A/N:  First things first, I need to thank you all for hanging in there, waiting for this chapter (assuming you're still out there…).  I really didn't intend to leave this for so long, but here's an attempt at a (fairly) quick explanation:  flash back to last year (yeah, I hate when people say that, too).  First there was the semester burn-out, which tied in with holiday burn-out, so I didn't do anything except, I don't know, watch TV for about a week.  Along with whatever goes with the holidays.  Then there was the snow.  Actually, that doesn't really have anything to do with my writing, so never mind.  But then, there was the disillusionment.  I started the chapter (oh, and I also edited the first 4, which I will change by the next chapter), decided it sucked, threw the whole thing under my bed, returned a week later, wasn't quite as disappointed with it, and then left that part largely unchanged.  Did that make sense?  So, this chapter's been finished for nearly two weeks or so.  What's the delay?  Computers.  I have a computer.  I intended to set it up over my break, but for reasons unknown to me, I did not.  So, I had no way to type this up.  Now I do.  End of story, I guess.

I mentioned "writer's block" somewhere, and just to set the record straight, I really didn't have writer's block.  In the past several months, I've never had a "block" per se.  My lack of writing is based more on "I don't feel like writing right now, even though I have something to write."  I would call my break more of a "Writer's Deluge," in the sense that I worked on a lot of stuff, but very little of it is complete.  I think before I can work on much of it, I need to post more stuff.  So, here we go.

I was going to give a big sap warning, because this would have been The Sap Chapter.  It is, to some degree, but not quite in the way I originally planned.  Suffice it to say, it's sap of a different nature.  I had a good sap warning, too.  Would you like to hear it?  Good.  It went something like this:

[read in sideshow announcer's voice]  Get your buckets under the tree taps, folks!  This chapter's guaranteed sappier than your average Maple syrup!

Maybe I should quit while I'm ahead.

Well, this chapter's a bit longer than usual, but I hope it's worth the length (and the wait).  Come to think of it, this intro is way too long.  You can skip right to the story if you like.

It's good to be back.

Chapter 5:  Trivial Pursuit

When last we left our heroes, Spock was about to be decapitated and McCoy was about to do something (presumably) heroic…

            McCoy charged forward with a roar, slamming full-force into the Large Thing.  He succeeded only in knocking himself completely off-balance.  With an almost casual flick of one fat, hairy appendage, the Large Thing pushed McCoy to the ground.  He collapsed painfully a couple meters away from Spock, realizing a bit too late that lunging in without a plan has its consequences.

            "Okay," McCoy grunted lifting his face from the dirt, "that didn't quite work out the way I planned."

            "Thank…you, Doctor," Spock choked.

            McCoy's failed attack wasn't entirely in vain, however.  The Large Thing hesitated just long enough for Spock to squirm his neck out from under direct contact with the sharp pincers.  McCoy rolled to his feet a short distance away and grabbed a tree branch, conveniently located within arm's reach.  He swung wildly, as hard as he could.  It smashed into the main mass of the Large Thing, which then let out an ear-piercing, howling bellow.

            McCoy backed off and cringed, trying to protect his ears from the shattering noise, while also waving the branch at the Large Thing threateningly.  The Large Thing ignored him, already in too much pain to bother with further threats.  All of its appendages stiffened and stood on end in what might have been a comical manner if the situation were not so dire.  The Large Thing stumbled around on its bulbousy base, finally forgetting Spock.

            Spock wriggled away from the Large Thing, backpedaling on all fours until he rammed headfirst into a tree.  McCoy almost choked laughing, despite all the other things he was trying to do at the same time, most notably drive off the Large Thing.

            He hurried over to Spock's side, holding the stick out in front of him.  The Large Thing limped its way into the trees and disappeared.  McCoy wasn't convinced of their safety, but he'd take what he could get.

            "Are you all right?" McCoy asked, peering down at Spock, who was still on his back.

            Spock looked up with some surprise and groggy confusion.  Blood trickled freely from the wound in his neck, soaking into the front of his uniform shirt.  "Yes, Doctor," he slurred.

            McCoy studied him with concern, but kept his face calm.  "Come on, we'd better get out of here before that Thing comes back."

            Spock just stared up at him blankly for a few seconds.  McCoy tried not to wince.  He held out a hand for Spock to pull himself up with.  Slowly, Spock straightened himself to his full height, swaying slightly with dizziness.

            "What's the matter, Spock?" McCoy asked.  He snapped his fingers in front of Spock's face, checking his reflexes.  Spock flinched and pulled his head back.  "That creature must have some kind of stunning venom," McCoy said thoughtfully, more to himself than Spock.

            Spock blinked several times in succession, trying to regain his bearings.  "S…scanner," he murmured.  His hand fumbled clumsily to his pants pocket.

            McCoy looked down.  "Okay, I'll let you get the scanner."

            Spock finally pulled the scanner out, and McCoy grabbed it and flicked it on.

            "Mm-hm," he commented to himself, and turned off the scanner, shoving it into his own pocket.  "Let's go, Spock.  You're just going to have to deal with that for a few minutes."

            McCoy took hold of Spock's arm and firmly, but with a certain gentleness, guided him to the trees.  Spock staggered along, sometimes leaning heavily against McCoy, but generally managing to hold his own.  They continued this way for perhaps ten minutes, with McCoy peering around them worriedly, trying to pick out the Large Thing among the intimidating shadows.

            "Sometimes I wonder why the devil I joined Starfleet, anyway," McCoy grumbled to himself.

            Spock, under the depressive effects of the Large Thing's venom, rose to the bait.  "Why did you join Starfleet?"

            "Don't ask," McCoy muttered, guiding Spock over a bumpy area.

            "I believe it is too late.  I have already asked."

            McCoy scowled.  "Well, don't ask again."

            "If you answer my question, I won't have to," Spock replied practically.

            "I don't want to answer your question, that's the point."  McCoy was losing his temper.  He clutched Spock's arm more tightly.

            Spock carefully loosened the doctor's grip with his free hand.  "Very well."

            They walked in silence for a short time.  McCoy craned his neck around nervously at every little crackling sound.

            Then McCoy sighed.  "It's a long story, that's all."

            Spock didn't answer for a few seconds.  "What is a long story?"

            "Why I joined Starfleet."

            "I thought you didn't want to talk about that."

            McCoy blinked.  "I didn't, yeah."

            Spock waited.

            McCoy continued, "There were just a lot of things going on in my life that I needed to escape, and I guess Starfleet seemed like a good choice at the time."

            Spock listened without comment.

            McCoy was talking as if Spock weren't even there.  "I mean, my marriage was in shambles, and—"  He broke off and suddenly stopped short, and to catch Spock to prevent him from hurtling forward.

            McCoy cocked his head to the side.  He scowled, thinking, then nodded, as if confirming something to himself.  Spock stood beside him, blinking furiously, trying to keep himself awake and alert.  McCoy started walking again, but in a different direction, dragging Spock along beside him.

            The pair soon arrived at a trickling stream.  Water flowed smoothly at their feet, glittering in the sparkling glints of sunlight through the trees.  McCoy bent down and ran a hand through the water.  Satisfied, he guided Spock to sit down against a tree trunk.  Spock did so without protest.  He had some difficulty keeping his balance, but McCoy helped him.

            McCoy straightened and glanced down at his shirt.  "All right, Spock, we're going to have to clean that wound out.  I wish I could give you something to fix this, but we're just going to have to wing it, and hope you haven't absorbed too much."  Almost as an afterthought, he murmured, "And hope it's not a fatal venom."

            McCoy examined his shirt more carefully.  Most of it was dirty; parts were bloody (red, his own); and small rips were scattered over the front.  He flipped over the bottom edge to check the inside surface, which was comparatively quite clean.  Starting at the hem on his left side, McCoy tore a large strip from the lower part of his uniform shirt, across the front, and around the back.

            "What are you doing?" Spock asked blearily, watching him with hooded eyes.

            McCoy glanced up as he tore the strip into two smaller pieces.  "What do you think I'm doing?  Taking care of that little paper cut of yours."

            "With your shirt?"

            McCoy favored Spock with an exasperated look as he soaked of the strips in the stream.  "No, I'm just doing this part for fun."

            "You ripped your shirt," Spock pointed out dazedly.

            "No big loss," the doctor replied glibly.  "It was already ripped.  Lift your chin."  McCoy kneeled over Spock, holding the dripping cloth in one hand.  Spock raised his chin, allowing McCoy to wipe the blood off his neck.

            McCoy cleansed the wound as thoroughly as possible, easing off slightly when Spock flinched in pain.  "You're growing quite a beard, there, Spock.  That can't be regulation," he commented.  "Any better?"

            Spock's eyes already looked a little clearer, his voice less muddled.  "Yes."

            "Good.  I'll wrap it up so it won't bleed as much."  He took the dry strip of his uniform shirt and pulled it tightly around Spock's neck like a bandana.  "Well, you look like you're ready to rob a freight train, but it'll have to do until we get ahold of some gauze."

            "Where will you find gauze?"  Spock was starting to sound more like himself.

            McCoy blinked at him.  "Maybe there's a drugstore nearby."

            Spock looked at McCoy with the expression he saved for his conversations with McCoy.  He put a hand up to his throat, feeling the makeshift bandage tentatively.  McCoy forcefully pulled his hand away.

            "Don't play around with it," he commanded in his best stern doctor tone.  "You wanna open it up and bleed all over?  I only have so much shirt."

            "We should keep moving," Spock said in response.

            "As long as you can handle it."

            "I'm fine," Spock insisted quietly.

            "Sure you are," McCoy said knowingly.  He watched Spock struggle to his feet while steadfastly refusing any assistance.  McCoy held the tree branch out for Spock to support himself.  "I think you'll need this."  Spock shook his head.  "You're a stubborn man, Spock."

            Spock fixed his gaze on McCoy, just slightly raising an eyebrow.

            McCoy smiled.  "Okay.  So this pot's doing a little kettle-calling."  He straightened out of his crouch and looked around.  His hands brushed at his shirt, trying to smooth it out.  The bottom didn't quite reach the waistline of his pants, leaving a gaping area of bare skin.  Had anyone other than Spock been there, McCoy would have been the butt of many jokes and considerable embarrassment.  Even still, Spock looked at him with an almost-amused glint in his eyes.

            McCoy favored him with a steely glare, just daring Spock to crack a joke.  "Something to say, Spock?"

            Spock turned aside.  "No, Doctor."

            McCoy sighed in mock exasperation.  "The sacrifices we physicians make for our patients.  And do we get any thanks?"  McCoy shook his head to himself.  "You have any preference for direction?"

            Spock looked around.  "I don't think it really matters."
            McCoy paused and eye Spock with some concern.  "Now I know you're not back to normal yet."  Spock looked back innocently.  "Let's go this way, then.  The path looks a little easier."

            "Agreed."

            McCoy led the way down the path, looking back occasionally to track Spock's progress.  Spock seemed to scowl back at him when he noticed the careful attention.  "Doctor," he began, almost warningly, "why are you staring at me?"

            "What?"
            "You don't need to watch me constantly."

            "I'm not watching you constantly."

            "In the past five minutes, you have looked back at me three times," Spock noted.

            "Well, that's not constantly, is it?" McCoy replied.  "I'm just making sure you're still keeping up—"

            McCoy broke off as he tripped over a root sticking up from the ground and sprawled into a fibrous net stretched across the path between two trees.  He let out a surprised cry, arms flailing wildly, and collapsed headfirst, entangling himself immediately in the net.

            Spock picked up the tree branch McCoy had just dropped and whacked at the edges of the net, causing McCoy to tumble to the ground, still caught in the wiry strands.  "Strange," Spock commented quietly, fingering a strand of the net.

            "Spock!" came McCoy's muffled and frustrated cry from somewhere within the pile on the ground.  "I could use a hand here!"

            Spock looked down, and bent over to aid McCoy.  After a few minutes struggling with the net, which turned out to be very sticky, the both escaped with only a few scratches and bruises.  Spock's were mostly caused by McCoy's frantic kicking when he realized he couldn't breathe, and tried to alert Spock to that fact.  If Spock were not a Vulcan, he might have been tempted to kick McCoy back a few times.

            McCoy sat on the ground, panting.  Spock backed a few feet away, rubbing his left arm, where McCoy had landed a particularly solid kick.

            "Who the hell stuck a giant fishing net in the middle of our path?"  Obviously, that angry comment came from McCoy, not Spock.

            Spock examined a clump of the netting that had stuck together in McCoy's fight to escape.  "Fascinating."

            "What the hell is so fascinating about a chunk of netting?"

            Spock held it out for McCoy to examine.  He shied away, unwilling to even touch it again.  "I imagine if you were to taste it, you would recognize it."

            McCoy stared at him.  "Taste it?"

            "This netting has the same consistency as the rope my hands were tied with in the cave."

            "What?"  McCoy hesitantly reached out and grabbed a clump off the ground.  He sniffed it, but didn't open his mouth.  "Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle."

            "A…what, Doctor?"

            "Never mind.  What does this mean?"

            "Someone has set a trap."

            "For us?"

            Spock looked around.  "That would be the logical assumption."

            "Now, wait a minute.  How can someone think this thing," McCoy gestured at the tangled, ripped netting surrounding him, "could actually trap us?  It doesn't make sense!"
            "It did trap you."

            "Only because I was looking back at you!"
            "Which I told you not to do," Spock finished pointedly.

            "Fine!  I won't!"

            Spock held up a hand and turned his head to one side.  McCoy scrambled to his feet as quietly as he could.  Somewhere in the trees, Something was rustling around.

            Spock pointed into the brush, and they scurried off.  McCoy grimaced at the loud crackling noised he made as he crashed through dried twigs, but there was nothing to be done for it.  It was some solace to him that Spock also crackled as he ran, albeit to a lesser degree.

            They ran through the forest for some time before Spock halted McCoy with a touch to the arm.

            "Do you think it's gone?" McCoy mouthed.

            Spock frowned, or what he called a frown.  "What did you say?"

            "Is it gone, do you think?" McCoy whispered.

            "I cannot be certain, but I believe so.  I don't think it can keep up with us for long periods in the thick tree cover."

            McCoy scowled.  "Yeah, now that you mention that…you said before that Thing couldn't move very fast, which obviously wasn't true."

            Spock paused.  "Yes.  That was apparent in the fact that the creature had somehow caught up to us in the clearing."

            "That's not what you said at the time," McCoy accused.  "Why didn't this thought occur to you before?"

            "I must have been distracted by your constant rambling," Spock said with a tinge of annoyance.

"Distracted by me!" McCoy scoffed.  "Some excuse!"

            Spock, without consciously thinking about it, reached up to adjust the cloth strip o his neck.

            "Spock," McCoy warned.  "Leave it alone."  Spock caught himself, almost guiltily, and drew his hand away.

            "So," McCoy continued, in a more conversational tone, "we were discussing that hellish netting."

            "Yes," Spock replied simply.

            "Here's a thought:  you were tied up when we were in the cave, remember?"

            Spock gave him a look.  "That was not easy to forget."

            "Yeah," McCoy nodded in agreement.  "So…how?  There has to be someone else out here tracking us, because you were tied us.  How's that for logic?"

            Spock nodded slightly.  "That would mean we are potentially in danger from another, still unexplained entity."

            "Entity," McCoy frowned.  "Why do you have to use the word 'entity?'  I hate that word—'entity!'"

            "How would you prefer I refer to it?"

            "Well, I've been calling our creature the Large Thing," McCoy stated proudly.

            "Somewhat lacking in creativity," Spock commented.

            McCoy didn't answer for a minute.

            "So, we're kind of back to square one," he said at last."

            Spock said nothing, studying the area around them.

            McCoy watched Spock for a moment.  "What we have here is a logistical problem."  As Spock glanced over, he added, "Not logical.  That's logic with a 'sti' in the middle."

            Spock raised a questioning eyebrow.

            "Our goal so far has been to contact the ship.  Now, we should be a little more careful about being noticed and recaptured.  But, if anything, we're more lost now than we've ever been."

            "Actually," Spock interjected, maddeningly calm, "these features seem vaguely familiar.  I believe it matches a part of the aerial map I consulted before we beamed down.  We should reach our original landing zone if we head at approximate bearing 42 mark 7."  He pointed.

            McCoy snapped his eyes back into focus.  "Great.  I've got my own personal, living, breathing Global Positioning System here," he said to a nearby tree trunk.  "Well, let's go, then.  Can you handle taking the lead?"
            "I think that would be best.  I will try to avoid falling into any nets."

            McCoy sneered.  "Funny, Spock.  I didn't know you were practicing your stand-up routine."

            Spock gave him another strange look, then turned and started hiking on the path he had selected.  McCoy shook his head, gathered his bearings, and followed after.

            They marched on in silence for some time, Spock in complete calmness, McCoy in anxious foreboding.  It was a little too quiet in these woods.  Even normal forest sounds—the creaking of dead branches still attached far above their heads, for example—bothered him.

            "Doctor," Spock ventured, at a point when McCoy was directly behind him.

            "What is it, Spock?" McCoy asked quietly.

            "You were discussing your entrance into Starfleet earlier."

            McCoy stared at the back of Spock's head.  "Yes.  I was.  Earlier," he said stubbornly.

            Spock glanced back over his shoulder.  "I have often wondered if you are entirely at home in Starfleet."

            "Have you?" McCoy remarked faintly.  He wasn't sure he wanted to continue, but didn't feel he had much choice.  "And you've come to some conclusion…?"
            Spock paused, as if he were still considering the matter.  "Not exactly.  In fact, your recent comments have only served to complicate the matter further."

            "Well, feel free to psychoanalyze me," McCoy retorted sarcastically.

            "Thank you, Doctor," Spock replied, perfectly serious.  If he had not been walking through rugged terrain, he might have steepled his hands together at this point.  "For such an emotional person as yourself, you seem to have few emotional attachments on the Enterprise."

            McCoy scowled.  "What?"
            "For example, you don't spend much time with the crew."

            "What are you talking about?" McCoy said, a bit loudly, "I see them all the time; they're my patients."

            Suddenly, a fist-sized rock flew past their heads, a little too close for comfort.  McCoy dove to the ground, pulling Spock with him.

            "What the hell was that?" McCoy rasped, trying to peer past the dirt in his face to find the source of the missile.

            "A rock," Spock replied, doing much the same thing.

            "Dammit, who's throwing rocks at us?"

            "I don't know," Spock said, with just a trace of vexation.

            "Well…do something!" McCoy whispered frantically.

            Spock stood up and looked around.

            McCoy tugged desperately at his pants leg.  "Not that!  What are you doing?"

            Spock looked down at McCoy, as if bored.  "Our attacker is gone."

            "How do you know?!"

            "I saw the figure moving away into the trees," Spock answered.

            McCoy paused, thinking.  "Oh."  He stood up, cautiously, and brushed himself off.

            "We should be careful.  We are likely being followed."

            "Really?  Where'd you get that idea?" McCoy grumbled sulkily.

            They continued walked, staying a little closer to each other than they'd been before, not as a result of discussion but by an unspoken agreement.  McCoy picked up a hefty tree branch to replace the one he had earlier, which Spock now carried.

            McCoy noticed, with discomfort, that it was gradually getting darker, and colder.

            "Do you spend your leisure time with anyone?" Spock brought up casually, continuing their conversation as if there had been no interruption.

            "What?" McCoy asked, surprised and startled.

            "You said that you spend time with your patients.  Do you also socialize with them off-duty?"
            McCoy didn't answer for several long seconds.  "That could be a very personal question, Spock."

            Spock looked at him pointedly.  "Is it?" he asked innocently.  McCoy didn't say anything, so he answered his own question.  "You do not," he said conclusively.

            McCoy narrowed his eyes defensively.  "What, do you follow my every movement?  Am I under surveillance?"

            "As first officer, noting the dynamics of crew interactions is part of my duty," Spock explained away smoothly.

            "When's the last time you spent your off-duty time with your friends?" McCoy retorted.

            The implied insult rolled off Spock easily.  "I am a Vulcan.  You are not."  In McCoy's silent fuming, he continued, sickeningly matter of fact, "Where are your friends?  Whom would you visit on leave?"
            "What exactly are you saying?" McCoy asked, increasingly more uncomfortable.

            "I know you better than anyone on the ship, save the captain.  You often emphasize that Jim and I are best friends."  He paused meaningfully.  "Where does that leave you?"

            "I don't know what you're talking about," McCoy said sullenly.  "Of course I have friends."
            Spock stepped forward to push through a group of low-hanging branches blocking their path.  "Close friends?  Your friendship with the captain is limited somewhat by professional distance."  He held the branch forward several seconds to allow McCoy to follow him through.  "Logically, I believe you could consider me your closest friend on the Enterprise."  Spock kept walking, and released the branch.

            McCoy froze in shock, just long enough for Spock's words to register.  "What?"  He hurried forward to catch up to Spock.  "You've gotta be—ow!"  The branch slapped him full in the face.  He untangled himself and stomped after Spock.  "You've gotta be kidding me!"

            Spock didn't acknowledge him.

            Frustrated, McCoy chuckled bitterly.  "Really, Spock, do you know how pathetic that sounds—my best friend is a Vulcan?!"

            Spock looked back then, with an odd, unreadable expression in his eyes.

            McCoy flinched, suddenly taken aback.  He blinked again, refusing to believe that, for an instant, Spock looked hurt.

            "Nor have you shared details of your past with your colleagues," Spock continued, as if he hadn't just been (or felt) insulted.  "Your marriage, for example.  Or your daughter."

            In a startled fit of anger, McCoy grabbed Spock's arm firmly, yanking the Vulcan to a halt.  "Now, who the hell told you that?" he growled in a low, menacing voice.

            Spock looked at him innocently.  "Your records."

            McCoy glared.  "You've read through my records?"

            "I have read every crew member's records."
            "And yet you memorized this innocuous little detail of my life," he prodded.

            Spock raised an eyebrow.  "I have a very good memory.  I did not intentionally learn this information to upset you."

            McCoy relaxed his posture suddenly.  "Does Jim know?"

            Spock momentarily looked bemused.  "He has access to your records.  However, he has never mentioned he possesses this knowledge."
            "Good.  Keep it that way."  He turned aside.

            Spock studied him as he released his grip.  "Why are you trying to hide this?"

            Another flash of anger crossed McCoy's face.  Then he sighed heavily.  "I don't know."

            Spock continued delicately.  "Perhaps you should consider why you don't allow people to get close to you."

            McCoy threw up his arms.  "That's it!  I've had enough!  We're not talking about me anymore!"  He moved on down the trail, leaving Spock to stare after him.  A few seconds later, he followed.

            They moved in silence for some time, until dusk began to overtake them.

            "We should find a place to stop for the night," Spock murmured.

            "Fine," McCoy said blankly.

            From somewhere in the dark, slightly above them, came a high-pitched whirring sound, something like muted phaser fire.  Before either of them could react, McCoy was hit.

            He crumpled to the ground.  [A/N:  I could stop here, couldn't I?  No, just a little bit more…]

            Spock rushed to his side, and grasped his forearm, trying to feel a pulse.  McCoy pulled his arm away, a bit sullenly, and held his hand up.  "I'm all right.  It was just a minor shock.  What was that?"

            "Unknown.  I'm not certain if it's still nearby.  It came from the trees," Spock added.

            Then the two of them looked upward.  Even in the quickly blackening evening, they saw the shapes.  And the chattering of some kind of unfamiliar language started.

            Spock counted at least seven of the small figured, hunched over their branches in tight packages, slowly gathering in the lower limbs of the trees along the path.  Yellow-green eyes glittered, and the phaser fire shot from one of the figures again.

            "Watch out!" McCoy cried from his half-sitting, vulnerable position.  He pulled Spock back in time to avoid getting hit.

            "That phaser fire is pretty weak," McCoy murmured grimly to Spock, "but if we get hit by all of them, it won't matter."

            Uneasy, heavy silence.  Then some more rustling, as a few more shapes joined the party.  Chattering.

            "Maybe we were safer in the cave," McCoy commented dryly.

I may have written myself into a corner…

Oh, by the way, I didn't make McCoy sound too ultra-pathetic or paranoid or antisocial or anything, did I?  That wasn't really my intention.