Welcome back. In this one...well, read to find out! Have fun! And thanks for reading thus far.

Leonard slowly opened his eyes. He felt light again, and for a moment he wondered if Spock had turned the gravity off again. But no, there was a soft surface beneath him. A bed? A steady beeping came from behind him. A biofunction monitor.

He was in sickbay.

He raised his head and propped himself up on his elbows. Christine Chapel came hurrying towards him.

"Easy there, Len. We almost lost you," she murmured and gently pressed him back into the pillow.

"How long?" he whispered.

She shook her head. "Too long," she said bitterly.

"Chris, what happened?"

Her face was tear-streaked and she looked like she hadn't slept in days. She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

"Later, Leonard, you've got to rest."

"Where's..." he looked to his left. A privacy curtain was drawn between his bed and the next.

"Chris, where's Spock?" he asked, panicking.

He sat up again and made to stand up.

"Lie down, Leonard!" Christine said and tried to push him back down. But he grabbed her hands and shook his head.

"No! Chris, I have to...He..." He stopped and looked at her imploringly. "Where's Spock, Chris?" he asked, his voice starting to shake.

She didn't answer, but her eyes flickered over to the obscured bed for an instant.

"Draw the curtain back, Chris," Leonard pleaded. "I have to know."

At the same time she had glanced at the curtain, he had realised that he was hearing only one biofunction monitor.

Christine sighed and squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry, Len, I'm so very sorry."

She drew back the curtain.

Leonard tumbled to the floor and stumbled over to the other bed, where Spock was lying, motionless and pale.

"No! Spock, please, no!"

He shook his shoulders, touched cold skin, took Spock's lifeless face between his hands.

"No, not again, not like this..."

He stared into his expressionless face, willing for his eyes to open.

"Wake up, Spock, dammit!"

Spock remained still and limp.

Leonard broke down crying.

"I'm sorry, Spock, I'm sorry..."

He leant heavily against the bed, hopelessly looking for a sign of life. He felt cold again, it was creeping through his sickbay attire like cold, dead fingers.

Spock was gone.

"Don't do this to me."

A tremor went through Leonard, as strong as if someone was shaking him. He was still shivering from their icy ordeal, no doubt.

Frozen to death, what a terrible fate for a Vulcan.

"Doctor McCoy!"

Someone was calling his name. But he ignored it. Spock was dead, whoever wanted something from him could wait.

Another tremor shook him and the voice kept calling him. He kept ignoring it.

"Please come back," he whispered and burrowed his face in his arms.

"Doctor McCoy!" the voice called him again.

This time, he wheeled around, angry at whoever dared to interrupt his grief. "Leave me alone!" he shouted.

"I will do no such thing," Spock said calmly, bending over him, and loosening the grip on his shoulders.

"Spock, what…"

"You had a nightmare."

He had noticed the Doctor moving restlessly a while ago. When he had heard his own name, and instead of calming down, the Doctor had begun to cry, Spock had decided to wake him.

"Urgh, I'm sorry," McCoy mumbled and wiped away the tears that had run down his face while dreaming.

"It's alright, Doctor," Spock said, gently holding on to his shoulders. His repertoire of how to deal with crying friends was limited, so he simply kept hovering over him.

"I was in sickbay," McCoy began, "and you were dead, you'd frozen to death…"

"I understand," Spock said simply. He had heard enough to know how distressing the nightmare had been.

McCoy nodded weakly. "Thanks, Spock," he mumbled and turned on his side.

He tried to fall asleep again but to no avail. His heart was beating too fast, he was cold, and the image of the dream was still haunting him. What point was it, anyway, trying to sleep if you knew you'd die?

The sound of a zipper reached his ears. He turned around to see Spock opening his sleeping bag.

"What're you doin'?" he asked him.

"Helping you sleep," Spock said, took off his blankets, draped them over the Doctor, and slipped into the sleeping bag next to him. He closed the zipper again and shuffled closer to the Doctor.

"Right, but you're 'a Vulcan, not a teddy bear'."

Spock raised one eyebrow. "Don't argue, sleep."

McCoy only scoffed and turned away again. He had to admit, though, that there was a certain logic to this. It was one of the easiest ways to conserve body heat. He snuggled closer towards Spock. It was ever so slightly warmer now, and although Spock was shivering uncontrollably against his back, it was quite comfortable.

"Spock?"

"Yes?"

"Please stay," McCoy whispered, in an unusual moment of vulnerability.

"I will," Spock said, with his typical matter-of-factness.

In the morning, when he noticed the Doctor was waking up, Spock slipped quietly out of the sleeping bag, walked stiffly over to the emergency supply compartment, took two small items out of it and put them into his pocket. Then, he walked over to the emergency rations and put two packs on the heating unit in preparation for an early lunch. It was the least he could do, especially on a day like this.

Having done that, he wrapped himself in two blankets again and waited for McCoy to wake up.

He did not have to wait long. Soon, the Doctor awoke, turned around, noticed Spock, and slowly inched closer to him, not even bothering to get out of his sleeping bag.

"What're you doin'?" he slurred, indicating the heating unit and opened rations.

"I am preparing…lunch," Spock said, hesitating to call his selection of warm dishes 'breakfast'."

"Lunch before breakfast?" McCoy asked, picking up on Spock's pause. "Didn't know you had it in you."

Spock ignored the Doctor's teasing. "Considering the circumstances, I thought it not unreasonable," he said.

"Hm, yeah, who knows if we'll be alive by lunchtime."

Spock arched one of his eyebrows. That was not what he had meant, but the Doctor would see early enough what he had in mind.

When the food was warm enough, Spock took the plates from the heater and handed one to McCoy.

"What're we having?"

"Pasta and beans."

"Well, there's worse." McCoy shrugged. "Thanks, Spock."

"You're welcome. And, Leonard?"

"What is it?" he asked, taken aback by the unusual form of address.

"Happy birthday."

"Oh." He let his spoon sink back into the beans. "Well, thank you, Spock. I appreciate it. Let's make the best of it, shall we?"

"Indeed, we shall," Spock answered and they continued to eat their beans in companionable silence.

"Well, that was nice of you, Spock, thanks," the Doctor said after they had finished. The beans were, like everything in the ration packs, not nearly as delicious as he'd like, but they had warmed him a bit. "I think I'm gonna get a protein bar for dessert. Want one, too?"

"Not necessary," Spock said. "We have crème brûlée."

"Crème brûlée? In our ration packs? Well, when in Rome…" He noticed Spock's look. "It's an expression. I'd like some is what I meant."

"Ah." Spock nodded and proceeded to heat the bowl of crème brûlée.

"Didn't know they had added that to the rations," McCoy mumbled. "Of course the crust won't be right, but this should be better than a protein bar."

Spock raised an eyebrow at him as he took the desert from the heater. "Do not eat yet," he said and pulled the phaser he had taken from the emergency supplies out of his pocket. He turned it to the lowest setting, aimed it at the crème brûlée, fired, and waited for the crust to caramelise.

"Why do you have a phaser?" McCoy asked incredulously.

"They are standard emergency equipment, stored in the shuttle."

"We could have made a fire!" The short relief from the beans had worn off and he had started to shiver violently again. The prospect of a fire seemed too good to be true.

"Which would have diminished our oxygen supply," Spock said, immediately dashing his hopes.

Then, without missing a beat, he thrust his hand into his pocket again, pulled out a small candle, placed it on the crème brûlée, and aimed his phaser at the wick. His hand was shaking so badly, he had to steady it with the other one and rest it on his knee.

"Spock…" McCoy began, then decided not to pull attention to the Vulcan's failing control. "What about our oxygen supply?" he asked instead, as the candle ignited.

Spock cocked his head and answered his smirk with a challenging look. "As the purpose of a birthday candle is to be blown out," he said, "why don't you go ahead and rectify my mistake?"

McCoy chuckled. "Well, I won't say no to that," he said. "Do you think it's still worth making a wish?"

Without waiting for an answer, he bent over the makeshift birthday cake, blew out the candle, and made a wish.

Coming from a ration pack, the crème brûlée was as dull as expected. Still, Leonard couldn't help but feel that it was one of the best deserts he had ever had. There was something special about it, either because of the knowledge that it was the last dessert he'd ever eat, or because Spock had taken the care to make it, and he savoured it in slow, small spoonfuls.

Next to him, Spock did the same, his shivering form wrapped tightly in a bunch of blankets. He finished eating before the Doctor and proceeded to fiddle with the rations and the heating unit again.

McCoy didn't pay much attention to him, being immersed in relishing the crème brûlée. And so, it took him by surprise that when he had finished the beans, he found a mug with steaming dark liquid being placed before him.

"Didn't know we had coffee," he said as Spock set the mug down. "Thanks, though."

"There were some packets of powder at the bottom of the rations. I doubt it will satisfy your culinary tastes, but it is at least warm."

McCoy raised his mug with both hands, almost spilling it, so badly was he shaking. He took a tentative sip and almost spat it out immediately.

"You weren't exaggerating! It tastes like piss!"

He looked over at Spock who was taking small sips from the horrid drink, cradling the mug in his shaking hands.

"Don't tell me you like it?"

"I find it repulsive," Spock said and continued drinking from the watery liquid.

"Why do you drink it, then?" McCoy asked.

Spock arched an eyebrow at him over the rim of the mug. "Because it is warm," he said.

"Yeah, and so is….well, forget it. Thanks for the drink."

He finished the offending liquid slowly, and after he had collected all the blankets, and Spock's sleeping bag, he crawled over to the Vulcan who had sat against the wall after finishing his coffee.

"Here, take this," McCoy said and sat next to him after he had dropped the sleeping bag on him. Spock slipped into the bag agonisingly slow, and he fidgeted with the zipper for a long time. When he was covered up to the neck, McCoy dared to move closer, until he was pressed against the Vulcan's side.

"Whose idea was it to send me to this godawful place?" he grumbled, the crossness in his voice inhibited by his chattering teeth.

"It was Jim's," Spock said, his speech affected as well.

"Yes, but why?" McCoy asked and, without really thinking about it, pulled the Vulcan's blanket higher, and tighter around him.

"To get you out of the way," he murmured.

"To get me out of the way? What for?"

Spock turned his head to look at him and flinched slightly, apparently not having expected the Doctor to be quite as close to him.

"Because of your birthday," he said laboriously, "We had planned a get-together, a party. And you were supposed to miss the preparations."

"Well, mission accomplished," Doctor McCoy said with a sarcastic chuckle. "A happy birthday, indeed."

"What makes a birthday happy?" Spock asked quietly.

"Some good company is always good," McCoy began and leant against the Vulcan's shoulder. "And food. Maybe a cake, something to drink. But the good company is more important than any cake or presents."

"I see. You must regret missing out on that today, then," Spock whispered, hugging his knees to his chest, looking at the far wall.

"I didn't know you cared about birthdays that much," McCoy murmured.

"I don't. But you do."

"Well, Spock, I do miss our friends. But I'm not missing out completely. The company I have is not too shabby." He smiled up at Spock, but apart from a small nod, he got no answer.

The Vulcan's eyes were closed again, and McCoy could feel himself growing tired. But he wouldn't give up that quickly, not while Spock was still alive.

"You really have to stop dying around other people's birthdays," he said, and he wasn't sure himself if he meant it as a joke or an honest sentiment.

Spock's eyelids fluttered open and he looked back at him. "Was that your wish?" he asked.

"My wish?"

"The wish you made when you blew out the candle."

"Hm," McCoy smirked to himself. "I'm not telling you," he said cheekily. "That's a secret I'll take to my grave."

Spock only shrugged. "Very well."

McCoy had half hoped for Spock to dig deeper, to ask him after the wish he had made, if only to have some sign of life from him, to hear his voice for as long as still possible. He was damned if he would ever admit that to him, though.

"I doubt this is what the Academy meant when it advertised the final frontier."

"Unlikely," Spock agreed. "Although it is a fitting descriptor of our fate."

"Sure it is," McCoy said. "I mean, what else is death but the final frontier. I just didn't plan to meet it that soon."

"Indeed. Neither did I," the Vulcan murmured and lowered his gaze to his knees.

To be continued...

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