Nyota fidgeted as she stood in the corridor outside Spock's quarters, waiting for an answer to her ring. She smiled self-consciously as a pair of colleagues sauntered by, eying her with covert speculation.

Nyota sighed. She treasured her relationship with Spock, but since it had become common knowledge among the crew (thanks to her own indiscretion, but who wouldn't kiss their boyfriend goodbye on the transporter pad when he was planning to beam over to almost certain death?)— well, let's just say her interest in Vulcans, curious enough to begin with, was now a matter of open speculation. She straightened her back and fixed her gaze on the closed door.

It slid aside to reveal Spock standing within. He had changed into his black meditation robes with the gold filigree that Nyota always found so attractive on him. Not that she didn't find him attractive otherwise. Edible, actually. Only tonight she was too distracted to appreciate it. Much.

"Am I disturbing you?"

"Not at all," he answered in his soft voice, and stood aside.

Gratefully Nyota heard the door swish shut behind her. She always felt more comfortable when she and Spock were out of the public eye.

"You are 34 minutes early," Spock observed. "I have not yet prepared our meal."

He was making something Vulcan for his last night onboard. He had overridden Nyota's objections that he should take it easy and let her cook. Perhaps he wanted to keep himself busy, to hold the butterflies at bay (assuming he had them; from his calm appearance, it seemed not). Nyota had them in spades, fluttering aimlessly around her stomach. She hoped she'd be able to coax down whatever dish he eventually produced.

"I'm not hungry— yet," she added quickly, in case he jumped to the conclusion that she was avoiding Vulcan food. It did taste rather sharp to the human palate. "I wanted to see if I could help you pack."

"Assistance is not required. I have already completed assembling my personal belongings."

Nyota felt an almost overpowering curiosity. What would a Vulcan carry on a survival expedition? "Do you mind if I look over what you're bringing?"

"Not at all." He stepped back to give her clear access to the room.

Nyota scanned the cramped chamber for the bulky pack or duffle she expected. Nothing by the desk, or beside the door. She peeked into his sleeping chamber. Nothing. "Where is it?"

Spock raised an eyebrow, then gestured at the bed. "It is there."

Nyota's gaze fell across the neatly made bed. In the center, almost indistinguishable against the bedspread, sat a small, dun-colored package roughly the size of an old-fashioned shaving kit.

"That's it?" She whirled toward her companion. Spock looked amazingly bland, which was his subtle way of trying to get her to calm down. With an effort, she lowered her voice. "That's it? For six weeks in the wilderness? You're taking this... this... bag?"

"It contains all the essentials I require."

"For what, a tea party? Nope, sorry, it's too small for that." Nyota tried to rein in her exasperation. "What exactly are you bringing?"

In answer, Spock picked up the kit. Granted he was strong, but from his swift motion and the ease with which he held it in one hand, Nyota concluded the bag weighed nearly nothing at all. The straps that flapped from it indicated that it was intended to be worn around the waist, like a belt. This was apparently his complete survival gear; a belt with an oversized wallet for his six-weeks expedition. She ground her teeth in frustration.

Spock opened the flap. "Water condenser," he announced, pulling out a small silver tube and dropping it onto the bedspread. He removed something flat and rubbery looking, and unfolded it to reveal a bag about the size of a child's party balloon. "Container for the condensed water."

Nyota nodded. She hadn't realized they'd made survival equipment so compact, but of course Spock would know all about the latest improvements.

He continued his inventory, pulling out next a flat packet like a fat envelope. "First aid kit."

Nyota frowned. This was exactly the kind of foolishness she was hoping to prevent. Firmly she said, "That is not a first-aid kit."

"Correction. This is my portable version. There is, of course, a far more extensive one onboard the Galileo. But this package contains emergency bandages, splints, antiseptic, and so on. I will carry this with me at all times."

Nyota was slightly mollified. "All right."

Spock next removed a rather large, multiplex tool. It ran the entire length of the kit. It looked light to handle, but Spock opened it up to reveal a substantial knife with a cutting edge and saw-edge, prying and cutting tools, and other useful attachments. "For a variety of purposes," he said shortly.

Nyota nodded. She was starting to feel that she'd overreacted. Spock seemed to know what he was doing, as usual. "What else?"

He held up a rectangular box about the size of his palm. "Miniature tricorder for field analysis and recording. I will, of course, have a full-sized version in the shuttle."

"Of course." She bit her lip, still anxious.

Spock pulled out a bundle of light material no more bulky than two fists. He shook it out, and it unfolded itself into a full set of clothing: long-sleeved jacket, a full shirt and a tank-top, long pants, socks, underclothes, and a couple of thick-soled foot-coverings that looked like rubbery, form-fitting moccasins. He looked at her expectantly.

She stared at the bundle of clothing that had magically appeared on his bed. "I didn't know it could fold down so small."

"It is rated to withstand a variety of environmental extremes: heat, cold, moisture, rough terrain." He picked up one of the smaller pieces that had fluttered to the bed, and stretched it open to reveal a fine-meshed bag. "To keep pests from one's face and head," he explained. "I have hand coverings that serve the same purpose— and gloves, of course." He picked up two crumpled pieces of cloth that were, indeed, hand-shaped. She supposed they expanded when he put them on.

But the netting had her curious. "Why don't you use a spray?"

Spock set down the shell of his kit and began to roll his scattered apparel back into a tight bundle. "As you know, pests evolve in response to a specific environment. It is unlikely that any of our repellents would have the desired effect on an unknown species. Similarly, remedies such as anti-toxins and anti-venoms are likely to prove useless— hence the need for physical protection."

"Physical protection." Nyota watched as he stuffed his reassembled clothing back into the kit. With a start, she realized that she had seen the entirety of the bag's contents. "Wait a minute!"

Spock froze in the act of folding up his multiplex knife. "Yes?"

Nyota gestured at the bed. "That's it? I mean, that's really it? That's the shebang?"

"One does not desire bulk when traveling in the wilderness, Nyota."

"But you said needed physical protection!"

"I have it."

"No, you don't! Where are your boots?"

Spock stared at her. "Boots?"

"You're not carrying anti-venom. What if you step on a snake or a scorpion, or whatever equivalent Emagious III features? A stinger would go right through that footgear you showed me."

"I assure you, it would not."

"That material is hardly a millimeter thick!"

"It is sufficiently sturdy to withstand any reasonable assault, be it from a sharp-edged stone or sharp-fanged predator."

Predator. Nyota stiffened. "Where's your sonic repeller?"

Spock's expression hardly changed, but Nyota knew that, if he'd been human, he would have been curling his lip. "I see no need for carrying such a device. Besides, I will have a phaser in the shuttle."

"You won't use it," Nyota said with certainty. "I know you. You want this to be a kind of adult Kahs-wan. You'd consider a phaser to be cheating."

Spock merely eyed her—which confirmed her suspicion.

She started to pace. "Spock, listen. I'm fully supportive of your goals—you know that. But, strong as you are, you're virtually defenseless against any large predator—or a pack of predators. You really ought to carry something for emergencies—such as a sonic repeller."

Spock hesitated. "I prefer not to use them."

"You pre—" Nyota caught her breath. "Spock, it's the only certain non-lethal method we have for driving away large animals!"

"It would seem counter-productive, if one's purpose is to examine the local fauna, to drive them away with hypersonic waves."

"You won't be studying the fauna in your sleep."

"I am... sensitive to the noise."

"It's hypersonic."

"Nevertheless, I react negatively when I am in the vicinity of an operating unit. It gives the most unpleasant impression of electrical current shivering over one's skin."

Nyota winced. "Well, I think you should bring one anyway. You could turn it on only if you had to— like if you were being charged by the equivalent of an Emagian rhino."

Spock said neutrally, "It might prove useful in that regard."

In other words, he hadn't the slightest intention of bringing one. Nyota redoubled her attack. "It's your surest means of self-defense."

"It is a fact that most animals do not attack unless provoked."

"Non-Emagian animals usually do not attack unless provoked. We know nothing about the Emagian variety."

"It is my intention to leave the indigenous life undisturbed. I am a mere visitor to their home. I have no right to inflict my personal desires onto the local inhabitants."

"Your personal—" Nyota bit off her words. Spock could be so frustrating! Taking a breath to compose herself, she said (with commendable restraint, she thought), "I admire your intention not to inflict your selfish desire for self-preservation upon the indigenous population. But, as you are so concerned about disrupting their established patterns, I would like to respectfully remind you that Vulcans do not constitute a normal part of an Emagian animal's diet, and you might cause unintentional intestinal distress if you were to be devoured by some innocent beast, simply because you couldn't be bothered to carry a sonic repeller."

Spock narrowed his eyes, but Nyota had no patience for his disapproval.

"Furthermore," she went on, "your falling down and dying somewhere— let's assume from a venomous sting— would also create an unhealthy strain on the native scavenger life, as they, too, would be rashly exposed to an unorthodox dose of Vulcan physiology. Who knows how disastrous the chain-reaction might be, once you pollute the poor creatures of Emagious III with your alien composition? I shudder even to contemplate the possibilities."

Spock held her iron gaze a moment, then sighed. "Very well, Nyota. I will bring a sonic repeller."

Nyota smiled grimly. "And boots."

"I will have boots with me."

"Not your Starfleet uniform," she interjected, familiar with Vulcan prevarication. "I know perfectly well you won't be wearing it when you're slogging through some mire trying to catalog the flight of some arresting variety of insect."

"In such a scenario, I cannot imagine I would be wearing the type of heavy footwear you suggest that I bring, either."

"Then bend the scenario."

"It is your scenario. I assure you, Nyota, if I venture into a bog, I shall take the appropriate precautions."

"Seriously, Spock—" Nyota lowered her voice, then crossed the room to take him into her arms. He held back momentarily— she rarely could get past that automatic reaction— before he consciously relaxed into her embrace. She murmured against his chest, "You know the only reason I'm fussing is because I want you to come back in one piece."

"I know."

His voice reverberated through his body to rumble against her ear. He suddenly became very dear to her— even dearer than before. She clutched him tightly. "Promise me," she whispered. "Promise me you won't do anything foolish."

"It is never my intention to behave without due regard for the consequences."

"The consequences are that my heart will be broken forever. You don't want that on your conscious, do you?"

"I assure you that concern will be uppermost in my thoughts as I sink slowly into a bog after being stung by dozens of poisonous ground-dwelling insects."

Nyota swatted him, then held him tighter than before. "Just... do your best to come back to me."

"I have already said that I will."

"Say it again."

Spock ran a warm palm soothingly over her back. "I will come back to you."

Nyota stood a moment, absorbing the heat and solidity of him. Then she ran a hand over her eyes, to brush away the telltale beginnings of tears. She drew an unsteady breath, and pulled herself erect. "So, I've utterly failed as an adventure advisor. Do you mind if I try to improve my usefulness by helping you with dinner?"

"Your assistance would give me genuine pleasure."

"Why, you silver-tongued devil." Nyota sniffled, then forced a smile onto her face. "Okay, I'm composed again, for the moment. What's on the menu?"

"Besides Vulcan?" he quipped.

"Oh, but it is on the menu." She kissed him. "But I'm saving it for dessert."