Technical Difficulties
Chapter 6: Of Wounds and Wordplay
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After a half an hour of waiting and no Scotty, Bones knew he wasn't going to show. Not that Scotty was usually late or anything; it was just that he knew Scotty was still working on his new little machine thing again. He was always too enthusiastic about his little projects, Bones thought. Sometime he needs to be weaned off of work during shore leaves and get some living in.
Sighing, Bones corked the Scotch and put it back in its hiding place. He had only had a few sips, so he should be fine going out and about the ship. Stretching, Bones headed out of Sickbay, loaded with a hypo and his tricorder. He never went anywhere without his tools if he could help it, especially if he was going to Engineering. Too many goddamn accidents in all that goddamn machinery. Sparks and wheels and shit, burning and crushing his patients' fingers and hands all the damn time. Though Scotty himself never actually came into Sickbay for one of those routine accidents, Bones was sure he was just not telling him about it.
Either that, or Scotty was damn good at getting himself through danger without a scratch, which Bones highly doubted. With all he's seen, a man would need a guardian angel and a helluva four-leaf clover to get through all that machinery and never get burned.
Which brought Bones to thinking about why, exactly, had Scotty not shown up to his appointment?
Option 1: He was working diligently on his project, and didn't see the alert.
Option 2: He was working diligently on his project, and refused to comply because of his mechanical obsession.
Option 3: He was working diligently on his project, and got injured to the point of unresponsiveness.
Option 4: He was working diligently on his project, and alien attacked him and took him over. It had only happened once, but Bones knew that it was possible.
Option 5: He was working diligently on his project, and a strange spore-like entity took over his machines and took him hostage. Ugh, dammit, not again. Bones fucking hated those goddamn spores.
Option 6: He was working diligently on his project, and got kidnapped by a crazy alien bent on revenge for something or other.
Option 7: He was working diligently on his project, when his project morphed into an angry hellion bent on the ship's destruction.
Option 8: He was working diligently on his project, when his project suddenly came to life and demanded Spock's brain for infernal purposes. That was a bitch to solve.
Option 9: He was working diligently on his project, when he decided to go to lunch.
Option 10: He was working diligently on his project, when a crewmember revealed himself to be a robot traitor and then he was carted off to some planet or other filled with robots and studied for an extended period of time. It definitely wouldn't be the first time.
Bones thought that that was enough speculation, and considered his options. Goddamn starship and its infinite possibilities. Whatever the case was, Scotty had definitely been diligently working on his project.
Before leaving, he thought it was only fair to try communicating first. So he pulled out his communicator and patched a line through to Lieutenant Commander Scott.
"Aye, Doctor, what cannae do fer ya?"
Well, that shot most of Bones' theories to hell. Good so far.
"Scotty, you've got an appointment in Sickbay."
"What tayme should Ah be there, Doctor?"
"Half an hour ago."
"Well, Ah'll be there as soon as possible, then, Doctor."
Bones knew that he wasn't out of the water yet. 'As soon as possible' could mean anything to Scotty, especially if he was working obsessively again on his little thing.
"How about in less than five minutes?"
"Aye, Doctor."
Snapping his communicator shut, Bones settled back down into his chair and called the nurse.
"Nurse Chapel here, sir."
"Nurse, I'm starting the psychoanalysis meetings in about five minutes. I don't know how long the session will be, so just take care of any minor accidents or injuries in the main chamber of Sickbay. I'll be using my office. Don't let anyone in unless it's a shipwide emergency or the Captain. Be here in five minutes or less."
"Yessir."
The brandy was brought out once again, along with a pair of cups.
And so Bones was all set.
He checked the digital clock on the wall, and saw that it was getting late. He steeled himself for another all-nighter.
The clock ticked, the engines of the ship hummed, and the computer gave out a soft bleep! every so often. The couch was almost too comfortable, sinking into it, with its massive cushions especially made for comfort. The chair at Bones' desk was infinitely more stiff and infinitely less accommodating. The ceiling was blank like a slate, ready to be written on with thoughts and speech. Colored like the rest of the ship, it was a neutral grey with the faint sheen of metal. Boring. The desk, on the other hand, was a deep, rich wood, covered with a finish that Bones had applied himself. It was a beautiful work of carpentry, magnificently styled by one of his distant grandfathers somewhere down in Georgia more than five hundred years ago. Papers littered the desk, most of them being halfway finished. They were for the psychoanalysis meetings, so they couldn't possibly be finished yet, so Bones gave himself a small break on that one. Usually, every paper had its proper place and was quite happy to stay where it was, thank you very much. Bones was no neat freak, but he kept a certain amount of order in his office. There was nothing on the desk to indicate anything about himself save for one picture, turned away from him. The frame was relatively simple, and its dimensions were small, smaller than the tricorder that Bones usually carried around. But this tiny picture was Bones' most coveted possession. It was of a small girl, looking towards the camera, or someone holding the camera, with brilliantly mischievous eyes, a smirk, and short brown curls. She was holding something behind her back, and wouldn't let anyone see it, because it was her little secret. Even though it was facing the other way, Bone could recall almost every small detail about this little girl, even the pattern of her dress, her hairclip, and her favorite food. He lay there, consumed with his thoughts and regrets.
Bones was no longer sure how long it had been since he had called Nurse Chapel; his vision was growing more and more bleary as his eyelids drooped. His eyes slowly fluttered closed.
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Nurse Chapel was not a suspicious soul, but when Doctor McCoy hadn't surfaced for over five hours, she suspected that something was not quite right. It was possible that Scotty had arrived before she had gotten there, but she was fairly quick, and Engineering was a bit farther off than her quarters. Engineer Scott was also not known for his supreme punctuality.
So she suspected that Engineer Scott hadn't arrived at all.
But she followed her orders; she had accidents to clean up in main Sickbay. Repair teams were always creating slight incidents, and she had a duty to take care of them all. Besides, the Doctor would have called her in no small rage if Scotty hadn't shown up.
Another half an hour later, the Captain showed up asking for Bones. Since it was in her orders, Chapel opened the door for him. He went straight into McCoy's office.
The door closed behind him.
There was no noise, no yelling, no nothing.
Her suspicions were definitely raised. Several different ones, in fact.
"Computer, locate Chief Engineer Scott."
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"Hey, Bones, wake up."
"Jim…" He sat up slowly, still pretty groggy.
"Goddamit! That goddamn Scotsman! He didn't show up for his goddamn appointment!" Bones leapt up from the couch, grabbed his tools, and stormed out of Sickbay, leaving Kirk standing there a bit surprised and with his mouth hanging open.
Kirk scratched his head. "Well… I guess he's fine, then."
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Chapel saw Bones stomp out of his office looking as if he had been sleeping. He didn't look her way.
"He's still in Engineering, Doctor."
"Thanks, Nurse Chapel."
He continued on his way. Just as the Sickbay doors hissed shut, Jim ambled on out of the office looking slightly confused.
"He's headed towards Engineering, Captain."
"Good work, nurse. As you were." Jim strolled out of Sickbay looking marginally more assured, with his hands behind his back in a knot.
Chapel felt like a secretary. She got out some medical tools and a bacteria culture to take her mind off things. She still had quite a bit of time on her shift.
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Fiery and resilient, Bones stormed through the halls yet again, scaring all the young recruits and ensigns out of his way as well as more senior officers. The younger were simply more honest about showing it, throwing themselves with abandon from his straight path. He cut through the ensigns like cheese.
He had remembered to bring his hypo and tricorder in his haze of fury. His right hand gripped the hypo with a vengeance, tightening around the blasted piece of machinery until his knuckles were white. The tricorder whipped behind him, Bones' long strides carrying him farther and faster than usual, and almost hit an ensign in the side had he not the quick reflexes and survival skills expected of every Starfleet officer.
It was quite clear to everyone that someone had skipped his appointment.
Everyone assumed it was Kirk, until he walked up asking for the direction Bones had taken.
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Bones ground his teeth as he neared his destination – the turbolift. The fact that he was being forced to descend to this behavior was insufferable! The fact that he was forced to use this contraption was simply abominable! Dammit, Scotty was supposed to just show up, like as was expected of him!
He stopped before those leering doors, blank with anticipation for his outcry of anxiety or some other general show of weakness. Well, dammit, he would show them.
Bones pressed the button. The doors whooshed open. He stepped inside. He turned, and gave out his intent with a guttural growl that sounded a bit like: "Get me to Engineering, goddammit!" The doors shut, framing his shoulders, then his face, then a single glaring eye, until all Jim could see from down the hall was a strip of his blue uniform.
"Dammit, I lost him again." Jim bit his thumbnail as he ground to a halt. "I guess I'll just…"
"Has there been an incident, Captain?"
Jim turned in surprise. "Spock!"
Spock was standing there as if he had always been there, his hands folded together behind his back in perfect Starfleet ease, but Jim knew that this hallway had been completely empty before because Bones had cleared it out expertly with one stride. And Spock was supposed to be on the Bridge right now.
"Spock, what are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same, Captain."
"I gave you the bridge not twenty minutes ago."
"And I have bestowed that bridge unto a willing Mr. Sulu, Captain."
Spock seemed a bit different from usual; usually his eyes were defiantly raised to Jim's, but now they were somehow hesitant.
"Captain, is there a problem?"
"Why would there be suspicion of a problem, Mr. Spock?" Jim cocked his head; there wasn't really any big emergency going on according to any of the data Jim had been reading lately. The only problems Jim had now were personal.
"Increasingly of late, you have not been attending the Bridge and have made a number of trips to Sickbay and funerals, as well as meetings with the families of the lost. Just now, you said yourself that you have 'lost him.' Both of these general facts indicate not only the fact that your performance as an officer has diminished as of late, but also that you require more than any other officer in the fleet a considerable rest and relaxation. Is there a particular problem to which you are attempting to solve at the moment, Captain, and can I be of assistance?" Spock's eyes finally met his determinedly.
Jim blinked. Hm.
"Well… uh… I was just…" His pathetic attempt to curtail Spock's interest was stabbed through, then flopped over and died because of those piercing eyes. Jim sighed and his shoulders curved inward. He smiled slightly as he reached up to his hair with a casual hand as his back touched metal as he leaned against the wall. "I was just trying to catch up with Bones, but he keeps on disappearing. He was supposed to start his psychoanalysis today and I haven't been able to get a word in since this morning; right now, he's hurrying to Engineering, and I have no clue why. I just want to make sure he's okay, because he's just recovered and I don't want him to be overly stressed after such an awful mission. He's been running around like a fiend, which I suppose is good, but I haven't been a good captain if I let one of my senior officers burn himself out."
"In conclusion, Doctor McCoy is not sufficiently rested by your standards and is in need of more rest before you can declare him fit for duty?"
"Well, I just want to be sure he's fine. I think he can take care of himself, for the most part."
Spock inclined his head. "Your concerns are noted. It is reasonable to be doubtful of Doctor McCoy's wellbeing after such a mission."
Jim crossed his arms and more firmly settled into the wall. "Thanks, nice to know I'm not completely insane." He snorted lightly through his nose, a smile flickering and his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment.
"Jim, I have a similar matter to speak with you about." This made Jim stand up straight again; one, Spock had used his first name, and two, Spock's tone was completely serious. Not that he was ever specifically not serious; in this case, it was just a bit more steeled, somehow, and Jim just knew it. Something was up.
"Shoot, Spock."
"Captain, I do not see the merit in firing on you at this point in time."
Jim rolled his eyes with a smile. "Proceed with your inquiry, Commander."
"I picked this up from Doctor McCoy's log," here Spock held up a PADD and a stylus. "We have a crewmember aboard who's showing signs of stress and fatigue, reaction time down nine to twelve percent, associated rating norm minus three."
"That's an amazingly low rating, Mr. Spock."
"He's becoming irritable and quarrelsome, yet he refuses to take rest and rehabilitation. And he has that right, but we – "
"A crewman's right ends when the safety of the ship begins, Mr. Spock. Now that man will go ashore on my orders. What's his name?"
Spock looked back down at his PADD.
"James Kirk." He looked back up with a mischievous look in his eyes and a raised eyebrow.
Jim swayed a bit as he almost lost his footing.
With a slight smile, so that Jim could barely register it, and in fact thought he was imagining it, "Enjoy yourself, Captain."
Jim's hands gravitated towards his hips as he playfully raised his eyebrow in response. "I believe that could be construed as mutiny, Mr. Spock."
"As you ordered, Captain." That irrepressible glint was back in Spock's eyes.
Jim gave it up and resigned himself to the remainder of shore leave. Only another week and a half, if repairs were in order, which they rarely were. "I then leave Bones to you. Hopefully he won't be as difficult to ensnare as I was." He began walking away, and raised his hand in defeat and acknowledgment. "You have the bridge, then, Mr. Spock."
As Jim was walking away, he didn't see the evident relief and simultaneous confusion on Spock's face, nor his hand trembling, and slowly encompassing his forehead, placing the tips on specific points, one on his chin, two on his cheek, and two on his forehead. His head bowed down as he boxed in his new feelings.
Just then, the light blinked and the turbolift opened. Bones dragged Scotty out of it by the collar muttering about something infernal, no doubt. He looked up and saw Spock, and stopped.
"What the hell is going on, Spock?" At this, Spock didn't even glace upwards; he was rooted to the spot, still shaking. Bones forgot about keeping a tight leash on Scotty instantly in the face of this new travesty.
"Dammit, man, answer me!" Bones grabbed his arms and shook him, but still Spock did not respond.
"…Goddammit. Green-blooded hobgoblin."
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Finally, Jim reached his quarters. As he typed in the code, he let out a breath. He felt relieved of his troubles for the moment. Spock was so reassuring in that regard; when he took command in Jim's stead during these times, Jim trusted him enough to relax, which was saying something.
Because Jim had been tired, he had been broken down, and he did need rest. He hadn't allowed himself the luxury until Spock had forced him into a corner. Jim saw the truth, and he would accept it for now.
The door whooshed open. Jim stumbled into his room and flopped down onto his bed.
It was only after it was too late when he realized someone else was in the room.
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Somehow, Bones made it back to Sickbay with both Scotty and Spock in tow. He threw them both onto cots before reassuring Nurse Chapel. She had been pretty damn startled, and Bones couldn't blame her, really. Then he headed back to treat them.
He started with Spock after snapping at Scotty. "You didn't show for your appointment, dammit, so don't whine. Get in my office, sit down, and be content to wait." He complied, so Bones turned his attentions back to that pointy-eared bastard.
Scanning only revealed that Spock was undergoing severe mental stress, so much that a human's brain would have forced the body into a grand-mal seizure. As it was, the only outward symptoms were a slight shaking and a withdrawn manner. Bones chalked it up to green-blooded hobgoblin shenanigans.
The shenanigans of which Bones had only just become familiar with. That psychic shit.
He wasn't quite sure how to deal with the psychic part, but Bones knew how to reduce the stress of seizures, so he shot Spock up with a hypo. That ceased the trembling and Spock calmed down enough to be able to recognize where he was and respond to questions.
"Spock, what the hell is wrong with you now?"
"Doctor…" He took a big breath. "It seems as if the episodes are becoming more and more effective at breaking down my mental shields as they become more and more frequent."
So it was that psychic shit.
"Why were you completely unresponsive to stimuli, Spock?"
"The feeling, Doctor, overtook my mind and rendered me unable."
"How can I help with that?"
"I do not believe there is a medical solution, Doctor. In fact, since we know nothing of the source or of any psychic method of stopping these transferences, I am hesitant to say that they can ever be stopped." Well, Bones was pretty sure of the source by now, but since he didn't know how to stop it from happening even with that particular information, he didn't think it needed to be revealed at this point in time. Besides, Bones had another feasible theory.
"Maybe, Spock, you're just like everyone else on this ship right now and just need a good rest to rebuild your faculties."
"Perhaps, Doctor. I shall continue to meditate after I adhere to the Captain's orders."
"What orders, Spock?"
His eyes looked up sharply, so sharply in fact that Bones felt like he had been cut. He actually scanned himself to be sure.
"The Captain wishes for me to inform you, Doctor, that you are required to attend shore leave for two weeks before returning to complete, active duty."
"Spock – "
"Any work done by you during this time period will be proclaimed null and failure to comply with the orders of the Captain will result in at best a court martial."
Bones rolled his eyes. "Spock, I can still work. I'm not an invalid."
"Logically speaking, you cannot still work as your orders are quite clearly to the contrary."
Bones rolled his eyes again before sighing. "At least allow me to do my psychoanalysis sessions with the crewmembers."
Spock contemplated this. But only for a nanosecond.
"Negative, Doctor." Then he relented slightly. "For the moment, no work is to be done. However, when the span of this week is up, you may resume your sessions. But only the sessions, and they must be conducted off of the ship."
"Since I just rounded up Scotty after five hours, and it would take a considerable amount of work to recapture him, am I allowed to finish my session with him?"
"…Negative, Doctor."
"Then Scotty and I will just have a casual little drink or two. You have permission to leave, Commander."
"Thank you, Doctor." Spock straightened the hem of his uniform shirt and then promptly took his leave of Sickbay.
Bones sighed, looking after Spock in evident frustration. "Dammit, man, how many problems can one man have?" He crossed his arms. "Especially when psychic shit comes up…"
Nurse Chapel primly walked up to him. "Doctor, my hours have just ended. Here's my official report for today, and need I remind you that Chief Engineer Scott is still waiting for you in your office?"
Surprised out of his grim mood, Bones took the offered PADD and muttered a 'thank you' before she took off. He checked the time. It was late; almost 2300 hours.
He contemplated the possibility of letting Scotty go for the moment, but then remembered the hell he had had to go through to procure him.
He stalked into his office, glancing over the PADD with one hand tucked behind his back, slightly hunched over, saying, "Well, then, Scotty, I suppose now is as good a time as any to start this little session, so – " He looked up.
Scotty was sleeping. In a chair in front of his desk, where Scotty had presumably been waiting for a little over ten minutes, it seemed to Bones that he had just passed out from fatigue after a quick scan.
After contemplating his next outcropping of options, Bones decided to move Scotty to the couch, only a meter away. After a quick transition, Scotty was snugly kipping on the pouf of a couch with a pillow and a blanket for his security.
He observed Scotty's sleep, and found no disturbances. There was obviously some significant strain on the man; his eyes were bloodshot when Bones had seen them last, there were considerable dark shadows creeping under his eyes, and he had hardly put up a fight when Bones had found him deep in the heart of Engineering. Scotty had always been a man of vivacity, and it was strange for him to be so pathetically limp in terms of personality. Sleep, Bones decided, would do him good.
In one last action, Bones shot Scotty with a light sleep-inducing medication that would keep him under for the next day. He almost maniacally laughed to himself after thinking up such a genius scheme. Scotty wouldn't be working tomorrow, and Bones wouldn't have to stress about him overworking himself.
Bones fell into his chair, finally, after setting down his trusty hypo and tricorder in both their respective places. He fell asleep like a candle being blown out.
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Jim couldn't move; the mystery stranger had a phaser to his temple, and he didn't dare turn his head to see who it was.
"Get up. Walk three paces and put your hands on your head." When the stranger spoke, the voice was garbled and barely recognizable as Standard. Jim guessed that they were speaking through a less advanced variation of a voice scrambler. He couldn't narrow his options by gender identity, then. Who could this be? If he could figure it out without inciting its anger, that would be the logical thing to do.
On the other hand, Jim wasn't the most logical person. As he was supposed to be moving forward, he leaped backwards and took his enemy's phaser hand in a rough twist, knocking it onto the floor.
They struggled before Jim was hit over the head with a blunt object and instantly fell to the ground. The stranger dragged him across the ground, propping him up against the bed.
"Well, Jimmy boy, you never did learn your lesson." The perpetrator cackled and began tying up Jim's limbs.
"This was even easier than I thought because of your impulsiveness." He finished his work, stood, and looked over his work so far.
"This prank won't be sumthin' you can laugh at later, Jimmy boy." His eyes took on a sharp, maniacal glint. "I guarantee it."
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End of Part 6
Author's Note: Who is this suspicious character, and what's his evil plan?!?!? If you're an Original Series nut, you just might already know him. In fact, If you watch the Original Series at all, you should be able to spot some recurring events or lines within this story, but supremely in this particular chappie. I wonder how many people can find all of the varied literary references I've made in total so far… It would be tough, because there's so many. Hint: most are in one-liners. Whoever comes up with the most that are legitimate will receive a special commendation in the author's note in the next chapter posted! Or the ones that just make me laugh. Or the person who gets the identity of the suspicious person first. Or… Just anything you can think of, really. Hope you'll stick around; this shit just got real. (Whoever can name two references for that, I'll love forever.)