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Technical Difficulties
Chapter 20: Of Scares and Swigs
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Bones methodically drummed his desk in pained frustration, his fingers hammering against the enhanced carbon tabletop one after another. Either his calls weren't going through or someone wasn't answering their comm.
He'd had it up to here with those goddamn comms. If it were up to him, he'd load them all up in a pod and crash the motherfucker into kingdom come.
Unfortunately, it wasn't up to him.
The call went to message again. This was the trillionth time, goddamn it. He clicked it off angrily, sighing and slowly standing up. Hesitantly, he inched to the door, trying to muffle the noise of his footsteps, and peeked around the corner.
Chapel was still there.
She wasn't working on anything in particular, as Sickbay had pretty much closed up all operations and finished all needed paperwork. No, she wasn't really doing anything at all. Sure, she was sitting at her station like normal, and she was doing shit like applying makeup and filing her nails every so often. But she wasn't really doing anything. Nothing at all.
A bead of sweat trickled down the curve of Bones' spine in fear.
He continued to watch for a moment more, watching her stare off into thin air and break out in an empty smile. She flipped her hair carelessly with a perfectly manicured hand, blinking slowly with her mouth hanging partially open.
Her eyes were the blank blue of a dead computer screen.
Bones flung himself away from the horrid sight, back behind the corner from where he'd foolishly dared to emerge.
Leaning there, pressed against the wall in no small amount of terror, Bones thought about his situation.
One, something was terribly wrong with Chapel. Either she was completely batshit insane or she was possessed by an alien. Personally, Bones thought it was the latter. She certainly showed uncharacteristic symptoms necessary for the prognosis.
Two, he was trapped in his office with the exit to Sickbay blocked by Chapel, with no cure in sight or weapon with which to defend himself. He couldn't even reach the tools to make a cure, let alone have one on hand.
Three, his comm wasn't working. So he couldn't call for help.
What could he do now?
Ever since he first asked Chapel what was the matter, he hadn't stepped into the room. He'd just retreated back into the confines of his office, where she hadn't yet penetrated. For now, Bones assumed that he was safe here.
He could try to sedate her, in the midst of a confrontation. But that might provoke the alien to attack, to go on the violent defensive. And Bones certainly didn't want that; not only would he be at risk, but so would Chapel's body. Being controlled by violent aliens was a tough toll on the victims, which Bones knew all about.
Instead of that, then… Bones was thinking maybe a distraction would do the trick. Divert the alien's attention with something unique from Earth, make a dash for the door, maybe he'd make it in one piece. The only problem was he wasn't quite sure what would best distract this particular species. He thought about its particular sensitivities.
It had said Chapel was engaged, so it would probably be interested in romantic stuff. Or maybe since the alien was inhabiting Chapel, Chapel's preferences would guide it? Either way, Bones was gunning for something girly and stylish.
He decided on a particular red smoke, one that issued into the air in the shape of a heart. It was a clever little thing, and had been wasting away in his upper drawer for the last couple of years. He figured the size of the smoke art – on the side it was labeled as being two meters wide and one meter tall – was big enough to get the alien's attention and give him enough cover to escape Sickbay.
It had been a gift, probably from Jim. Jim always re-gifted crappy trinkets that he got from girls he wasn't interested in, and those gifts usually found their funneled way to Bones. Usually Bones cursed the fact that he had to take in more crap – he was a packrat if anything – and bemoaned the new, useless clutter. He was glad one of them had actually come in handy.
Okay, the plan. Bones was going to escape, get to one of Chapel's friends who could talk sense into her, which at this point would be Uhura, since Rand wasn't the type of girl for sense, and bring them back here to try to get Chapel back to the universe of the sane. If that didn't work, Bones would sedate the alien-infested Chapel using Uhura as a distraction and try to fix it.
Bones knew that this wasn't exactly the opportune moment to call Uhura off-duty, because in less than eight hours they would be at Zanabar and starting off on a new mission from hell. But he also knew that it was necessary to exorcise this new demon of Chapel's. Stat. Whatever it happened to be.
Bones pressed the red heart-shaped button.
He rolled the tube through the door.
A massive, three-dimensional heart exploded into Sickbay. It wrapped its tendrils through the air, expanding, covering itself in more and more red smoke that issued from the tube until it filled itself in. The smoke coiled and roiled unceasingly within its set boundaries.
Bones took off, hidden behind the rounded wall of the smoke. As he just made it to the door, he looked back. Through a tiny window of clear air, he glimpsed Chapel's face. He saw her first reaction to the smoke art.
Her smile was empty, her eyes were dead, her teeth were sharp, her body was lax. She stared up at the smoke like she was hypnotized.
Bones tumbled through the opened Sickbay door out to the hall. He sprang immediately into a standing position and didn't spare a second to relax. He sprinted for the turbolift.
"Bridge," he barked to the damn thing.
It shuddered into motion, shooting upwards.
Goddamn communicators. Never fucking working. He'd have to talk to Scotty about his comms, because they were fucking awful.
Scotty would know how to fix it. He always knew how to get stuff working just right.
Bones had to say, the man was a goddamn genius with machinery. Sure, Jim could build a pod, Spock could fix a sensor, but Scotty knew how to do everything that had any connection to machines. He was a master of the craft.
Sort of like Spock with equations and Jim with strategy. Sort of like himself with surgery. Now that he thought about it, the Enterprise had a great deal of masters walking around on it; masters of all sorts of useful things.
The turbolift stuttered to a halt. Here was the Bridge.
The doors whooshed open.
The first thing Bones saw was the blond fringe of Jim's hair poking over the back of the Captain's chair. Then he saw the viewscreen lit up behind Jim's profile, full of dignitaries and politicos. They weren't wearing the Federation insignia.
Looks like he'd have to wait until after this talk to pull Uhura off the bridge. This was, after all, Uhura's job. Communications.
"The diplomatic discussions to take place are much anticipated," said the head honcho onscreen. He looked normal enough, as aliens go. Bright red eyes, but close enough. "My people will be gladdened to know that the talks will be conducted with Starfleet's highest caliber of officer. We will do the best to match the level of your skill and intelligence, to show our highest respect for you as you have done for us."
Jim smiled politely. "Thank you, Mister President. Is the schedule of talks suitable for your council?"
Bones sidled his way over to the communications station. Spock sent him a pointed look, complete with raised eyebrow, which Bones returned with interest.
"Quite suitable. We would in any case bend our previous reservations to accommodate you."
"There is no need."
"To my people, there is no greater need. Well then, Captain Kirk. I wish that your journey is quick and uneventful."
"My thanks."
Bones reached the communications station just as the president nodded with finality. Uhura was busily going over channels and rechecking everything for protocol's sake.
"Captain."
"President."
The screen blinked off.
Uhura busily shut down half her station. Click, click, knob, click. Finally her activity slowed to a halt as she set up the last of the automatic sensors.
"Bones, how nice to see you when you aren't wielding a hypo." Bones whirled around; Jim was grinning up at him from his chair. Jim never minded when Bones barged onto the bridge. Which he routinely did.
"Jim, I need Uhura in Sickbay." His urgent tone made Jim frown ever so slightly at the edges of his eyes. Uhura whipped around in her chair.
"What is it, Bones?" Jim stood and locked his hands behind his back.
"Nurse Chapel." Bones took a breath. "She's…"
"Lieutenant, accompany the Doctor to Sickbay immediately." After issuing his orders, Jim plopped back down.
Uhura jumped up and the pair of them shot towards the turbolift.
He explained on the way down.
"So Chapel's gone batshit or she's been taken over by another alien. My plan is – first, you talk her out of her insanity. If that doesn't work, you distract her and I'll sedate her. Understood?"
"Yessir." Uhura was tense. Bones knew she was probably freaking out about Chapel underneath her calm exterior.
"Questions? Comments? Concerns?"
"What are the signs?"
Bones scratched his chin in thought. "She's…different. I have never, in the entire three years we've been working together, seen her this way. Chapel is usually the most put together, practical, and purposeful person I've ever met." His voice darkened. "Right now, she's sitting at her desk, mooning at the smoke art I threw at her, her mouth catching flies."
Uhura looked at Bones in shock. That was not the Christine Chapel she knew.
"Is she… How did you conclude she was taken over by an alien? Here, at the heart of Starfleet operations? How do you know?"
Bones' mouth tightened into a grim slash. "I don't."
Uhura looked at Bones in wonder.
"I usually don't know what the goddamn hell is going on, Lieutenant. Not until everything is figured out a second before everything fucking explodes. I just deal with it as best I can." Bones muttered, "Can't believe you don't know this after three years of working on this ship. Fucking crazy shit happening all the fucking time."
In response to this rather weighty statement, though Uhura was never one to lack words, she had to struggle to find something to say. "…How do you make medical decisions when you're unsure of the diagnosis?"
Bones scrunched up his nose. "Ain't nothing a man can't do with a trusty tricorder and healing secrets straight from the Deep South."
On that note, the turbolift opened and the pair of them sprinted down the hall to the Sickbay doors.
Inside the room, Chapel wasn't at her desk any longer. Bones stared at the blank space in fascinated horror – damn, the alien's gotten loose onboard – until Uhura tugged his sleeve. He turned in her direction, looking quizzically at her, but Uhura was staring at something on the other side of the room.
Bones followed her gaze.
There was Chapel, crouching in the middle of the room, just there. She was holding the smoke art tube in one gripping hand, drilling her eyes into it as if it was the most mysterious thing ever invented.
And yet, Bones thought, it was as if she was completely unfocused, as if her eyes weren't really seeing anything.
Uhura and Bones glanced at each other. Bones jerked his head, indicating that they should both advance.
Hesitantly, Uhura stepped forward.
"Christine…?"
Chapel froze, her fingers tightened on the tube, her eyes narrowed. Her entire body tensed, reminding Bones of a wounded animal.
He'd had a lot of practice dealing with 'wounded animals.' Trying to mask his movement in the shadow of her vision, Bones made his way in slow centimeters to the drawers of hypos. Sedatives were in there.
Uhura took another step, almost in range. "Chris…?"
Chapel's gaze flickered slowly up Uhura's form, finally landing on her eyes.
Bones quietly slid the second drawer open, and selected a hypo blindly. From all the years in this Sickbay, he knew it was a sedative. He knew his home base, his territory.
Laying a comforting hand on her shoulder, Uhura kindly addressed Chapel. "Chris, what's going on? Are you sick?"
Bones shuffled around the desk, careful to make no sounds. Now he was behind the two of them.
"Nyota, darling…" Chapel's voice came out softly, as if from very far away. Almost as if it was from a dream.
Bones was only a meter away.
"Christine… what is it?"
Now he was right there.
"Nyota…"
Bones raised his hypo in preparation for the strike.
"I have to tell you the news!" Chapel leaped to her feet, grabbing Uhura by the shoulders. There was a certain spark in her eyes now.
Bones jerked back in surprise.
"You know that Roger Korby guy I was telling you about, the one who I went on a couple dates with over the leave this week? Well, let me tell you, Nyota, I want you to hear it from me." Chapel gave a moment for it to properly sink in. "We're engaged."
Uhura's mouth dropped in its sudden slack. "Whaaaat?"
"I know, it's all moving so fast!" She trotted over to her desk and grabbed her PADD. "Look at some of the messages we've been sending each other over the past couple of hours, too! Aren't they romantic?"
Chapel was chattering away. Uhura caught Bones' eye with a look that said, I got this. Mission under control. Then she turned back and chirped along with Chapel.
Running a hand over his bedraggled face, Bones left them to it.
He was too old for this shit.
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Speaking of being too old for this shit.
Bones stood in front of his mirror, adjusting the last few medals onto the front of his dress uniform. He stabbed his finger on one of the sharp pins, eliciting a quick curse. As he stuck the bleeding finger into his mouth, his other hand flung over to his bedstand, fumbling for the med kit he always kept on the second shelf.
Goddamn dress uniforms, goddamn medals with pins, goddamn diplomacy.
Even with only one hand, he got it all fixed up in a jiffy, as Scotty would say. With the quick help of a regenerator, his skin healed over the cut that the Pin of Death had mercilessly inflicted in less than a second.
"Goddamn pins." Bones fixed up the last of the tassels and medals without further injury to himself. There was more than one reason he hated accepting more awards, and this was one of them.
He straightened up and inspected himself in the mirror. The burned hole at the front breast pocket was invisible now, all patched up. When he'd gotten shot during the last ambassadorial mission they'd been on, he'd thought it was the last time he'd ever have to wear this stupid, ornate thing. But no. Here it was again, another bringer of bad luck in his life. Not that it looked bad on him, no. Bones would actually admit to the fabric being of high quality and the cut to be perfect.
If a little difficult to move around in. He tugged at the uncomfortably tight collar, which was simultaneously cutting off his air supply from the tight fit and weighing his neck down from the large metal awards clipped there. He'd have to have another talk with Jim about going on away missions in these ineffectual, uncomfortable uniforms, mark his words…
…And he'd also have to talk to Jim about giving him the awards in the first place. Bones was never what you'd call receptive to attempts of the congratulatory nature.
His medals tinkled together as he shifted his shiny black shoes into sight. The shoes were top of the line, made from a rare species only found in the dark caves of southern Berelli. Bones wasn't one to dissuade from finery and quality when he came across it. Besides, he'd shot those goddamn space rats himself. He'd sort of earned them; might as well use them.
There wasn't a single shine out of place on his polished boots, just as there wasn't a single unexpected crease in his slacks. His dress shirt was the main concern here: it had everything that could and probably would go wrong. All his medals, the ones that could fall off and disrupt something vital or could unhinge and stab him unawares, were all potential dangers. The discomfort of the collar could also impinge on his awareness of his surroundings or his response time to a clear emergency. Nothing else seemed to hold dangers, but Bones always knew that danger lurked behind every sparkle of every gleam of every button, every flourish of every fold. Clothes could be just as dangerous to wear as hostile aliens to trick.
With a comb and a fluid motion, Bones combed his hair into place one last time.
He regarded his reflection.
This could be the last time he'd ever see himself unscarred. Might as well take advantage of it.
His features were all regular, normal. Well, not exactly normal. He didn't have any large, dark shadows surrounding his eyes or bloodshot irises. Bones was more rested than usual, it seemed. And his cheeks had more color in them. And he was fully shaved; no shadow of any hour was in sight. He was as clean-shaven as the day he was born. The angry, hard lines that had seemed carved into his forehead just a week ago were softened to mere hints of figure, the wrinkles disappearing into tight skin. Apparently this leave had done him good.
Hopefully he'd get through this mission to see what the next leave had in store for him.
He picked up his fully restocked medkit and a recharged phaser before heading out.
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There was hustle and bustle in the transporter room. Jumpsuits flocking all over the place, pressing buttons and flicking pegs and twisting knobs, each one doing his duty and thinking he was the most important man on the ship.
Bones was clearly not feeling very kindly towards them at the moment. In fact, he was especially angry with them all at the moment. The little shits, making this evil contraption weave its infernal scheme around them all.
Goddamn jumpsuits. Goddamn transporter and its goddamn function.
Bones was definitely not hyperventilating, and he was also not gripping onto the shoulder of an unlucky jumpsuit for support. The private wanted to whine about it, but he thought better of it just in time.
"Bones, you're terrorizing the jumpsuits again." Jim sounded too damn happy.
"Dammit, Jim. No, scratch that, damn you, Jim."
"Someone's got some serious pre-beaming jitters today. Wake up on the wrong side of the ship this morning?"
"Wish I didn't wake up at all," he muttered.
Jim smacked him on the shoulder playfully. "Then where would I be? I'd have to sign all these forms and do all this paperwork and get a new CMO and all the rest of it."
Bones rolled his eyes. "How terrible for you."
"Yeah, it would be. Just awful. You'd be making so much more work for me."
"Wouldn't want that."
"Nope." Jim grinned. "It's just a regular beaming, Bones. Nothing'll go wrong. I trust the transporter with my life."
"Yeah, for every single goddamn mission when you have to be beamed up at the last goddamn second before your imminent doom. Someday it isn't gonna work right on time. Tell me how that works out for you."
"Well, it has so far. And if it didn't work, I'd find some other way to keep on surviving until it did."
Bones rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah."
He stepped up on the platform with Jim when the door opened and the other officers came in.
"Mornink Keptan!" Chekhov chirped excitedly.
"It's a fine day, isn't it, Captain?" Sulu grinned a little crazily. He always got a little too excited for swashbuckling away missions of this caliber.
"Top o' the mornin' t' ye, sir."
Jim smiled at them all. "Morning guys."
Scotty took the place next to Bones, examining him for a moment. "Doctor. A wee bit o' th' wash maey do ye some good, eh?"
Bones forced down a laugh, but a chuckle still came out. "Yes, it would."
Scotty subtly held out a small silver canister.
Bones took it gratefully, nodding conspiringly.
Just then, Spock came issuing through the doors.
"Doctor McCoy, I find it distinctly unwise to partake in an alcoholic beverage directly before an away mission of this importance."
Bones' eye twitched. He would fixate on that particular detail in the room full of bustling activity.
"It's a balm for the human soul, Spock," said Bones out of his gritted teeth. "And I happen to need some embalming at this very moment."
Spock turned his raised eyebrow to Jim, who nodded it off. Jim knew how serious Bones' problem was, and he gave Bones some leeway with his deepest fears.
Besides, it wasn't like Bones was going to do any talking during this part of the mission. He was just there to look pretty and take notes on how creepy people were down on the planet and walk around with the tour group.
Yeah, Bones definitely needed this swig.
He took a gulp before handing it back to Scotty. It was strong stuff. It was already hitting him where it counted, and that small buzz of detachment was all Bones needed to calm the fuck down and get ready to transport.
Everyone was on the transporter, everyone was ready.
Bones closed his eyes for a moment. He was going to beam to the planet Zanabar, and his body would be intact along with the bodies of everyone else and everything would be fine and dandy. Nothing bad would happen and they would continue on with their mission.
Or they would all be broken down into small pieces and perish in the unforgiving vacuum of space.
He opened his eyes.
Bones turned and smiled at Scotty as they began to disappear into flashes of gold. Their eyes met.
"Thanks for the drink," he said.
Then they were gone.
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End of Part 20
tbc
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Author's Note: yayy finally finished this part. Took me absolutely forever because I hit a major wall… Hate it when that happens. I think I'm gonna take a small (read - long) break from this story, dabble around in other fandoms and the like. Try to get my mojo back.
Also, I lost my notes for Technical Difficulties… O.o They're somewhere back home. Like, far away. :,( The huge awesome plan that I've been plotting is somewhere at the bottom of a car or something. Overwhelming sadness. Right here.
Hoped you like this chapter enough to actually review after that letdown on the update thing.