The next battle seemed always just around the corner. And so it was. That evening at dusk, they found themselves in the front-line trench again, bayonets fixed.

Spock's look met Christine's as they stepped forward. She looked scared. Of course, she did. But Spock nodded at her reassuringly, and she smiled back.

They stepped onto the fire step, and that ominous silence fell again. The explosions had stopped, and Spock knew this meant that they would stage an attack any moment.

He breathed in and out, steadying his grip on the rifle.

Then a whistle sounded further away, then one directly behind him. The command to go over the top.

He hurled himself over the parapet, acutely aware of Jim doing the same next to him and Christine scrambling after him.

Shouting filled the air as the British soldiers ran, stumbled, and scrambled towards the enemy lines. Shots rang out from further ahead, and Spock dove behind a pile of earth to his right. He fired a couple of shots in the direction of the Germans, then got up and hurried on.

The air was filled with smoke, and the sounds of explosions joined the sound of gunfire. The earth shook as a shell exploded nearby.

Spock was overtaken by Pavel Chekov who fixed his rifle to shoot, only to throw himself to the ground along with Spock as another volley of gunfire was sent their way.

Seconds later, he had lost sight of Chekov as the battle raged on. Cooper and Hutchinson flanked him as they ran forward, trying to maintain formation. Cooper stopped to shoot into the fog ahead and fell behind.

"I think I got one!" They heard him shout through the chaos before a shrill sound made all nearby communication unintelligible.

A sharp whistling filled the air, increasing in volume. A fraction of a second later, it was right above them. They had run right into the shell's path.

"Get down, Jack!" Angus Hutchinson screamed and pushed him.

Spock leapt to the side but did not have time to take cover before a monstrous bang sounded just to his right, and he felt himself being flung into the air and slammed back into the ground the next second.

He coughed as earth, and smoke filled his mouth. Then, he forced himself to scramble to his fee. The whistling was still there. He stumbled and fell. His head swimming, he pressed himself into the ground, the only cover he had. And then he realised the explosions had stopped. Everything but the whistling had stopped.

But it must have stopped. There had been an explosion. He dared to raise his head and saw Pavel fire a shot. A shot he didn't hear. He shook his head to get rid of the awful headache, but it only made it worse. The ringing in his ears did not help either.

He took one deep breath and pushed himself up from the ground. The dizziness almost forced him back down, but he stumbled on, towards where he hoped the British trenches were.

His foot hit something, and he fell again. As he pressed his hands against his throbbing ears, he looked back and saw that it was a body he had fallen over. It was someone with a British uniform, definitely dead, judging from the lack of reaction and the quantity of blood pooling around him.

Spock swallowed deeply, building up resolve, and equilibrium, to get up again. With his hands over his ears, he realised the ringing in his ears was slightly more incessant on the right side. The side of the explosion. This observation did nothing to help his condition, but it helped him refocus on the matter at hand. He had lost his hearing and needed to get back to the British trenches.

He pushed himself up from the ground, steadied himself for an awkward moment, evoking an embarrassing mental picture of a baby giraffe, and stumbled forward again.

He didn't remember running out so far, and he wondered if he was even on the right course. But the distance probably seemed longer only because he had been running then and was staggering now.

And then the smoke slowly cleared. And ahead he saw the edge of the trenches.

Just as he had glimpsed his destination, he fell again, this time over barbed wire. And this time, someone grabbed his arm and pulled him along. He did not turn his head to see who it was, for fear of losing his balance completely.

When they had reached the edge of the trench, he half jumped, half fell into it. He closed his eyes, as the nauseating stench of the trench floor filled his nose. But at least he was off the battlefield again, safe again.

He felt someone grab him roughly, and he was turned on his back. Over him loomed McCoy, shouting something at him that he could not hear.

Someone else took his arm, and he registered one of the few medics pulling at him. He followed shakily, letting himself be led. The ringing persisted, though it seemed concentrated on his right ear now. Still, it was the only thing he could hear, and he instinctively shook his head to be rid of it and the accompanying dull headache.

Some moments later, they had reached the first aid station in the support trench. The medic's lips moved as he asked him something. And although Spock could not hear a single word, he nodded to say he was fine. This seemed to be what the medic wanted to hear, and he pushed him into the first aid station before he left.

Spock staggered into the dugout and sank down on some crates in the far corner. He had just done so when Christine came in with Chekov in tow. In his dazed state, Spock realised it must have been Chekov who had pulled him up and had most likely alerted Christine to his condition.

She bent over him, her brow creased with worry. He saw her lips move, but just as with the other people before, he could not hear. He shook his head and stared back at her, intrigued by the curious sensations he was feeling.

Everything seemed distant as if watched through a haze and though the ringing had decreased, only muffled, unintelligible sounds reached him, a faraway mumbling as if he was deep underwater.

Christine seemed to have gotten an answer to her question though and nodded. Spock leaned back and closed his eyes.

He opened them again when he felt his helmet being taken off and something wet being wiped against his face. Christine was still there, cleaning the mud away to take care of possible wounds. She did not say anything; any words would be lost on him anyway. But her eyes spoke volumes.

With gentle caresses, she finished cleaning his face and then moved on to his hands. They both knew that were they on the Enterprise, she would have asked before touching him. But this was not the time for such considerations, and she took one of his hands in hers, gently but decisive.

Looking down, Spock noticed his palms were scratched up in places from when he had fallen. And there were scratches on his knuckles, too.

Christine carefully cleaned his hands, treating his wounds to the last scratch, something Spock realised with a little twitch was a very intimate gesture. Not only to a touch telepath.

She smirked up at him as his hand twitched in hers, said something, seemed to remember he could not hear her, then shrugged and simply continued.

It was more than a gesture. One, there was the risk of infection if wounds were not properly cleaned. Second, his blood was undeniably green, so cleaning it away, even when it was just a small scratch, decreased their risk of detection.

After a while, she touched his shoulder and nodded at him to communicate that she was done. As if he hadn't noticed by her letting go of his hands.

She left, and Spock turned to watch his surroundings. McCoy was there, too, taking care of other soldiers in the vicinity. Spock watched the wounded come and go, not yet trusting his balance enough to leave, and he sighed at this feeling of helplessness. He was still feeling dizzy and slightly nauseous, and because there was nothing better to do, he closed his eyes again and leaned deeper into the corner.

Slowly but surely, the ringing died down completely, and the muffled sounds regained some clarity, at least on his left side. He could hear that people were talking, and thought that he could even make out single words here and there. But it was difficult to ascertain with so many different voices nearby.

After a while, the voices became less and eventually ceased. Spock realised that the others must have left the first aid station. But just as he wondered if he really had been left to himself, he felt a hand brush gently against his cheek.

He opened his eyes to see McCoy, Pavel, and Christine nearby, and Jim kneeling in front of him. He seemed uninjured and was smiling, but his eyes showed even more worry than Christine's had.

"Hey," he said as he looked at him.

Spock could read it on his lips but did not hear it. He shook his head and pointed to his left ear, which seemed less affected.

"I cannot hear on the other ear, Jim," he said. "There was an explosion."

Jim got up from the ground and sat on the side of his good ear. "I wanted to ask how you were. I saw you fly through the air out there."

Spock nodded. "Apart from the hearing loss, I am fine." He breathed a sigh of relief, as he realised he could hear Jim and his own voice again. Still muffled and only on the left ear that was.

Before Jim could say anything else, Lieutenant Thompson poked his head into the first aid station. His uniform was coated in dust, and he wore a grim expression.

"We lost Hutchinson," he grumbled. "The same shell that made you fly blew him to pieces." Noticing how dishevelled Spock looked, he asked, "How are you?"

"Apart from some superficial bruises, my hearing seems to have taken considerable damage," Spock said.

Before Thompson could answer, McCoy added quickly, "He'll make a full recovery. Give him a couple of hours."

The Lieutenant nodded. "All right, carry on. Chapel and Chapel, you're with me." He turned around, and he, Pavel Chekov, and Christine left, leaving Jim, Spock, and McCoy to themselves.

Both Jim and Spock threw McCoy a questioning glance.

He shook his head. "I just said that because we can't have you in a hospital. They'd dissect you." He shrugged apologetically as he continued. "I don't know if you'll ever hear again on your right ear. Probably not. Not with the medicine of this time." He waited for a moment, but Spock seemed to be taking this news relatively well. "You may also experience momentary ear pain when confronted with loud noises. Your left ear should be fine, just give it a couple of hours."

Spock nodded. "Understood. Thank you, Doctor. If that is all, I think I feel well enough to leave."

"That's all Spock, you can go."

Spock left the first aid station, but McCoy held Jim back from following by grabbing his arm. "Jim, I don't think this is an illusion," he hissed. "It seems terribly real. Spock could have died out there. He almost did."

Jim freed his arm with a forceful tug. "I know that! I saw it happen," he snarled back. "I saw Hutchinson be blown to pieces and Spock almost with him, and I couldn't do anything about it."

McCoy sighed and sobered up somewhat. "I'm sorry, Jim," he mumbled. "I don't know yet how it is out there. I just hear the screaming from back here."

"It's worse than the history books tell us. Far worse." Jim frowned bitterly. "You saw some of the injuries of the men being transported back. Gunshot wounds, missing limbs, and the like. And those are the ones for which there's hope."

McCoy nodded gently. "There wasn't much hope for Hutchinson, was there?"

"No. At least it seemed quick." Jim shrugged. "Maybe he didn't even see it coming. We only heard a whistling from above that became louder and louder, and suddenly there was a bang, and all we could see was a bunch of earth, Spock, and what was left of Angus Hutchinson fly through the air."

McCoy's eyes widened. "What was left of him?"

"Thompson wasn't exaggerating when he said it blew him to pieces."

"My God. And to think this is Earth. Our Earth." McCoy shuddered and shook his head in horror. "What the hell are we doing here, Jim?"

"I don't know, Bones," he said, very softly, and put his hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. We need to find a way out of this. But there's nothing here that'll help us. So we'll have to try to survive for as long as we can and wait until we get an opportunity to go back." He paused and then added darkly, "We might all die out there in the process."

The reality of their situation had been truly sinking in since yesterday. And Spock getting hurt was an all too certain proof that whatever they had landed themselves in was real enough to hurt them.

"I know, Jim," Bones said, putting on a brave face.

But his friend saw through it. "How do you feel about that?"

McCoy swallowed heavily. "Scared witless. You?"

Jim nodded. "Me, too."

He had seldom been as afraid as on the battlefield the last two times. Sure, he had faced mortal peril and gruesome battles before but not quite like this. Not while feeling this out of his element and so utterly helpless in the face of death. This was where his fear stemmed from. He was afraid for himself, for his friends, and for the soldiers they had gotten to know. He was glad that at least McCoy was staying behind for now.

By the time he and the doctor left the first aid station, night had fallen, and the trenches were beginning to get busy with soldiers carrying out those tasks that were better done under the veil of darkness.

Spock and Jim were soon tasked with repairing the duckboards in the communication trench. Nearby, in a little trench branching off, Christine, Pavel, and Leonard were digging out a new latrine.

Spock was mostly silent as they worked.

"Are you all right, Spock?" Jim called across to him once they had finished replacing a broken plank.

"As expected, the hearing in my right ear has not returned," Spock answered curtly. "My left ear is fine."

Jim shook his head. "I didn't mean your ears. All of this must affect you. And don't say it doesn't because you're a Vulcan."

"On the contrary. Such violence as we have witnessed is disturbing even to a Vulcan."

"Or even more so," Jim added.

"Perhaps," Spock admitted, and Jim thought that even in the dark, he saw a sigh escape him. "However, I am quite all right."

"I'm sure you are." Jim smiled gently. "But there'd be no shame in it if you weren't."

Too soon, a bombardment interrupted their night-time duties. It was concentrated on the supply lines, which was bad enough, but they still sought shelter.

Due to their vicinity while working, Jim, Spock, McCoy, Chekov, and Christine found themselves sharing a dugout again, a hideously small one, barely a hollow in the side of the trench. Thankfully, the explosions seemed relatively far away, so the ground did not shake, and it was somewhat easy to have a conversation without shouting.

But, alas, with this lack of excitement came boredom and the ability to focus on other uncomfortable things, such as the fact that it was quite cold and damp in here.

"As if the killing wasn't bad enough," McCoy grumbled as he shuddered. "No, we have to be cold while they shoot at us."

Next to him, Spock pursed his lips. "'When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.'"

"Spare me your poetic hysterics!" McCoy snapped. "Out of all the things to quote, do you think Hamlet will lift my spirits?"

"It may not lift your spirits," Spock retorted, "but it does distract you. Obviously."

McCoy frowned up at him, refusing to admit he was right. "Well, I'm still cold, though. And I'm not the only one."

He was right. While Jim, Pavel, and Christine were not as vocal, they were obviously uncomfortable. And while Spock did not seem affected, his biology predestined him for disliking cold.

Looking back and forth between his friends, Jim Kirk had an outrageous idea. "Spock. You're a Vulcan."

Spock tilted his head. "The last time I checked, yes."

Jim smirked cheekily. "You're the solution to our problem. It is rather cold."

"I am unsure how you expect me to solve that problem."

Jim stretched out his arms, motioning for him to come closer.

"Most certainly not," Spock answered curtly, looking mildly scandalised.

Pavel grinned widely at his misfortune, and he shot him a punishing look. He might not be able to do anything against McCoy's undisguised glee, but Pavel Chekov had been his protégé, making him one of the few people he might keep from laughing and who he would not honestly begrudge for doing so at the same time. He knew Christine Chapel was far too considerate to openly laugh at him. But he did not miss the smirk playing around her lips. To his chagrin, Jim did not give up easily.

"It is only logical," he went on and smiled innocently. "We're all feeling cold, and your body temperature is higher."

Spock sighed deeply. And after a pleading look from Jim, he carefully slid over to him to sit in front of him. It did not make much of a difference anyway, as they were already cramped in here like sardines in a can.

Jim wrapped his arms around him to hug him from behind so that he was leaning against him. He put his left hand over Spock's lower right ribcage, right over his heart, and he noticed he could even feel his heartbeat, very faintly.

Spock sighed again but let it happen. He only winced slightly when Jim accidentally pressed on a bruise over his ribcage that he had gotten during his tumble into the trench.

Though it was a barely noticeable wince, Jim noticed, apologising softly.

After a moment, Christine and Pavel shuffled closer, pressing against Jim and Spock's sides.

Leonard watched, unmistakeably amused, but he made no move to join them.

"Bones. Come on."

He shook his head. "It's all right, Jim. I'll live."

"Come on, now," Jim persisted and grinned. "There's enough Vulcan to go around."

McCoy looked at Spock, shrugging in a silent question. Spock sighed but nodded, and McCoy slid closer before either of them could change their mind and leaned against Spock just as Spock had leaned against Jim.

"I would not complain if they added this to Starfleet's survival manuals," Chekov said from his left.

"No one's keeping you from cuddling," Christine said from McCoy's other side and smirked. "And it's already in there, don't worry."

"And if it wasn't in there," McCoy added, "I'd still always advocate for physical intimacy. Not just in emergencies."

"I won't argue with that," Jim said.

McCoy smirked as he turned his head to the side to glance up at the Vulcan. "What about you, Spock? You all right? I don't hear much complaining."

Spock pursed his lips and nodded. "This does not come naturally to me, and I have my reservations." He sighed deeply, making McCoy regret not being able to see his face better in the gloomy dugout. "But at the moment, I find my position to be comfortable." Spock addressed Jim. "You make for an agreeable pillow."

"Are you saying I'm chubby?" Jim burst out.

"You know that is not what I said," Spock said dryly.

"Take it as a compliment, Jim," McCoy added but made a mental note to talk to Spock about tactful communication. "I wish I was that comfortable. But it's easier said than done with Mr Stickman here."

"Mr Stickman?" Spock asked. "I take offence to that."

"As you should," McCoy grumbled, still shuffling around in front of him, trying to stretch his legs and at the same keep them inside the dugout. At some time, after only once hitting Spock with his elbow, he seemed satisfied. "Ah, well, maybe you're a good pillow after all."

"I take offence to that as well," the Vulcan murmured.

At his left shoulder, Chekov shot him a cheeky grin. "Who knew you had so many talents?"

Spock nodded solemnly. "Indeed."

"Well, you pointy-eared prodigy," Chris mumbled fondly from the other side as she looked towards the exit, "now you just have to stop the bombs from falling, and I'll be forever grateful."

Spock did not react.

Christine sighed, then asked, slightly louder, "You didn't hear me, did you?"

Spock turned his head to her. "Apparently not. You are sitting on my right side, after all." He tilted his head. "Which is, when it comes to my hearing now, the wrong side."

"Now, don't say it like that," she returned. "I'm sorry, I forgot."

"What did you say?" he asked.

"Oh, I only said you just had to stop the bombs from falling. and I'd be forever grateful."

"She also called you a 'pointy-eared prodigy'," Pavel added.

"Ah, I see." Spock pursed his lips and subconsciously leant further into Jim. "I fear that is beyond all our capabilities, including our fellow soldiers'."

In front of him, the doctor huffed sadly. "If only it weren't. Whatever happened to 'thou shalt not kill' and 'love thy neighbour as thyself'?"

"It is regrettable," Spock said darkly. "The loss of potential, the life unlived."

"And the manner of killing," McCoy added. "It's disgusting. The sheer violence of it all."

"Indeed it is," Spock said and nodded.

For a moment, it was silent in the little dugout.

"Well, there is one small miracle," Christine said after a while. "You're agreeing on something at last."

"I suppose we all have to make some sacrifices," Leonard said with a smile. But it vanished all too quickly. "I just wish they didn't also include human lives."