Author's Note: Yeah, this chapter was a bit late. There is a mountain of reasons, but I don't think you're that interested. It won't happen again; this week I'm writing a bit more prolifically to make up for my error. So just be happy to read this one, I suppose. Thanks for sticking with me and my ridiculousness.

I can't promise to be that nice to Uhura, even if I think she's awesome. I still don't quite understand the bond between her and Spock, so this is part of my take on it, I suppose.

Oh, and Paramount owns all of this stuff. I'm just messing with it. If you were thinking otherwise, thank you, but you may need to get a check-up. (Yeesh, aren't I so cordial today.) Go read!

Technical Difficulties

Chapter 7: Vague and Visceral

((()))

Lieutenant Uhura had been on the bridge for a half an hour before the morning shift began, checking some interesting frequencies from an odd channel. The sensors on the starship were the best, and pinpointed even the smallest subspace bands that curled around the ship that technology could offer. So she was usually on the bridge early and stayed late, listening to all of the sounds that other devices could only wish to attain, with more channels than any other and quality beyond quality. Flipping between blank channels, Uhura had found this extremely odd sound.

It wasn't quiet, nor was it isolated into one pattern; rather, it was a culmination of many loud noises smashed together. If she had to put a name to the type, she would classify the sounds as mechanical. Uhura dug her transmitter deeper into her ear and flicked a few switches to split the multitude of sounds into groups by the frequencies. After listening separately to the groups, she further separated the units into smaller pieces based on pitch. Going through the particulars, Uhura went through each and every individual sound she had recorded. After considerable thought, she decided to use the standard delta Starfleet algorithm for distinguishing sound patterns.

Flick. There was an awful screeching before she quickly flipped off the delta pattern. She tried gamma instead. There was no difference. Uhura tried beta, but it did no good. Finally, she tried alpha.

Sound swelled through the tiny speaker jammed in Uhura's ear, quietly at first. As she turned the volume up ever so slightly, her station beeped to signal the start of the shift. The doors whooshed open to admit the disorganized pack of stumbling, shouting morning crew, who settled into their places with an incredibly high decibel level.

Uhura quietly groaned and switched off her transmissions. She would try later, maybe during the night shift, when everyone was asleep. There was too much noise now to make a fair analysis of such delicate work.

She turned to face the middle of the bridge, giving her full attentions to the high ranks as a sign of respect before the day officially began.

The captain had already left for Earth for shore leave, Uhura knew, so it wasn't odd to see Spock sitting in the command chair. What was odd was Spock's expression, his behavior, his entire manner. Something was wrong, even though she couldn't exactly pin down whatever it was. His eyes were on the ground, flicking from place to place ever so often. The crease between his eyebrows was scrunched up, and his mouth was unsure of its position, twisting from one shape to another. Another crewmember would probably see Spock looking down and move on, but Uhura saw more.

So much more.

Spock was anxious, possible irritated, definitely in some sort of pain, insecure, and at least other five other things that Uhura had yet to discover. He had made his addresses to the crew quite evenly and logically, but his mind had been distracted and his body language told of his need to be somewhere else.

She wanted to run to him and ask him what was the matter with a few heartfelt queries and kisses, but Uhura was on duty. She did not dare break her protocol in order to do something personal. She had a job to do.

Spock was making his rounds with an odd, jerky gait when he stiffly asked for the frequency reports. Uhura responded succinctly and accurately immediately before he abruptly turned and walked off the bridge, muttering something about Mr. Sulu taking it over from here, one of the Captain's usual quips.

Uhura was concerned, but she was not allowed to leave the bridge without the consent of a higher officer, and there was a lot of work to do. So she stayed put, turning back to her channels and frequencies with a frown.

She would grill him later, and make sure he was fine. It's not like he's going anywhere, she reasoned. And he would be mad if I left my station just to console him.

((()))

Spock ground his teeth as soon as the turbolift doors swished together, and slammed his forehead against the wall. The episodes were even more frequent than usual, with fear, adrenaline, hatred, confusion, guilt, and worry all shooting through him simultaneously, more intensely than he had ever felt, before suddenly disappearing into nothing, leaving him alone and shaking inside his own skull. He couldn't understand it at all.

Stumbling down the hall, Spock collapsed right outside of Sickbay, splayed out on the floor with his muscles tightening with adrenaline just as another episode grabbed him.

This time, the emotions were so strong that not only could Spock feel the emotions so acutely he didn't know if they were his or not, he actually began experiencing whatever the source was experiencing. He saw, heard, felt, and tasted someone, someplace, something that he logically deduced were not his present surroundings. He saw a tall humanoid standing triumphantly yet menacingly over him, with bright blond hair and an evil grin. He heard the man speak awful things about their past and how he was going to repay 'Jimmy boy' for everything that had happened. He felt Jimmy being hit, over and over again, tasted the blood in Jimmy's mouth as the perpetrator's fists crushed Jimmy's cheeks into the sharp points of his teeth.

Spock felt sick when the blond man started hammering fists into his stomach, or what was actually Jimmy's stomach and his kidney. Jimmy's head bobbed down in fatigue when left alone and whipped from side to side when hit, and so Spock couldn't get a handle on the location with his dizziness and lack of control.

Blood poured from Jimmy's mouth when he was hit again, and Spock stared almost unbelievingly at the red color coming from what seemed like his own mouth. This seemed surreal, as if Spock was now a human. As he flopped back onto the ground, Spock caught a moment of his face in a mirror – just one glimpse. Through that one glimpse, he knew.

Spock figured it out.

He sunk into unconsciousness.

((()))

As Sulu checked the status of the ship for the fourteenth time, the entire bridge crew was a bit suspicious. Nothing was going on, and the work that had seemed like so much only an hour before had dwindled down into a few routine scans.

Sulu stood, stretched, and walked the perimeter for the fifteenth time when he stopped before Uhura's station.

"Yes, Lieutenant Sulu." She ran through her next report in her head in a flash, though it was relatively uninteresting and was almost identical to the last fourteen.

"Lieutenant Uhura, if you have other matters to attend to… I think you should go attend to them now."

With a pointed air and half a grin, Sulu was making his point quite clearly.

"Yes, sir." Uhura said with relish, pulling out her portable transmitter from her ear and standing to go to the turbolift.

It looked like more people understood Spock then she had thought.

((()))

Bones woke up in his armchair, disoriented and slightly groggy. He glanced around before settling back down. Scotty was still the living dead on the couch, so Bones didn't need to worry about him, and he was technically off-duty, so he wasn't expected to report for the morning shift or even report his tardiness. For the moment, Bones could just sleep in a bit. His sunk down into his chest as he relaxed, content.

Bee-bee-beep.

"…Dammit."

Groaning and moaning, Bones dragged himself from his comfortable chair across the room to his desk where his communicator was beeping.

He flipped the damn thing open.

"…" He couldn't hear anything; it sounded like radio silence. There were a few crackles and a bit of static, but nothing distinct.

"This is Chief Medical Officer Leonard McCoy. Please respond." He waited.

There was no answer. He threw the damn thing onto his desk. "Goddamn contraption's gotta be broken, goddamn it." He threw a sideways glance at Scotty. "Maybe he could take a look at it when he wakes up." Bones did have a sort of monopoly over Scotty at the moment; he could probably get the entire Sickbay checked out while Scotty was here.

Bones knew that Scotty was out for the day, having scanned him the night before. The man was suffering from the most severe case of fatigue Bones had ever seen in a human. Well, except perhaps in himself. He would be out for a day, maybe two, and then be ready to work again. All he needed was some well-deserved rest.

After contemplating Scotty's condition, Bones fell back into his armchair, ready to sleep again. But it was not to be.

((()))

Nurse Chapel rushed to Sickbay, late to her shift and knowing she would get punished by Bones somehow for tardiness, maybe with an exceedingly boring experiment with bacteria or special time with the dermal regenerators.

After taking so long to realize her clock was thirty minutes slow, Chapel had raced through her doors and down the hall after haphazardly throwing on some clothes and running through the sonic shower. She did have to take some time to carefully drag a comb through her hair and style it too, but other than that, she was hectically pushing through every moment with her haste.

It wasn't like anything spectacular was going on that she would be desperately needed by McCoy or anything; after all, the ship was in the middle of a repair session. However, she knew that McCoy was a stickler about certain protocol, always paranoid about freak emergencies and injuries, needing every Sickbay crewmember on time and at their stations. If they were like Chapel, always on time and always impeccably dutiful, then he was absolutely dandy. If they weren't, McCoy was ruthless.

Chapel drew out a PADD and began scribbling on it as she got closer and closer to Sickbay, walking faster and faster. She almost tripped on Spock.

((()))

Uhura stalked down the hall up to Spock's quarters, forcing repair teams to shuffle off to the side with her incredibly intentioned walk. As she neared his cabin, she hesitated for a moment before pressing the button.

"…Spock…?" Silence. She couldn't hear any hint of movement through the door, even with her impeccable hearing.

She rang again.

There was no answer.

"I'm coming in."

The door opened as Uhura plugged in the override algorithm Spock had given her. Stepping inside the dark, hot room, Uhura glanced around looking for any signs of movement.

There were none.

"Computer, lights 50%." The lights flickered on, and Uhura could see the emptiness of the room before her.

And the chaos.

((()))

"Goddammit, Spock, wake the fuck up!"

His head turned slightly to the side, responding to the Doctor's voice. How long had he been blacked out on the floor? Would there be time?

"Doctor…" Spock breathed out. "Jim… is…"

"Whatever it is, it can wait, Spock. Just calm down and focus on regaining your equilibrium."

"No!"

This outburst stopped McCoy in his tracks.

"…What is it? What's happened to Jim?"

"…Being… beaten, could be… killed…" Spock focused on a small point in his brain, blocking all other feelings except for his determination. Suddenly, the wave of overwhelming emotions clicked off.

Abruptly, Spock sat up. "Jim has been knocked unconscious. That is the reason why I am able to function now, Doctor. That means the situation has summarily worsened. We must find Jim and save him from the perpetrator immediately."

"What the hell, Spock – "

"Doctor, this is not only time, but Jim's life we are wasting."

Bones sighed and grabbed some choice tools. "Let's head off then, Lieutenant Commander."

((()))

Spock's quarters were in utter disarray. There were papers flung every which way, looking as if they were ripped out of bound books. Spock had a small collection in here, if Uhura could recall correctly. She bent over and saw the small insignia of Vulcan dictation on the ripped corner. This was some of Spock's most prized Vulcan poetry.

Furniture was upended and tossed about. Some of the legs of spindly chairs had snapped or been snapped, one chair slightly wobbling. The bed seemed as though it had been ripped apart. Candles were broken into pieces, and there were some remains of the candles on the walls, along with some suspicious liquids. The Vulcan art that had been on the walls was punched full of holes, and the interesting carving from ancient Earth from a famous Buddhist temple was smashed across the floor into small rivulets of porcelain.

Uhura could not move for some time from the shock after realizing the extent of the damage. She held the slip of Vulcan poetry in her hand, staring, gaping, at the mess before her.

Something was definitely wrong with Spock.

Uhura had always prided herself on stating the obvious.

The gut feeling she had right now was horrifying. Maybe Spock is just venting about his mother again, she thought desperately. Maybe he's just going through a phase. He won't be in the bathroom, dead. No, no way. He'll be fine. Just fine.

She lost the feeling in her legs, toppling towards the wall, thrusting her arms out to support her body. Shifting to the left, she reached the bathroom. The doors opened slowly with a creak.

With a cry, Uhura rushed to the growing bloodstain weeping from beneath the sonic shower.

((()))

Bones shook his head in disgust. Again, he was being dragged along on some mission to save Jim's life that he knew nothing about on some blasted piece of machinery that he didn't understand. He was passively moving through life. The only time people bothered to explain themselves was after everything was over, or if he couldn't treat them without the information. Sometimes that didn't stop them from maintaining their silence.

Like Spock, at the moment. The only thing that would come out of his mouth now was that Jim was in dire peril. Nothing else. He didn't explain how he knew this, where they were headed, or what kind of peril.

It got on the old country doctor's nerves.

"Dammit, Spock, don't just clam up like a goddamn… clam! How the hell is Jim in mortal peril?"

There was no response. Spock looked as if he was attempting to become a marble statue. His facial features had barely twitched for the entire journey down to the transporter room. At least, Bones thought they were going to the transporter room; by his understanding, Jim had already beamed planetside last night. His gait was awkward to watch, not to mention follow. If Bones could trust his own judgment on Vulcan physiology, which he had only taken three courses on in undergraduate school, then he would say that Spock was pallid, sickly-looking, and pretty much incased in a physical hell.

But he wasn't sure if he could trust himself on that one.

After some more awkward silence between them, Spock determinedly almost limping ahead of him, Bones pulled out his tricorder and scanned him again, checking all sorts of different channels and faculties in his confusion. His eyebrows shot up at the readings he found.

"Spock…!"

((()))

After an absolutely spiffy good night's sleep, enhanced with a special medicine administered by the good Doctor, Scotty's eyes blinked open in Sickbay's main office. He was covered by a warm blanket that looked as if it was carefully tied around him so he wouldn't be able to struggle much after waking and possibly escape. After yawning and stretching his limbs as much as was possible for him in that particular position, Scotty rolled off of the couch to loosen his arms.

The noise alerted the nurse from the other room, who came in just as he had freed himself. It hadn't been too difficult; it was the standard straightjacket pattern with the adaptation to include the inhibition of leg usage, an exercise that had been common for Starfleet cadets in routine examinations. What was difficult was tying the damn things; getting out was easy if you just knew how.

Standing up as the lovely lass showed in the door, Scotty was polite and made sure she was comfortable.

"Mornin,' lass. 'Ope all's well in Sickbay, then?"

She looked a mite confused, but her expression cleared after seeing the blanket and couch all mussed from his night there.

"Were you here last night with Doctor McCoy, then, Lieutenant Commander?" Her tone was calm and low, though her eyes seemed a bit curious. He realized that this nurse was not a lass, but quite the mature lady.

"Aye, ma'am, Ah believe so. Though, Ah cannae remember most of it." He smiled good-naturedly, and she smiled back, a bit embarrassed.

"Uh, yes, I see. Perfectly. Then I suppose you are free to return to your post, Lieutenant Commander."

"Thankee kindly, ma'am." Scotty high-tailed it out of Sickbay to return to his sanctuary: Engineering. It seemed like he had been sleeping forever, unable to return to his refuge of piles of junk and sheets of metal.

Just as he was passing out of Sickbay's doors, he caught sight of someone he hadn't seen since the Hell Incident, as some young ensigns were muttering in the corners of the Mess Hall.

Scotty smiled and waved. "Mornin,' lad!"

Slistas stopped and turned around after glancing back. Clearly, Scotty was speaking to him, as there was no one else in the hallway.

"Lieutenant Commander." Oddly enough, it sounded more like a question than a response. Perhaps Slistas was a mite confused to why he was being addressed.

Scotty rubbed his hands together excitedly. "Ah wundered if yeh could accompany me t' Engineerin,' if yeh got the tayme."

Slistas paused momentarily before responding, "Certainly."

Scotty's face lighted up with glee.

((()))

McCoy's face darkened with anger and fear. "You're being tormented by Jim's emotions again, then, aren't you, Spock?"

At this, Spock head whipped around in surprise. "You… had already discovered that the psychic bond was…?"

Bones rolled his eyes. He shot a muscle relaxant straight into Spock's bloodstream. "Y'know, for bein' so goddamn smart, you really miss the obvious sometimes."

After a moment, Spock's shoulders relaxed and he began walking normally, hands behind his back in Starfleet standard position.

"Well, then, Doctor, I have just experienced an intense onslaught of the Captain's emotional state and have glimpsed his situation through the short eclipse of our connection."

"Well, what did you pick up on?"

"The emotions were so intense that I literally experienced his physical surroundings, as well."

"So…"

"I saw the perpetrator, I felt him beating the Captain, and I heard his reasonings."

"Then we can catch him."

"Indeed, Doctor, if we are just fast enough. I do not know where he has taken the Captain, nor do I know how." Spock blinked. "However…"

"You just thought of an ingenious way to find him?"

"…Indeed, Doctor."

((()))

Uhura took another small step towards the bloody shower. The pane was muddied with splotches of blood dripping down the rough glass, but she could just make out the dark form of a body slouched against the wall, sprawled on the floor.

The pool of blood on the ground lapped at her boots as it continued to grow. Vaguely, Uhura noted that the blood was red, not green like Spock's.

Sloshing through it all, Uhura made it to the edge of the shower. Holding her hand to the glass to steady herself, she gasped as she saw a red handprint mirroring her own. Carefully, her hand shaking in fear, Uhura opened the door to the shower.

And screamed.

She fell back, her legs unable to carry her weight, scrambling, her hands slipping on the blood and her boots fruitlessly working to push her away. Finally, when she had reached the other side of the room, she grabbed the door, pulled herself to her feet, and ran.

((()))

Scotty had just gotten to the finer points of his explanation of his new little baby, when Slistas went into a long and thorough description of how his heart worked exactly, through all of the intricate pistons and contractions. Scotty was listening so intently he almost missed it.

When Slistas was using a stylo to sketch some of the finer mechanisms, Scotty had been bending over to see his diagrams. It had been no surprise for Scotty to see Slistas decked out in the standard Starfleet black slacks, and so he hadn't noticed before, but as he was directly before him, there was no way he could miss it.

The sleeve Slistas was dragging on the side of the screen left scrapes of blood on the polished metal.

When Scotty looked a bit closer, almost the entire black uniform was damp, slightly hinting reflections of the dim lights surrounding them.

"Is that a satisfactory explanation, Lieutenant Commander?"

Scotty responded instantly. "Perhaps Ah could jus' get anuther clarification on the rounded seams and how they work t'gether with any other organs?"

Slistas turned back to the screen. "Of course. Please note the shaping of the corresponding fill for the seam, just here…"

Slowly, ever so slowly, Scotty maneuvered to the side of his own station, only a few feet away, and input a very secure code into the subspace channels.

((()))

Nurse Chapel breathed in and out very slowly.

"Lieutenant, please repeat."

"Nurse, I found a body in Spock's bathroom! There's blood everywhere, I'm covered in it, I'm not even sure who it is, the face is completely smashed apart! I wasn't, I couldn't even think, I don't know who did it, could it have been Spock, why would he do something like this, oh, it was awful, I can't believe that someone would do something, anything, like this, it can't be him, it can't be Spock who did it, I – "

"Uhura." Chapel's voice was firm and serious.

Uhura seemingly sucked in a breath, and stopped talking over the communicator.

"Now, I want you to calm down." Chapel expertly pressed a complicated pattern of buttons. "I already sent a medical team along with a Security team, so don't worry, people are coming to get you and to maybe help whoever the victim is."

"But – "

"What is it?" Chapel wondered if she would be able to stop her from another outburst if she started again.

"There's no chance he's alive." The voice that filtered through the communicator was now steady, though still a bit high.

At least she still seemed calm. That's one good thing about this situation so far. "Why do you say that?"

"His brain is splattered on the wall of the shower." Uhura's voice was completely placid and commonplace now, so much so that Chapel's eyes widened with the prickling feeling of something being completely and utterly wrong, not just with the situation, but with Uhura. The girl must be in a powerful state of shock, at the very least. The mental damage this must have caused seems severe.

"Nurse?"

"Uh, yes, then the medical team will assist you back to Sickbay. Please stay where you are, Lieutenant Uhura."

"Yes, ma'am," Uhura chirped from the other line. Then the communicator clicked off.

Slowly, Chapel shut her own communicator. Not only a murder, but a severe trauma patient, and there were still all the patients the Doctor hadn't seen from the last incident.

In any case, Sickbay was going to be exploding with activity for quite a while.

Rushing into Doctor McCoy's office, Chapel slammed her hand on the report button, patching her directly to the bridge.

((()))

After a wonderful, peaceful morning spent with his beautiful girlfriend, Chief Security Officer Giotto had been leisurely sipping his cup of coffee at his comfortable station when every single alarm for emergencies sounded off. Everything had seemed to go to hell in the moment where he took a seat.

Three security teams had been called by the Chief of Engineering and two by the Chief Medical Officer, along with the news of a murder in the quarters of the Commander, a missing Captain, and news of a traumatized Lieutenant. Not only was it Giotto's job to put together all of the teams, he also had to make sure the rest of the ship was under full alert because of the murder, find the murderer, make sure the traumatized victim was put under suitable protection, investigate the kidnapping of the Captain, and lastly cart off the wounded to Sickbay. He had to oversee everything, and be perfect in all that he did.

With a sigh, Giotto set down his coffee. "I really thought I could have just one peaceful day. I really did."

He grabbed a stash of high caliber phasers to hand out to his team leader, keeping a triple-barrel for himself. It was his favorite gun in a pinch.

And it looked like this would be a helluva pinch.

After all of the preparations had been made, Giotto made sure to stop by her station.

"Hey." He loaded his gun with a new clip of semi-reactive gel and snapped it shut, pointedly not looking directly into her eyes.

"Lieutenant." Her voice was soft yet clipped. "Off to wage another war?"

"Look, Joy – "

"No, stop while you're ahead." She stood slowly, turning away from him.

"Joy – "

She whipped back around, and Giotto stopped talking. Tears were shining in her eyes, threatening to leak out.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning over the gun, careful not to touch it. Whispering into his ear, "Try not to die."

Giotto dropped the gun on the floor as he snaked his arms around her.

"It's just a routine Security detail, maybe with a bit more manpower than usual. You don't have to worry, Joy." His voice had softened so that it could only be heard by her.

She clung tighter. "Whenever a man carries a phaser, it means that he senses danger."

Giotto didn't have anything to say to that. Well, maybe one thing.

"…I love you."

They broke apart, Giotto picked up his gun, and he headed off. Before he left, he looked back once to catch her gaze.

"Joy…"

She nodded once.

He spun around and confidently charged through the door.

((()))

"Meester Sulu, vat eez happening now with the rest of ze ship?"

"Well, I don't actually know all that much, just the same as you."

"Vat should ve do?"

"Actually I was planning on just doing what I usually do, just doing the routine scans and piloting, you know. Just the normal stuff."

"Vat eef ve should be helping? Vat eef ve could fix ewerysing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Vell, I vas sinking zat ve could use ze sensors, recalibrated off course, to find ze Kepten."

"What do you mean? He doesn't have his insignia on him, I don't think. It was taken off of him. Spock would have already checked it, wouldn't he? I mean, whoever would kidnap someone and not take his transceiver off is an idiot."

"Vell, vat eef he didn't?"

"What, are you saying Spock of all people wouldn't think to check something so basic?"

"Zat ees exactly vat I am sayink."

"Why? What's your theory?"

"Meester Spock vas qvite distracted zis mornink…"

"…I see your point."

Sulu turned to the Communications station, specifically the lieutenant taking Spock's position for the moment.

"Lieutenant Green, please monitor Captain Kirk's frequency as per his insignia transceiver."

"Yessir."

A few seconds passed before the screen showed the vitals of a certain James T. Kirk.

Chekhov whooped in triumph.

Then reality hit.

Chekhov started cussing in Russian.

((()))

What Jim couldn't understand was that through all of the hits that damn Irishman kept pounding on him, all he could think of was Spock. He had no dreams when he blacked out from the pain, but it was as if he was in another person's body, almost, as if he was completely removed from the pain. He dimly perceived the bastard hitting him, yelling at him, kicking him, but the more he was awake, the less he felt. At first he had almost been overwhelmed with the sheer impossibility, but slowly Jim became accustomed to the idea that an old classmate was planning on beating him to death.

Vaguely, ever so vaguely, Jim thought about his options. He could attempt to disable the blond bastard with a lot of pain as a reward, he could take the beating and pretend to pass out and then attempt escape, assuming that he didn't actually pass out, he could attempt to distract him with something and then escape, he could…

Well, none of these options sounded as if he was going to get away.

The more he tried to paint a blurry picture of his situation, the more it seemed like one of those no-win situations that he had never believed in. Then Jim's eyes narrowed.

No way in hell did he believe in a no-win scenario.

Another spark of rebelliousness shot through him with a vengeance, and as the blond bastard came in again for another hit, Jim smashed his bloody forehead into the unguarded groin of his good friend.

((()))

End of Chapter 7

TBC

Author's Note:

What do you think of my new chapter? SPECULATE: What's going to happen to Jim? Who's the dead person in the bathroom? Whodunit? Why? How's Uhura? Why was there that moderately random segment of Giotto with his girl? How's Scotty in Engineering with Slistas? What's the meaning of life? All of these questions and more shall be answered in the next installment of Technical Difficulties! Just stick around, maybe write a nice little review, and you'll get everything you'd ever want.