noticed some minutes ago that the Vulcan had started to shiver intermittently. And knowing Spock, he had suppressed his discomfort for far longer than it had been visible. It was painfully obvious that he was losing the fight to conceal it. McCoy decided not to mention it for now. Based on Spock's estimate of their chances at survival, they were a lost cause anyway.

With shivering hands, McCoy engaged the record function of the main console. They might as well make use of their unusual privilege while they still could. People who died in their line of career usually had no time to record specific farewell messages, mostly just leaving a general message in case of their demise.

He moved up the ranks of their friends, saying a few sentences to one person, waiting for Spock to do the same, and then moving on to the next. He knew that he was relying heavily on platitudes and empty words. But it didn't matter. Their friends needed comfort and closure, some nice words that told them they were loved and that they had thought of them.

The last person to be addressed was Jim. McCoy ended his portion of the message and waited for Spock to take over.

"It's your turn," he said gently.

Spock had handled himself well during this task. McCoy could see that he was affected by their situation, not only physically.

It took him a moment to react, but after clearing his throat, Spock commenced recording his last words to Jim.

"Hello, Jim," he said, "I hope that, following our loss, this message will be of some comfort to you. There is nothing I can say that will keep you from feeling our absence. But I will try to alleviate your grief by letting you know that I did not suffer long, and my death was painless. Furthermore, I was not alone. Even still alive at the point of this recording, I take comfort in the fact that I will leave this life as I led it: surrounded by the love of my friends. The good Doctor will have done his best to care for me, and I will have been there for him. Maybe you can take some comfort from that knowledge as well." He paused to collect his thoughts and to wait for a shiver to pass. "It was an honour to serve with you, Jim. You have been a formidable officer, a great Captain, and most of all, you have been a friend. I could never forget your valuable lessons in humanity and the warmth with which you accepted me into your life. Thank you, for being my friend. Live long and prosper."

He exhaled briefly, ended and saved the recording.

"Dammit, Spock," McCoy whispered. It was one thing to know how much Jim meant to him, and a different thing to hear him admit to it.

Spock did not say anything, and they sat in silence for a long while, replaying their last words in their heads.

McCoy wondered if he should have praised Pavel more for his exemplary career, if he should have put a greater emphasis on his trust in Christine's capabilities as a doctor, if he should have said more to all of their friends, or less. Ultimately, he decided that their messages were good the way they were. There was no perfect way to say farewell, it was always sad.

After a while of sitting around quietly, he got bored. Typical, he thought, to know you were going to die and to get bored with the little life you had in you. He turned to watch Spock, his only remaining source of entertainment.

The Vulcan was shivering pitifully, nearly as bad as McCoy. The Doctor had never handled cold particularly well but knew it must be even worse for Spock.

"You alright?" he asked, and immediately regretted the question.

Spock raised one eyebrow. "I am as well as you are, Doctor."

"Pretty damn awful, then," McCoy murmured, ignoring Spock's teasing tone.

He got up, picked out two woollen blankets from the stack, and returned to the cockpit.

"Here, Spock," he said, "I don't know about you, but I'd rather stay as warm as possible for as long as possible. If you'd rather freeze now than later…"

Spock shot him a reproachful look but accepted the blanket.

"What wouldn't I give for some Klingons or Romulans now," McCoy sighed. "Or even a sentient machine, or a non-corporeal lifeform."

"Illogical. Apart from the fact that we cannot change our fate, you would complain either way."

"Well, you know what they say about the grass on the other side of the fence."

"I do not," Spock said, visibly perplexed.

"Well, it's always greener."

"Is that an allusion to my heritage?"

"No, it's an idiom you…Vulcan: 'The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence'. It means that other people might seem to have it better but once you're in their situation, you realise it's not all that good."

"Ah. Indeed." Spock paused, then said quietly, "There is no green grass on Vulcan."

"That doesn't surprise me," McCoy mumbled, earning himself a sceptical look.

He looked out the window, letting his gaze sweep over white dunes, and the stars above, subconsciously searching for movement.

"Do you think it's sentient?" he asked after a while. "The mineral, not the grass!" he added, just to be sure.

Spock shook his head. "I do not. Why should it be?"

"It's caused us an awful lot of trouble so far, taking out every system one by one…"

"Not everything that poses an inconvenience to you does so consciously, Doctor. Surely you must know that."

"I do, I know it's silly. Must be human paranoia. Being all alone out here is triggering my imagination."

"You are not alone," Spock said calmly. "I am with you."

"Why thank you," McCoy murmured, smiling again. "I'm grateful."

"I was merely stating a fact. Neither of us is alone."

The Doctor glared at the Vulcan's smug expression. "And here I was, thinking you were telling me you were taking care of me and there was no reason to be scared."

"That, too," Spock said simply.

McCoy wrapped the blanket tighter and sighed. "Look at us, destined to die. And what do we waste our time with? Petty banter and arguments."

"I do not consider it a waste."

"What?"

"I do not consider our discussions and exchange of opinions a waste of time," Spock said, raising an eyebrow at the Doctor's disbelief.

"Well, you're taking all the fun out of it now," McCoy grumbled.

Some hours later, they had relapsed into silence. Spock had sat down on his sleeping bag, and apart from the constant shivering, he had not moved for ages.

McCoy worried about him. The Vulcan had his eyes closed, and even before, he had been unusually withdrawn. If he felt only nearly as bad as McCoy, he must be feeling pretty wretched. The Doctor could feel the cold creeping through his clothes despite the blanket, and he could not stop the shaking any more than Spock could his own.

McCoy walked slowly over to Spock and gingerly sat down next to him. He didn't react. Maybe he was asleep then. Knowing him, he had slept little to nothing last night.

Making a decision, McCoy moved closer to Spock and tenderly wrapped his arms around him, enveloping him in a soft embrace.

Spock still didn't react to this unusual proximity but continued to shiver silently. McCoy doubted he could still muster the warmth to alleviate the Vulcan's suffering. He felt half-frozen himself, and could barely retain his teeth from chattering. And the fact that Spock remained unresponsive was unusual at best.

But then McCoy, in an instinctive gesture of comfort, squeezed gently.

Spock recoiled.

"Please, Doctor. I am a Vulcan, not a teddy bear," he said and freed himself from the hug.

"I merely wanted to warm you," McCoy murmured, "Wouldn't it be logical to cater to the human need of physical closeness once in a while?"

Spock only raised an eyebrow at him and closed his eyes again.

"You might just like it," McCoy continued, shooting his friend an exasperated look.

"You will not persuade me to be smothered in your clutches, Doctor," he said, without even opening his eyes.

McCoy sighed and got up. He went to the emergency rations pack and returned with a nutrient biscuit and a glass of water.

"At least eat a bit," he said. "We have enough food and water to last us the rest of our lives."

Spock poked his hands out of the folds of his blanket and took the dry disk and the water, frowning only slightly at the Doctor's gallows humour.

McCoy watched him nibble the biscuit and sat down next to him with a portion of his own.

He continued to be worried. Spock was showing signs of hypothermia already, and there was nothing he could do. The realisation hit McCoy like a punch in the guts: there was nothing he could do. He would have to watch Spock die. However many blankets they had, at some point the cold would be too much for the Vulcan's body to bear, and he would fall asleep and not wake up again.

McCoy knew full well that he was no better off himself. They were both going to die, and were experiencing the first signs of their coming end.

"What time is it?"

McCoy had lost all feeling of time. It must be late already but he couldn't imagine that they had spent almost a full day shivering and sitting around to wait for their end.

"2107 hours," Spock said with his characteristic accuracy.

So it had been almost a day.

He watched over the Vulcan for a while, then got up to fetch some extra blankets. He crouched down next to Spock and wrapped a silver emergency blanket around him. Then, seeing that he couldn't help him any further, he slipped into his sleeping bag and fell asleep after staring at the shuttle ceiling for the better part of half an hour.

To be continued...

And the waiting continues...But now they seem to be waiting for their end, not rescue. Or is there still hope? Stay tuned to find out!