Chapter Text
The handful of instances where he'd had occasion to find use of a field bedroll, Spock had awoken stiff and unrested. Even the hearty Vulcan physique preferred a plush cushiony surface to mould into during times of fatigue. Rousing awake this morning, Spock discovered that while he was, indeed, still stiff...no thanks to his previous injuries...he felt remarkably rejuvenated.
He distinctly recalled curling his long frame around Pola's as she balled her small body into the crook where his shoulder and torso connected just before succumbing to his exhaustion. He awoke, however, sprawled on his back across the surface of the mattress with his little furry companion splayed aloft his chest, her snout tucked firmly behind his right ear, and her tiny puffs of breath lightly tickling his hair against the skin there. His arms were hugging the small dog tight against him, he felt her soft, regular heartbeat thumping away and nearly lulling him back into slumber.
It was tempting, oh so tempting, to allow his head to fall sideways and rest his cheek against Pola's, the residual aching of his head wound be damned. Instead, without so much as jostling the tiny body atop his, he stretched out the last of the fatigue's lazy tendrils holding him under. Both the Vulcan and Human halves of his being acknowledged the satisfaction of feeling each of his vertebrae popping back into proper alignment.
Pola, sensing the subtle movement of her pillow, slowly stirred awake as well. Spock took inexplicable delight in watching her spindly legs stretch out before his eyes, culminating in the separation of each of her long phalanges and soft grunt of a yawn.
Before the impulse of her biological functions fired along the synapses from bladder to brain, Spock scooped up his juvenile beast and stepped with her outside in the morning Miran sun.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The quick trip over to the transport had proven to be a successful venture for both Spock and Pola. The young beast had been hesitant to follow him inside the downed metal box that had held her captive for over a solar week. But her instinct to follow him overpowered her trepidation and she climbed gracelessly over and around the debris scattered across the deck to join him at his feet.
Once inside she skittered around piles of detritus and the unfortunate evidence of her entrapment inside the vessel. She'd managed to scavenge meager scraps from leftover meals toppled over in the crash. But those scant meals lasted no more than two days, following which she'd stalked whatever vermin that had managed to make it inside through the numerous holes in the front half of the hull. Most of her attempts at hunting prey were unsuccessful and she'd spent each night howling in hunger, fear and loneliness.
Spock swept his tricorder across the expanse of the ruined galley. The instrument registered a slight power signature in the vicinity of what used to be a prep area from where meals were retrieved. His right brow quirked upwards, "Pola, good fortune is on our side this morning," he waved the tricorder at the bank of replicators that looked to be mostly intact. "It appears the power supply for this unit is still functional. I should be able to reroute the system and provide us both with adequate sustenance."
It wasn't often that Spock described being hungry as the Human saying of "his stomach began growling" at the thought of food, but he couldn't deny this morning that that was, indeed, what it was doing. He could, of course, employ a mental discipline to dispel the sensation, but he saw no logic in denying his body nutrition any longer.
It took no more than ten minutes for him to perform the necessary repairs to the replicator. During that time Pola had strayed from his sight, although he could still hear her claws clicking against the deck plates. When she returned to his side, she held a floppy grey and blue stuffed Terran Triceratops horridus made of a pebbled velveteen fabric between her scissored jaws. It was what Spock presumed what had been one of her toys before the crash and was nearly the same size as her. She pranced around his legs proudly displaying to him her reclaimed quarry.
"We'll play later, Pola," he told his young dog, "right now you need a proper meal."
'I need a proper meal as well,' he thought to himself.
~~~~~~~~~~
A proper meal wasn't exactly what he would have classified as his breakfast. After selecting an appropriate formula of a protein-rich, semi-raw diet for Pola, he cast aside his routine of a practical meal and logically concluded that indulging himself was acceptable given current circumstances. He sat outside the craft savoring the sweetness of Betazoid Uttaberry crepes slathered in Vulcan honey and a cup of Terran cinnamon green tea. Pola sat beside him happily crunching away at her own food.
Reemerging after clearing away the remnants of their breakfast, Spock carried out Pola's beloved dinosaur and a small shoulder bag he'd discovered filled with what looked to be the type of felted ball used to play the Terran sport of tennis. He doubted the survey crew would have use of the objects in their research, so he surmised they were meant as more playthings for the puppy.
He was still questioning her presence aboard the transport. Evidence being uncovered suggested she was to be accompanying a member of the crew, but for what reason he was still uncertain.
It was imperative that he get the Galileo's computer up and running, for a multitude of reasons.
Noticing the contents of the bag Spock carried, Pola discarded her plush toy to stare at him with the same ferocity as a sehlat at meal time.
"Ah, so these are for you? I suspected as such." Spock set the bag down in the grass and threw one of the spheres out into the clearing before them. Pola chased on her gangly legs after the neon orange ball.
It quickly became apparent that he would need to employ the use of more than one of the balls; Pola upon retrieving the previous danced around his feet, teasing him just out of reach of his outstretched hand. "So this is the game to be played, hmm?" a slight smile tugged at one corner of his lips. 'Take that you little shit!' he thought wickedly as he launched the second ball far distant from where he had the first.
It had been mentioned to Spock since joining Starfleet Academy that he possessed a "cannon for an arm" by any number of crewmen that he'd served with. Whenever he was making use of the rec room the same time one of the ship's pick-up flag football games was occurring, there'd invariably be multiple attempts to recruit him into the game. He was naturally exceptionally athletic, and while such competitive tribalistic rituals weren't a part of Vulcan culture...although the Terran sport of baseball was gaining popularity on the planet...they were a part of his Human heritage, and his mother had been an accomplished swimmer in her youth. He was partial to the games of basketball and soccer.
A scuffle had nearly broken out one such occurrence when Lt Sulu began arguing with Lt Leslie over which position Spock would be better suited to fill, quarterback or wide receiver. Spock had sided with Leslie, stating that the former required a certain "emotional awareness" to achieve success that he lacked. He'd once again declined participating, but silently agreeing with the possibility of "being the greatest wideout of all time" as Leslie had told Sulu.
A dozen throws into their game and Pola was spent. Her exhaustion was apparent as she dropped both spheres to the ground, her tongue elongated and lolling from the side of her agape mouth. She shuffled tiredly content behind her new person on their way back to the shuttle.
~~~~~~~~~~
The taptapslaptaptapslap of Spock's hands against the interior panel of the communications console echoed louder than he'd anticipated inside the cramped space. So enraptured by the music that his absent quiet singing of "...Buddy, you're a young man, hard man. Shouting in the street, gonna take on the world someday. You got blood on your face, you big disgrace. Waving your banner all over the place..." grew loud enough in amplitude that he roused Pola awake from where she'd been napping against his side.
"I am sorry, Pola," he shrugged at her when she flashed him what could described as a dirty look for disturbing her. "Freddie Mercury has a profound effect, even on Vulcans."
That was a truer statement than any Vulcan was willing to admit. He didn't pay too close attention to most current trends on his home world, but a growing movement to have Queen banned from every databank on the planet was of great concern to him. And one that he would personally get involved in countering should the need arise.
There were few cultural qualities where Humans surpassed Vulcans, music happened to be just one.
A quick trip with Pola outside revealed a darkening of the skies to the west, indicating an incoming rainstorm.
Fortuitously he'd had to make another run over to the transport and both he and Pola had enough foodstuffs to make it through the remainder of the day.
Back inside, Spock initialized the startup sequence for the instrument panel. Pola was joyously in the middle of the cabin chomping down on her triceratops; with her persistent activation of the grunting mechanism within the toy, he postulated that later he would regret her rediscovering the object.
Both perfectly arched brows shot up almost to his hairline at the readout before him. He turned in disbelief to his unfortunate fellow marooned survivor. "Pola, Tel-kam, it appears we may be stranded here for quite some time..."
(A/N: Freddie Mercury is an intergalactic siren that can make even Vulcans that have achieved Kolinahr smile, and I will die on this hill. I do not advocate feeding raw diets, but I figure by the 23rd century, we have a pretty good handle on proper nutrition.)