Title: Always on the Run
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Characters: McCoy, Spock (possible pre-Kirk/Spock/McCoy)
Disclaimer: I’m just playing around with some of my favorite ideas. No profit made.
Summary: Visiting a planet with overly large inhabitants is always ill-fated for the Enterprise. How could McCoy forget that?
A/N: My brain’s been on vacation. I am attempting to revive it. Also, when I was very young, I loved old movies involving “giants” like King Kong, Godzilla, and whatnot. Jurassic Park, when it first came out, was fun too. :P

“Damn—” BOOM. “—it! Spock, I told—” BOOM. “—you not to provoke the dinosaur!”

“I suggest you desist talking, Doctor, and run faster.”

Maybe Spock is right. Cursing does seem like a waste of breath and, crap, his lungs do burn, trying to absorb enough oxygen to keep his body in flight mode.

The next BOOM rattles the surrounding area. McCoy stumbles, makes a hasty grab for the back of Spock’s tunic, and takes them both down to the ground. Somewhere behind them, an ominous, downright terrifying roar pierces the almost hushed silence of the jungle. (Any living thing with sense is currently hiding—except, of course, for the two bipeds.) Leonard spits out a mouthful of mud, ready to lever himself to his feet and get the hell back to runnin’ for his life, when Spock unceremoniously plucks the man from his sprawl and says shortly, “Look for shelter.”

Water droplets rain down from overhead leaves at the BOOM-BOOM of heavy footsteps in the distance. A small dark lump, rat-sized, scampers across McCoy’s boot and dives into a nearby bush.

Right behind you, Leonard thinks wryly. Normally, he would forgo dignity and climb a tree to get out of reach of a large predator. This predator, though, is the definition of monstrous; meaning, at a good tree’s height, Leonard would be level with its mouth full of pointy teeth.

Instead, they need to find an itty-bitty hole to scurry into.

Leonard doesn’t protest when Spock clamps a hand around his wrist and drags him in a new direction. They dash between two enormous fronds, Spock somehow picking out a trail to follow despite that the moonlight on this planet is, at best, pitiful to see by. It’s hard to ignore the fact that the trees around them are groaning and snapping under the weight of the beast pursuing its dinner—namely, the tasty sacrifice that got away.

After another sharp right turn (Leonard scrapes his arm on the bark of a tree in passing) the two men find themselves face-to-face with the base of a cliff scaling high into the foliage and beyond sight. Leonard takes back his initial enthusiasm. “I’m not climbing that,” he informs the Vulcan standing next to him.

“We could not do so without wasting time and without injury,” Spock replies, alert eyes averted elsewhere, searching for something. Still holding onto Leonard, the Vulcan veers on a course parallel to the cliff until the pair rounds a corner. Spock points ahead of them, remarking, “There.”

It is a long gorge, outlined in faint moonlight and cluttered by vines. Leonard’s skin crawls at the thought of what might live in its shadows. Then the roar comes again, closer—too close—and Leonard decides he would rather take his chances with an unknown danger than the one he definitely knows too much about (with its claws, beady intelligent eyes, and huge maw).

He follows Spock, picking his way over tumbled rocks and pushing back the jungle in his face. As they come to a narrower part of the gorge, he has to turn sideways to keep going; it becomes an almost painfully tight squeeze. In front of Leonard, Spock hasn’t uttered one word of complaint.

At one point, he thinks they must be far enough inside that they are safe. “Spock?” the doctor pants. “Spock, can we stop now? Any farther ‘n I’m gonna crack a rib.” The rock at his back and rock at his front are digging into his body in some uncomfortable places. McCoy drops his head onto one of his arms and takes a minute to breathe. He is not exactly claustrophobic but, God, this would be a nightmare for someone who is.

“Doctor McCoy?”

Leonard wipes futilely at the sweat beading on his forehead and lifts his gaze, fighting to see through the inky blackness. Leonard thinks he can discern the tip of one of Spock’s pointed ears. “I’m fine. Can’t really see you, though. How’s your shoulder?”

Something brushes against the back of his neck. He hopes it is Spock. Probably isn’t.

“The muscle is strained; however the strain does not hamper movement.”

“Pain?”

“No more than an ache.”

Wow, that’s more honesty than he usually gets from the tight-lipped Vulcan. “All right, keep it still.” In other circumstances, McCoy would have taken the time create a makeshift sling for Spock but, with running for their lives, the very thought dropped to a low priority. Sighing, Leonard shifts his body and brings up one leg to brace his knee against the rock and take some weight off of an aching leg. “Hey,” he says after a moment, “do you think it’s gone?” The sounds of pursuit have died out and the ground isn’t vibrating.

As if it knows its cue, the reptilian-creature snorts along the outside of the gorge. The whoosh of air dislodges dirt and leaves, sending both sailing into McCoy’s face. He coughs. The thing that wants to eat him roars in response. It is undoubtedly saying, Come out, I only want to play!

Spock’s “Negative” is entirely unnecessary, McCoy decides.

Leonard briefly considers braining himself against the rock and saving the monster the trouble of having to wait to kill him. ‘Course, then Spock would have to climb over his dead body to get out and how rude would that make McCoy?

To think, how excited everyone on the ship had been, how they had vied for a position on the landing party to go to the surface and see the majesty of a species not unlike the prehistoric beasts of Earth before man evolved. Even Leonard had caught a touch of Jim’s excitement at the prospect (the more the fool he is, in hindsight). Or maybe it was the fact that Jim admitted he owned a plastic T-Rex as a kid and it was his favorite toy until he turned six.

Leonard doesn’t ever remember being that enamored of dinosaurs. He definitely isn’t now.

For the sake of conversation and because he needs to quit thinking about his rising blood pressure, Leonard says, “It looks like an over-sized Gorn.”

A heartbeat of silence. Then, “Not an incorrect observation, Doctor, if one negates the fact that the Gorn are highly intelligent.”

Leonard makes a noise that could be an aborted laugh. “I’d say it’s pretty smart, Mr. Spock. It coulda’ve eaten me while I was tied up…” Okay, quit with the unpleasant thoughts.

“And instead waited for you to be released,” finishes Spock.

Unexpected anger flashes through Leonard. “Which, by the way, was the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen you do!” he says, voice low but harsh. “The next time I want you to jump to my rescue, Spock, I’ll let you know!”

“Arguing is pointless.”

That makes him madder, that Spock won’t let him vent. Rather than continuing on (and making an ass of himself), McCoy bites back the rest of what he wants to say. He closes his eyes, the buzzing in his ears dimming until he can listen to the soft pants of breath on his left. Spock.

The Giant Gorn (Leonard is going to reference it as such in his report, if he lives to write said-report) is quiet but McCoy doesn’t dare believe that it has given up hope of a meal.

Grimacing as the inside of his knee begins to itch, Leonard shifts restlessly in place.

Where’s Jim now? Probably still sitting on his impromptu throne and enjoying the show of dancing virgins dressed in flower petals. They had been clever, the indigenous people of this planet. Keep the Captain occupied and steal one of his crewmen to “sacrifice to the Wild” (that’s what the universal translator spit out as a native snapped a manacle onto McCoy’s wrist). Yet why is it that no one from previous expeditions was reported missing? Is McCoy the first victim? Is this sacrifice an undocumented ritual? Or simply new behavior?

Somehow, Dr. McCoy thinks not.

The natives seem like decent folks; they proclaim to enjoy the visits of the “space men.” They are proud of their culture and the fact that their planet is a blatant tourist attraction to curious offworlders. Maybe the kidnapping was partly McCoy’s fault. He did call Jim ridiculous in that borrowed headdress (he was actually agitated that Jim’s attention was focused on the mostly naked women, who were even more ridiculous in McCoy’s opinion) and Jim did get mad and Leonard did take Kirk’s sharp response slightly too personally and left the group, piqued, to cool his sudden temper.

Spock found him just in the nick of time (with the beastie coming over the hill like a dog unerringly to its food bowl), shackled to a stake behind the high walls of the village as an offering of appeasement. Leonard knows he is lucky in that respect; otherwise his body parts would be rolling around in digestive juices right about now.

The question remains, though: how long before Jim notices his missing officers? Of course, were McCoy not the one in need of saving, he might caution his captain about the dangers of traipsing through a world of carnivorous Giant Gorns. Jim only has to get stomped on once before…

“Stop it, McCoy,” he mutters to himself. He and Spock shall simply stay right here and Jim will do the smart thing for once and have everybody transported back to the ship immediately.

Ah hell, who is he kidding? Nothing ever happens the easy—or safe—way.

“Spock?” Leonard croaks, hating the darkness, the eerie silence, and his own fears. “You still around?”

He could almost suspect the Vulcan of dry humor when the reply comes: “There are not many places I could go, Doctor.”

McCoy sighs again. “We’re in it this time.”

Spock doesn’t feign misunderstanding. “Indeed.”

That produces a small chuckle. “What, no statistics on our chances of survival?”

“You would not find them comforting.”

No, Leonard very much doubts that he would. But he can, at the very least, remember the more gentlemanly portion of what he wanted to say earlier. “Thanks, Spock.”

Spock suggests, surprising the doctor, “You might demonstrate your gratitude by reconciling with the Captain.”

Leonard considers the request, not realizing until now why Spock would have been looking for him. “Okay,” he agrees. “I can do that.” Somewhere in the dark, close to McCoy, comes a quiet noise—perhaps a muffled exhalation of relief (at least, to a human’s recognition). Leonard catches the sound, and the man knows that, for once, he has done something undeniably right.

Then the hungry Giant roars again (somewhat unhappily, McCoy thinks) and Leonard begins a silent compilation of key points of his official report.

First and foremost… re-evaluate the prerogatives of the natives. Recommend Mr. Spock for a commendation for a heroic deed. Ban the Enterprise from contact with beings larger than a nacelle.

Morning comes, bringing with it a faint hum like a shuttlecraft hovering before it docks. When McCoy says as much, Spock remarks, “I believe the Captain has arrived.”

And that’s all Leonard really needs to hear to start grinning like a fool.

-Fini

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