Her fur isn't nearly as soft as it looks, but she doesn't stink, at least. In fact, she kind of smells like herbs, mint maybe, even wet as she is. And she's not, honestly, that wet-I think her fur probably has a coating to keep her dry. Oil, or something; either way, in the short time she's been with us she's already dried considerably. She practically radiates warmth, too, and she's gentle; I can tell it the minute I set a hand on her. Her blind eyes soften and she yawns in my face, bored- her breath isn't as pleasant as the rest of her. I cough softly, trying to hide it, as Bones appears by my side.

"Well hello there, ma'am." Bones drawls, letting his accent thicken playfully. He meets my eyes, though, and I can tell he's worried; about how Spock's holding up, how I'm holding up. Worried about everyone but himself, it seems like. That's McCoy for you- he'll whine until he turns blue but when it comes to the important things, he clams up and stays that way. He always complains we hide it or downplay it when we get hurt, but what he won't tell you is that he tends to do the same damn thing, and he's worse about being a martyr then both of us.

He reaches out a hand to her the way I did, and fingers her oily, smooth coat. She turns her head to sniff at him, chewing at his sleeve. He jerks in surprise and yanks away, but she seems neither hostile, nor agitated at his sudden action. "She's just curious, Bones." I say, as she does the same thing to me, sniffing and nibbling a corner of my tunic. "Spock, she's intelligent?"

"She is as intelligent as our friends outside." Spock confirms. "Though she does not think like you or I."

There are many different definitions of the word 'intelligent.' Arrogant race we are, we tend to put ourselves at the top of that scale- that anything we can't easily communicate with must be less then we are. That we are one of the most sophisticated, educated races alive. If captaining the Enterprise has taught me anything, it is that those assumptions are incredibly wrong. We are no where near as elite as we like to think we are. But, as I was told, once-there's potential in us, hope for us yet. I chuckle at the memory.

"Jim?" Bones heard me laughing.

"Nothing." I assure him, still smiling. "Nothing, Bones just- remembering something. Settle down. Get some rest while you can."

If we're going to have to travel through that mess tomorrow, I want us all as fresh as possible. I wish we could stay put- but we're almost invisible here, partly why we chose this spot. We're half-way up a rocky incline trying it's best to be a hill, and the surrounding foliage is so thick that we kept tripping and getting caught up on our way in here. I hate to think what making our way higher is going to be like.

Hopefully we can find a clear path.

Hopefully we'll find another shelter if we're here overnight again. (It would be the fourth night.)

Hopefully we'll be high enough to be seen by any search parties. ( If they can get a search party down to us in this weather. )

Hopefully we won't be here much longer.

Hopefully we can keep each other alive and healthy and well.

Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully, I hate that word. I hate not being in control, being helpless.

Heaven knows we've been in situations enough times where someone or something tried to kill us, trap us, force us into their will, and force us into games. I, my crew, my friends, have all come scant moments from death since this mission started.

More then once, things have hinged on a jump to the left or right on my part-and lives have hinged on hopefully. But in those situations, in almost all of them, there has been a loophole, options, doors and paths- things we can do. A way to grab the situation and control it, or at least steer yourself along in the tide. Quick thinking, quick speaking, sheer physical brawn- maybe it was hopefully, but it wasn't just hopefully. Of course, there's always a chance the choice would be the wrong one, and that thought haunts me even now. And then you have things like this situation; no loophole. No quick thinking, or games, or brawn or anything but hopefully.

Understand, I would not trade this life for all the money you would pay me; I would never trade the things I've learned, races I've met, bonds- Spock, Bones, you two most of all- I've made, or the ship-my ship, my girl.

Never.

I don't blame Pike for wanting retirement; I understand how draining, how exhausting this position can be. I feel it, too, sometimes. Feel the stress of so many lives in my hands, my choices the difference of life and death for some. Each time someone dies on my watch, I feel like I've been punched in the stomach. I remember them, the names, the faces- I dream them, sometimes. Wake up panting and shaking from nightmares of men and woman who died far too soon, blaming me, hating me.

But I could no more leave her or them then I could stop breathing. Almost worse then the dreams of the dead are the nightmares of that. Of never setting foot on her bridge again, of being trapped, confined to one place, one planet, for the rest of my life. Of loosing her, of loosing them.

I belong out here, like this. No matter what happens, no matter how tired I am- I belong here.

"-Jim!"

Oops. From the sound of it, that's not the first time my name has been said. I blink out of my introspection and turn. McCoy is watching me, absently stroking the huge beast on the shoulder, and at his feet is Spock, leaning back against her warmth. His eyes are closed, and a surge of protective concern swells in my chest. He's wearing thin- we're all wearing thin. It's the constant rain, I think. Plus he's cold and hurting because he's cold. It's funny, how- sometimes- just sometimes, I really do expect too much from him. It's easy to forget that he's just as failable as we are. He'll deny it until he's blue in the face, but while he's more then human he's less then immortal. His body and mind are stronger and tougher then ours will ever hope to be, but there is still a breaking point.

He's not at or even near it at the moment- no more then we are. But that doesn't mean I've never put him there. I tend to expect him to be- I don't know, I expect him to be- invincible. It's stupid, the way a child might look to an older brother as invincible, and my rational adult mind tells me it's a foolish notation and not fair to him or myself. Because he knows and I think, sometimes, he tries to keep me from seeing he's not. And when I do see it- and this is far from the only time- it scares me.

Guilt swims up alongside the concern, and the two clash, merging with emotion already there and filling me with impotent frustration.

I lash out when I'm frustrated. It's a character fault I'm aware I have, and it's something I'm biting back on hard at the moment. I passed 'frustrated' two days ago. I manage not to snap at him. I usually take it out on him when I'm like this- he's one of my best friends, certainly one of the oldest, and those are usually the people we attack when emotions run high. We feel bad about it after, or I always do, and I am determined not to have to apologize to him for it again. Not now.

"Sorry, Bones, I didn't- what?"

"….I was saying you need to come get some sleep too." He says, gentle, blue eyes concerned.

He's about as pleasant as a wet cat sometimes, but he honestly cares about us; sometimes more then what's good for him. He hides it pretty well, but I've known him long enough to know you'll never find someone with a bigger heart, compassionate and gentle. He looses his hold on his temper as often as I do, sometimes more, but he always stops just short of crossing the line, and if he can't, if he goes just a step or two too far, he always apologizes within hours. Sometimes minutes. He can't stand to stay angry at a person, and fighting gets him twisted up in knots. Might have something to do with the divorce- left a sour taste in his mouth for arguments, maybe. Serious ones, that is, because he loves to bicker and pick at anyone who'll play back.

That's not to say he's a doormat- I've never seen him let anyone walk over him. He'll stand up for himself and his beliefs with a vicious passion that sometimes gets out of control. To Spock, to me, to anyone who dares challenge him; everyone. He goes from a docile, good-natured country doctor to a hissing, spitting wildcat in the time it takes to blink, and I've seen him bite to draw blood only once or twice. Like I said, he doesn't go out to hurt someone when he's arguing with them.

But he has this uncanny knack of exactly where to strike that will hurt the most. Maybe it's because he's a doctor- maybe it's just because he knows us so well. Whatever the reason, he's incredibly intuitive, and that can be used for bad just as often as good.

But he won't do that. Because he's Bones, and no matter how much he snarls and snaps, he can't stand to see anyone in pain. Physical or otherwise- it tears him up, especially if he can't help.

"Warming up to her, hm?" I ask, motioning at his stroking hand. He instantly stops, giving me a scowl. She rumbles her displeasure, though, and shoves her head under his hand, hard enough to nearly knock him off balance. He staggers back a step, into me, and I catch him by the shoulders, half-laughing.

"Well, she's certainly warmed up to you!" I quip, pushing him back. "C'mon, McCoy, you're a doctor, comfort a pregnant lady."

I'm just playing, trying to keep our spirits up, trying to keep myself from wandering back down pathways that are far too dark and easy to get lost in. He knows that, and might normally have gone along with it, but he's in no mood to be teased. He smacks my hands away, snarling. "Damn it, Jim-" And trips. Over Spock's legs, causing him to jolt with surprise.

And she catches him. I'm rather surprised she could, seeing how she's blind; but I didn't miss the massive ears, either. I'm guessing her sense of hearing is as much better then any of ours as Spock's is to Bone's and mine. Not only that, but with those claws and the teeth I got a momentary flash of when she yawned in my face, she seems to be predatory. She probably has to have developed heightened other senses to hunt blind.

We stare, shocked, as her massive nose slips under his back and rights him before he can hit the ground. Gently, she rights him, and runs a rough tongue along his back and hair, giving him a massive cowlick and ripping his shirt even further. Spock blinks, once, and his lips twitch in that not smile we're so familiar with. I love that expression, that almost smile; when you can see in his eyes the laughter, the mischievous nature he hides so well. He has a warm, open smile, the few times I've seen it, the kind of smile you want to meet with one of your own. But I prefer this; the not-smile.

"Very much so, apparently." He says, the first thing he's said for a while now, and closes his eyes again. Bones groans and starts to move away, but she reaches out with a massive claw and pulls him back with a startled yelp. And she starts to groom him.

I won't lie; it feels good to laugh.