I'm terrible, I know. Should NOT be starting another story, especially not without finishing one first. This one has no plans on being updated soon, though eventually it will be—I'm co-authoring it with Tsume12 and it may therefore foray out of my usual type of fic. If it wanders too far, I might have her take over posting, but as she's new to the fanfiction community (and do you even want to know how long it took me to win her over?) we decided I'd probably get more initial hits due to the fact I'm on a few people's watch-lists.

The scary thing? Tsume's a lot like me—and swiped the name from one of my fics, the silly thing—and her writing style is almost identical. It's creepy. The only thing is, she can write romance. Me? Not so much.

Tsume's got a fic going—just one, so far—which is Slash/Yaoi (non-explicit, rated 'T'), that looks interesting to me so far. Go read it if you don't mind slash and have some idea as to the 2009 Star Trek movie. (Shameless promoting—what can I say? She's a friend and I want her to have fun on this site.)




There was no immediate response from the concussed man, though his eyelids had begun to flutter as though he was waking.

Spock repressed the illogical urge to frown and touched a finger to his Captain's temple, checking level of conciousness. Jim was indeed moving towards wakefulness, which was… a relief, if Spock were honest with himself.

Blue eyes blinked open shortly after the light contact was broken, then winced shut as the Captain's face contorted into a pained grimace.


"I am here, Captain."

Jim forced his eyes open and started to sit, only to be gently forced back down by his first officer.

"Please do not move, Captain. I have not finished treating your injuries." It was left unsaid that Spock was not a doctor and had only basic training in the use of the med-kit.

"Ensign Ryan?"

"He did not survive the shuttle crash." Spock was well aware of the Captain's tendency to feel guilt whenever a member of his crew was injured or killed. "It is not your fault."

Jim gave a tight nod, then flicked his eyes over his first officer searchingly, "You?"

"I received several bruises. Your injuries are more severe." Spock did not take his attention from where he was carefully running the dermal regenerator over a particularly nasty gash on the inside of his Captain's forearm.

Jim hesitated a moment, glancing around as much as he could without moving. He took in the trees surrounding them and the distinct lack of broken foliage or wrecked shuttlecraft. "Where's the shuttle?"

Spock finished with the cut on the Captain's arm and moved to the much less severe one on his temple, though he was unable to do much for the bruising around it. "The computer indicated that the impulse drive was facing an imminent overload. I moved us to a safe distance before the craft exploded."

"It exploded?"

"Yes, Captain. Approximately six minutes, thirty-eight seconds ago."

Jim sighed, then winced at a distinctive twinge in his ribs.

Spock, of course, noticed. "You had three broken ribs from the crash. I have done what I can for them, but they will be fragile and susceptable to re-breaking for approximately eight days."

After another moment, Spock sat back, placing the dermal regenerator back in the medical kit. "You have a moderate concussion. I would advise moving slowly—the mild painkiller I administered earlier will not aid with dizziness or vertigo."

Jim took the advice, sitting slowly at the implication that he was now permitted to do so. "Thanks, Spock," he said, ignoring the steady pounding of his skull. He was grateful for the painkiller, but his allergies meant that it had to be a fairly weak one in order to be allowed in a field medical kit not handled by an actual doctor.

Somewhat to Jim's surprise, Spock did not immediately reply, instead tilting his head slightly as though listening to something.

"Captain, I believe several of the natives of this planet are moving in our direction."

"Great," Jim grumbled, standing a little too quickly.

Spock was on his feet in an instant, steadying Jim as he swayed. "Captain," he began, then hesitated as sharp Vulcan hearing caught sound far closer than he had anticipated.

Three humanoids stepped into view, carrying what looked like old-English longbows, arrows knocked and aimed loosely in their direction.

Spock immediately shifted in front of his Captain, noting confusion in the three as they lowered their weapons.

"Spock," Jim's voice was firm, just shy of command.

Reluctantly, Spock stepped aside and allowed Jim to take a step forward. The natives did not, after all, appear to be overtly hostile. Merely puzzled.

At first glance, they vaguely resembled Vulcans, though their skin's tone, while pale, hinted at red blood beneath. Pointed ears were the main similarity.

But the resemblance ended there. There was something about them, like starlight, a glow that touched nothing but the figures themselves, and they showed emotion clearly.

The three natives exchanged glances, then one of them stepped forward, speaking carefully in what sounded like a twentieth century dialect of English. The words were slow and stilted, as though it was a language he only rarely spoke.

"Greetings, strangers. Do you know what caused the… ball of flame?"

Jim started to nod and swayed as the motion sent black spots swirling before his eyes.

Spock steadied him with a firm hand on the elbow, "Captain. I would ask if you are well, but I am aware that you are not. Allow me to answer their questions in your stead."

"'k," Jim murmured, oddly docile.

Spock once again found himself needing to repress the illogical urge to frown before turning most of his attention to the three humanoids before him while keeping close tabs on his Captain by shifting his grip to the still-bloodied forearm, allowing some skin-to-skin contact through torn cloth.

Even so, Jim's emotions seemed dulled to Spock's senses and the Vulcan found himself growing concerned—his attention returned to his commanding officer. "Captain?"

And Jim's knees buckled, only Spock's quick reflexes and superior strength keeping the man from going down. Spock shifted, catching the human as he started to crumple and easily lifting him in a bridal-hold, careful to support Jim's head against his own shoulder.

The natives took several concerned steps closer, "He is wounded?"

"Indeed," Spock acknowledged, now certain the Captain needed further treatment. "Is there somewhere safe near here where I can treat him?"

All questions were put aside in a way that suggested that these people cherished life and the spokesman nodded, "This way," he stated, turning to lead. "Our camp is not far."


Forgot to mention, despite the fact that we are writing it together, this fic is not a high priority for either Tsume or me, though it may become so if enough interest is shown. Especially if any of you readers manage to get Tsume to hassle me—as a RL friend, she's fairly effective at it.