WARNING: Attention all potential readers!!!! If you are a die-hard Trekkie, you may wish to venture elsewhere for literary fulfillment! I wish to warn you all now that this story very probably contains inaccurate references and explanations of technological aspects of the ship and an overall irritating plot to those who consider themselves purists. This was written strictly for FUN. If you are seeking humor with more sophisticated and accurate side elements or something written for a purpose higher than simple pleasure, please save yourself the emotional trouble of getting disgusted with me and GO ELSEWHERE! There are plenty of worthier stories!!!

That said, a thousand thank yous for reading and, to those of you who choose to read, I hope you enjoy! Please alert me of any typos, etc.

-bows-

-S

EDIT: Someone reviewed anonymously to tell me I had some mixed up "it's" and "its". I only found two mistakes, so if you find a mistake of this nature in particular please tell me WHERE it is. Thanks. :)

"If you were stranded on a desert island, Mr. Sulu…" The captain's chair swiveled slowly and majestically to the right as its occupant, currently staring with a thoughtful intensity at the screen, used the floor to propel himself, "who… would you want to be stranded with you?"

The helmsman, alert to an impressive slew of commands, whether they be delivered in the heat of a fray or in the middle of a casual statement, was completely thrown off by this abrupt and random inquiry.

"Um, excuse me, captain?" Sulu cut his eyes just enough to see the mildly squinting commander begin his half arc back to the left and then exchanged a subtle glance with Chekov who less-than-subtly returned it with a shrug.

When the captain spoke again it was from directly behind Sulu. "You know… a desert island. If you were stranded on one who would you have stranded with you… ideally, I mean." As the restated question concluded, a quiet click signified that Kirk had coaxed his chair as far as it would go and he began the circuit anew, swooping towards Chekov with unfaltering tranquility.

"Um…" upon hearing what he'd thought he'd heard and reassuring himself that he had not just grossly misunderstood some form of 'warp two, keep on course', Sulu turned to face the distant looking captain. "Sir, is this some new code?"

Kirk, face resting in his hand so that only his eyes and nose were visible, continued nonplussed on his path before starting suddenly and shaking his head. "What?"

Sulu's brows furrowed in slight confusion. "I asked if it was some sort of code, captain."

Kirk let his hand drop in exasperation and swept his gaze across the bridge with an expression of disbelief that came to rest on the concerned helmsman.

"No, Mr. Sulu, it was a simple question, a straightforward, personal inquiry."

With a widening of the eyes and very heavily muttered, "Oh," Sulu returned to his panel quite a bit more hastily than he'd left it.

"You can answer or you can politely defer… code!" The hand rose again to catch Kirk's chin and he resumed his regal orbit. "Code! Does everything have to be business here?"

What had been a somewhat pleasant silence became suddenly painful, with most of the negativity focused on the hapless victim in the helmsman's seat.

"I-…" Sulu began in a normal speaking voice but in the exaggerated quiet it seemed unnecessarily voluminous. "I would need some time to think about it," he finished in a defeated murmur.

"I see… Mr. Chekov! What about you? Who would you like to be stranded with?"

"Umm…" the navigator attempted to buy time with a series of gapes between an avalanche of accompanying 'ums' until he turned and asked desperately, "Do I hehve to be sta-randed?"

Immediately following the last syllable, both Chekov and Sulu winced, sure that this would incite another explosion from the captain. Roughly five beats of silence passed with no noise however, and Chekov tentatively opened an eye to see Kirk sedately shoving himself to the right.

"Yes, Chekov, yes, you have to be stranded…"

"Oh," poorly concealed relief escaped with the breathy exclamation and Chekov turned to his panel, gripping the edge nervously, "ummm… okeh…"

A few seconds ticked by innocently, but carried the weight of centuries for the all but trembling new center of attention. The pause was broken (and Chekov saved) by the whoosh of the lift door opening to emit Dr. McCoy.

The doctor descended, raising a brow at a shamelessly worshipful glance from ensign Chekov, and seemed prepared to take his usual perch leaning on the arm of Kirk's chair until he noticed its sluggish circular motion. He backed up to prop himself on the rail instead.

"Why, hello, Bones," a mechanical tap sent Kirk in the opposite direction, "are you just bored or do you actually have something to say?"

"Jim!" McCoy sized up the captain reproachfully, thus earning his previously wondering attention. Sinister blue met a mildly startled hazel before softening to betray a good humor behind the accusatory appellation. "If I came up here every time I was bored, you'd have to add a third chair between Chekov and Sulu."

"I'll bet you still don't have any real reason to be here," Kirk said through a smirk.

"That's mighty unflattering to everyone here, Jim," the surgeon returned slyly. "Wouldn't you say good company is enough of a reason?"

"Ha!" with an exhaled laugh Kirk took up his prior posture and began gravitating in Sulu's direction. "Company, huh? Well, next time bring Nurse Chapel along and we'll really have a party, but I digress…" Chekov straightened subconsciously at this lull in conversation in anticipation of a shift in focus, "we were just about to find out from Mr. Chekov here who he'd like to be stranded on a desert island with."

The ensign's spine collapsed markedly in melancholy as McCoy inserted, "So this is what you people do for fun up here… I bowl with hypospray containers and my stress ball," before letting his eyes drop to where everyone else's were trained: Chekov's back.

Acting on a sliver of misplaced hope, the navigator waited as though he had no idea he was expected to speak.

Sulu elbowed him.

He swallowed.

"Iiiiii- wehll, the docter!"

"Bones?" Kirk jerked a thumb at the intrigued McCoy and Chekov bobbed his head dumbly. "Hm. Interesting. Care to explain why?"

"Um, wehll, eef I was sta-randed somewhere I probably wouldn't be een the behst shehpe so… eet would be good to hehve a docter at hehnd. Plus," the haphazardly patched together explication began to roll off the navigator's tongue and some thread of confidence began to weave its way into his tone, "he ees a smart man. I em shure we coold find a weh off the ilehnd."

Kirk nodded, brows knit in consternation, "Reasonable, reasonable… what about you, Bones?"

The addressed party fixed the captain with a look of mingled amusement and suspicion.

"How do you feel about being stuck on an island with Mr. Chekov?"

Lips twisting to the side, McCoy seemed to mull over the question a moment as Chekov made a brief turn to smile in guilty gratitude.

"Well, sure, why not?" The doctor's genial tone and a minute nod served as a signal of acceptance to the ensign's mute thanks. "Mr. Chekov's as bright a fellow as anyone here… I'm sure we could find a way off it in no time…"

A smile played across Kirk's features, visible in his eyes despite the hand covering his lips, as he attended the impending addition indicated by McCoy's trailing tone.

"But… say this island's a nice place, the type I wouldn't mind being stuck on the rest of my life…" the narrating MD prowled to the edge of the navigator's panel and paused, eyes uplifted as if in serious thought. He then turned and finished through a blossoming grin, "I'd have to say Mr. Spock in that case because there would be no way in this or any other galaxy that we could find a way to get off together."

The captain's smirk burst into a delighted laugh that he quickly brought under control in order to catch the inevitable verbal throw down that was about to begin as Spock rose from his monitor with a sinister slowness.

The doctor rolled a shoulder.

Spock fixed his dark eyes on McCoy.

Then the eyebrows went up.

"'Together', doctor, being a quantitative adverb of particular note."

Behind the Vulcan, Uhura brought her lips together to suppress amusement as she chanced a surreptitious glance at the dueling duo; Spock getting into his lecturing stance, arms crossed behind his back, and McCoy preparing to rebuttal, eyes narrowing as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. Sulu caught her eyes and offered a humored lift of the brows before returning to an intent study of the screen as Chekov slumped steadily, trying to hide his mirth in the buttons before him.

"Though I have made efforts in the past to prolong your existence, in this hypothetical example in which the captain has indicated the idealistic takes precedence to the realistic, I would have very little struggle in reasoning that my own self-preservation was priority and that you should be left behind if you could not co-operate in finding a means to escape or see the logic in doing so."

The doctor's thin frame expanded as he held a breath of retort but, predictably, released it upon recognizing the hopelessness of pursuing this particular battle. Acknowledging what had to be his millionth verbal victory over the doctor, Spock made to return to his beloved monitor and escape the superfluous conversation born of his captain's peculiar and illogical mind.

"Well, excuse me for raining on your hypothetical parade," muttered the doctor, more to himself than his pointy-eared nemesis, as he folded his arms on the arm of Kirk's now stationary chair.

For his part, Kirk chuckled quietly, glittering eyes lost somewhere in the stretch of stars on screen, and acquired a somewhat satisfied look as though some well thought-out plan was within seconds of fruition.

A rueful McCoy was oblivious to the few seconds Kirk reserved to savor this success.

"Say, Mr. Spock..."

The Vulcan froze mid-bend and reversed the motion, rotating to face his commander. "Yes, captain?"

Jim flicked his eyes to the Vulcan in search of any indication of suspicion or irritation on his first officer's part, but his face was neutral as ever.

"Who would you like to be stuck on an island with?"

"That would depend on a great many variables, captain."

The doctor sighed and rolled his eyes, "Maybe it's time I get back to my bowling… even knocking over medical supply boxes is more exciting than listening to him overanalyze a simple question."

"What kind of variables," Kirk rose in his chair to peer over the sulking surgeon's head, "Mr. Spock?"

"Oh, lord-"

"Well, to commence, at what stage in my life cycle am I stranded, on what planet and of what nature is the island, what, if any, materials are available to me and my companion, what are the weather conditions at our time of arrival, under what circumstances have I become marooned, where-"

"All of those unknowns are part of the question, Mr. Spock," Kirk settled back in his seat and resumed studying the screen with well checked delight that escaped Spock's attention, but did not deceive McCoy. "You have to come up with a… a sort of 'catch all' answer that takes into account every possible scenario."

A series of solemn nods brought Spock's intense gaze to a spot on the floor slightly down and to the right from Kirk's chair. "I see…"

McCoy squinted at, first, Kirk and then the thoughtful first officer, piecing together the captain's questions and reactions to form a hypothesis as to his purpose.

"Given that information, I believe I require more time, as Mr. Sulu requested, in order to answer most precisely and accurately."

For the first time in their conversation, Kirk maintained eye contact for more than two seconds. A minute, glowing smile took form as he intoned with the utmost sincerity.

"Of course, Mr. Spock. Take all the time you need." The smile fluttered mischievously as Kirk met McCoy's scrutinizing gaze along the course of redirecting his attention to the screen before he said, with that sometimes unsettling smoothness unique to him, "I want to see you and the doctor in the briefing room within half an hour to discuss our upcoming assignment."

"Acknowledged, captain."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there," Bones pushed himself off the chair arm, heaving a sigh. He stopped mid-step up to the elevated floor behind the captain's chair in order to wag a finger at the smug commander however, snapping, "I wouldn't mind a word with you before that meetin' though, Jim."

Kirk's beam remained in tact as he continued facing forward, not needing to see the doctor's bristly boarding of the lift in order to envision it perfectly. "We'll see, Bones, we'll see… you know how busy I am up here."

A sarcastic snort preceded the soft thud of closing doors and peaceful silence descended on the bridge again.

Click.

Kirk let the chair turn on its own to correct for his final swivel, standing as he did so, "Warp 2, keep on course, Mr. Sulu!"

"Aye, sir," the helmsman replied with a substantial amount of warmth that usually did not accompany this commonplace command. A second thud announced Kirk's departure and almost every pair of shoulders slackened slightly as the threat of interrogation and being hypothetically shipped to some sea-encased land scrap was whisked away to parts unknown.

Spock, well aware of his captain's inability to be punctual without some sort of threat, arrived at the briefing room exactly one hour and two seconds from the moment he had been commanded to meet Kirk and McCoy. As it turned out he was the second to arrive.

"Well, it's mighty good to see ya, Mr. Spock!"

The greeting, twisted by what could only be the chief engineer's accent, was launched as soon as the doors opened.

"I was beginin' ta fear that no one was goin' ta show after all an' maybe I'd misheard or sometin…"

The dutiful Scotsman sat in a seat on the table's far side, looking quite alone as well as quite relieved to finally have some company. Bright brown eyes that might have reduced lesser beings to tears, or at the very least to running over immediately to pat the neglected engineer on the back, followed Spock to a seat opposite his own.

"Your prompt arrival is much appreciated, Mr. Scott, and I am sure it will come to our aid when a meeting of this kind is called under more pressing circumstances, however," Spock laced his fingers on the table and lifted his eyes for a brief calculation, "we should not expect the captain for another fifteen minutes. The doctor, on the other hand, I cannot answer for. He did give a vague and poorly worded indication that he wished to speak with the captain at some time prior to this discussion, but it is highly improbable that their exchange required a full hour and counting."

Scott let his head bend back carefully, as if about to make a slow-motion nod, lips slightly parted as he sought after and elusive understanding.

"It is not impossible, despite the great improbability, for the latter scenario to be reality. I have known both the doctor and the captain to lose all concept of time in each others company, particularly when alcohol is a third party."

The thin lips parted even further as an uncomprehending Scotty intoned deliberately, "I see…"

Spock blinked in what loosely indicated a Vulcan equivalent to amiability, accepting the engineer's response and apparently content to consider the conversation complete.

Scotty drummed his fingers on the table, shy and uncertain of what to do with the unintentionally intimidating Spock. It was not often that they encountered each other out of the context of either the ship or its captain's peril in some form or another. Conversation fodder was painfully sparse.

"Well," Scotty sucked every second he could from the single syllable staller, "I guess it makes sense… I'm a bit outta tha loop see'n as I'm always cooped up in that engineerin' room… How'm I ta know what's goin' on 'round here."

He chuckled uneasily at the edge of the table before chancing a glance up.

Mr. Spock was scowling at him.

"You are… 'cooped' in the engineering room? I was not aware your conditions were so uncomfortable as to warrant terminology with such strong connotations-"

"No, no, no!" Scotty slapped a hand in hasty dismissal, "It's not as serious as all that! I, uh, I misspoke is all…"

The Scotsman flicked his tense gaze up and back several times before letting it settle on the table top.

"Isn't a place on the whole ship I'd rather be…"

"A reassuring sentiment," much to Scotty's relief, the scowl disappeared in the usual flat expression Spock's heavy features seemed to favor, "and one that other crew members would benefit from," Spock turned to take in the door.

It did not open.

"I am speaking most directly of the doctor here," clarified the first officer as he twisted to face Scotty once again. "I firmly believe his generally ill humor would improve greatly if he appreciated the space in which he is supposed to spend the majority of his time."

A brief blinking coma was quickly recovered from with a half-laugh forced through the teeth.

"Aye… I'm sure…"

At last the blissful sound of chatter and the footsteps bringing it nearer came in from the hallway.

Scotty sat up, smile evening out, "That must be the captain and the doctor now! Thank-"

An abrasive sputter of sparks sent a fountain of heat sprinkling over the briefing table as the lights flashed. Shouts from the other side signaled that the approaching duo was facing a similar pyrotechnic threat. Scotty dropped to the floor and shut his eyes until the explosion puttered out.

Cautiously, he rose in time to see Mr. Spock stalking towards the door, evidently a few steps ahead of him in recovering. Soon, Scotty was at the Vulcan's side examining the door and listening to the doctor voicing the question on all of their minds,

"What the devil happened!"

"I don't know, Bones… Is anyone in there?"

"Aye, sir-"

"Affirmative, captain," responded the pair in the briefing room in unison.

"Well, godammit, you two alright?"

"Obviously-"

"Oh, never mind you, you hard-hearted demon. What about you, Mr. Scott. Everything alright? All limbs in tact and functioning properly?"

"Aye, sir," Scotty answered automatically, running a finger down the seam where the doors met and then trying to pry them open.

The doors would not budge.

"Spock," the captain's collected voice came from the other side, "do you have a diagnosis yet?"

"Negative, captain…"

"I tink it was a power surge, sir, at least there was one in here when tha door started spittin' and sputterin'."

"A logical conclusion, but one that does not necessarily explain the small explosion you referenced."

"Well, my guess is as good as yours… could be tha surge gotta circuit outta place and the door severed it tryin' ta open for Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy."

Spock let his head tilt in thought. "Also a logical conclusion."

"Does it matter how logical your stabs in the dark are? The real problem is how in hell we're going to get you two outta there-"

"A problem solved most efficiently by isolating the cause."

The animosity from the other side of the door was almost tangible.

A smile worked its way across the ever well-dispositioned engineers face in spite of the current drama.

"Maybe ya could keep talkin' with tha doctor and tha door will just burn to tha ground."

"What was that?"

"Bones, shh."

"Get that finger away from my face!"

Spock lifted his eyes and Scotty made a face as a small scuffle could be heard in the hall.

"I'm gonna call tha boys in engineerin' an' see if they can't run a scan on the ship an' find out what happened exactly an' we'll go from there…"

"Logical," Spock affirmed as if giving his permission or perhaps even his blessing. "In the mean time, captain, I believe it would be appropriate to reschedule the meeting."

"Yes, Spock, I'd noticed the… logic in that course of action… we're not due to arrive at our destination for several days, so there's really no urgency in concern to the briefing."

Spock could tell by the quality of Jim's voice that he was as close to the door as possible and felt an exhale stick in his chest. Separation from the captain was never an easy thing for a first officer with Spock's level of loyalty.

"Affirmative."

"I am worried though about you two being stuck in there. Scotty, I'm heading down to engineering to see the diagnosis… if this is a reoccurring issue it could mean trouble for the whole ship and cause danger for my crew." A soft thunk betrayed that Kirk had patted the door, probably out of instinct as he would have patted one of his companion's shoulders had there been no barrier between them. "We'll do everything we can."

Authoritative footfalls signified Kirk's departure, background to the sound of Mr. Scott's previously announced conversation with his crewmen.

Spock's eyes narrowed an impossibly tiny increment. He had yet to hear the second pair of retreating steps.

"Mr. Scott," the voice of the doctor came through in a similar manner as the captain's last statement, making it clear that he was speaking through the seam. "You've got all my good will and wishes… I've had the pleasure of experiencing isolation with Mr. Spock before and I just want to tell you… you're in for a real treat."

Mr. Scott looked from the door to Spock's back, unsure of how to respond to this provocative parting statement. Spock's brows lifted in surprise upon hearing the hall lift without having caught the faintest trace of a boot on the rather sound-conducive flooring.

"Fascinating," at last the Vulcan left his temporary post by the door and returned to his seat.

The slim fingers appeared on the table and arranged themselves in an even, entwined pattern.

Scotty peered questioningly at the Vulcan's grim visage.

"I advise you make yourself comfortable, Mr. Scott. We could be in here for quite some time."

Three hours later found the temporary hostages of the Enterprise's briefing room almost exactly as they had been left: a pensive tight-lipped Scotty and a solemn, silent Spock. A few notable exceptions were that Spock was now meditating lightly, Scotty was nodding significantly, and the options for conversation, had either individual been in a talkative mod, were expanding exponentially as each officer mulled over their predicament.

Just as sleep seemed eminate for the chief engineer, a voice came over the communicator's speakers and, with the effectiveness of dropping a hyperactive tribble down someone's shirt, sent Scotty into attention in record time.

"Aye!"

"Good morning, Mr. Scott-"

"Aw, leave yer teasin' off fer tha time bein', ya cheeky delinquents!"

"Sorry, sir, understood, sir," a few snickers in the background belied the lack of sincerity in the apology, but the Scotsman let it slide with a shake of the head.

"What's the scan say, boys? Ya find anyting out?"

"Well, sir, we saw for sure that there was a power surge in the briefing room, which is pretty normal, as you know,"

"Aye, any system as strained as this one's want ta give a little ev'ry now an' then,"

"Right, sir, but it didn't damage the door's circuits according to the scan."

"We figured it wouldn't 'ave… I thought maybe it 'ad got one of um otta place and tha door caught 'er on its way-"

"No, sir. We thought something like that may have happened, but, technically, that door should be opening."

Scotty's dark, troubled eyes swallowed the seemingly unaffected Vulcan. With pitiable distress, he made several failed attempts to open his mouth, secretly hoping Spock would commandeer the conversation, before finally managing, "Whatta ya mean exactly?"

"All the circuitry is in place and in working order. The mechanism should be functioning as well; nothing's broken or off track," under the table Scott's hands clenched as the crewmen explained helplessly, "we just don't get it, we-"

"I assume the use of physical force is inadvisable," Spock inserted at last.

"Yes, sir. The mechanism would probably break and we'd have to dismantle the whole wall to fix it-"

"An' there isn't time nor materials for a repair like that, especially with an assignment comin' up," again Scotty fixed the first officer with his troubled gaze. "We just canna risk bein' shorta men downstairs when there's a chance of the captain pushin' our girl too 'ard."

"Perhaps it would not be necessary to make the repair immediately," Spock lifted both brows in a way that made Scotty feel as through there was some esoteric other meaning to his words that was well over his head. "In any case, Mr. Scott, you do realize that even now your department is experiencing a shortage, arguably the most devastating possible as you are currently sealed in a briefing room."

A good number of blinks were spent contemplating the mysterious Vulcan's words before Scotty gave up and addressed the communicator once again.

"Alright, boys. Send a team up to take a look first hand. We've all seen before that tha computer's not perfect-"

"We've already got one on the way, sir."

"Good lads!" commented Scotty with paternal pride. "I want ya ta make another scan just in case and do yer best ta keep tha captain from getting' impatient an' jus' runnin' up here with a phaser or anything loony like that."

"Aye, sir, we'll do our best. He went up to the bridge about an hour and a half ago, but we've been hearing from him just about every five minutes."

"We'll be sure ta check in with him too so 'e'll stay of yer backs, keep up tha good work, boys, Scott out."

Scotty brought his eyes up slowly from the button he'd pressed to shut off communications and let them rest on a pondering Spock.

"Well… what do ya think?"

"I find the circumstances quite curious. I would very much like to see the scan results myself."

The engineer nodded in agreement, the same urge having gnawed at him as soon as he heard the results.

"I'll see if I can't have 'em stream tha readins up here," the hand hovering over the control panel dove down again to key in commands to open a visual channel and then communications.

As Scott requested the scan results be sent to the briefing room monitor, Spock stood and rounded the table, coming to kneel at the engineer's elbow in order to be as close as possible to the squat screen.

"Thanks, lads, we'll call if we spot anything, Scott out, ahhhh…"

The two pairs of deep brown eyes narrowed and skimmed the scrolling data in unison, practiced and prudent in their search for any abnormality. Some unused instinct brought Scotty out of his state of intense concentration with considerable force, causing him to fairly jump in his seat and then notice his companion's position.

"Oh! Ya can 'ave my chair, Mr. Spock! Ya don' 'ave to perch on yer knees like that," the first officer slid smoothly into the offered seat as the Scotsman hurriedly evacuated it, bobbing his head a minute increment to offer gratitude.

Despite the fact that he could not be seen, Scotty returned the nod, lips tight and hands struggling to find some non-ridiculous way to occupy themselves. "I, uh, I need ta walk around a bit anyways… get ma head clear an' all…"

Upon receiving no indication of disagreement or assent from the hunched blue shoulders, Scotty commenced pacing in the stretch of floor before the door, eyes trained on the ceiling.

Montgomery Scott was not a very easily rattled man. Nor was he usually even remotely nervous. But there was something fundamentally incorrect about the current events: his ship did not malfunction, not like this. Glitches like this occurred in lesser, poorly cared for vessels or abused and malnourished space centers that lacked tender love and care. This was not his Enterprise, his sweet and infallible beauty. She didn't just stop working in between misadventures and assignments and whatever else they got into. Something was out of place here and Scotty was determined to find out what it was.

He paused in his path to study the intensely focused Vulcan.

That was another issue altogether for the poor engineer. Social situations were already messy in general if they involved actual people or anyone outside the sacred order of the redshirts. He wondered what the first officer was thinking at the moment; he was so disturbingly controlled and inscrutable. It wasn't as if he objected to the Vulcan's lifestyle or even him as a person, it was just uncomfortable to have prolonged contact with someone so cold and collected. He was more like a half-machine than a half-human.

Scotty turned his attention to empty space above the first officer's sleek, ebony head as he considered this comparison. Perhaps if he began to think of Spock as one of his many companionable mechanisms on board the Enterprise it would ease some of the stress on his part.

With this comforting solution to at least one of his problems, Scotty began pacing with a new vigor, prepared to really rack his brains for some brilliant leads on the door issue. As his ability as well as interest in gauging the amount of time that was passing had deteriorated well before engineering made their call, Scotty had no concept of how long he continued trotting back and forth before Spock finally rose from the computer.

"Didya notice anything?"

The Vulcan waited before replying, practicing his habit of carefully considering his words before vocalizing them. This pause, however, bore some unmistakable signs of weariness and perhaps even defeat.

All machines had their limits, Scotty supposed.

"Negative, Mr. Scott. I was unable to detect a flaw in the reading or in the visual scans of the wall's interior." The brows rose with the solemn tone, "What we are experiencing is, as reported, technically unexplainable."

Scotty nodded. He had been well aware of that fact since the first report, but some things were worth doublechecking.

"I'd like ta save tha deconstruction as a last resort if at all possible… if we could find a way outta here, I swear I could figure out what's goin' on here…"

"If there is a difference between what you can accomplish on one side of the door versus the other, will your team not be able to discover any problem?"

Scotty studied his hands as he took deliberate steps to the table, where he sat with a thoughtful sigh.

"I don' know if I can say this witout hurtin' my boys' reputation, 'cause they are a sharp, sharp lot, Mr. Spock, but no," the engineer's thin lips twisted themselves into a small smile. "I think parta tha' problem between you an' Dr. McCoy is that ya think his methods are a bit outta date an' ya think he should trust in technology a little more an' all that, but I ought ta tell ya that I'm quite a bit tha same in some ways."

Spock tilted his head as he, doubtless, struggled slightly to 'translate' what Scotty was saying.

"I 'aven't got tha same fear of space an' ships an' all, obviously," his big, brown eyes were bright with the energy of explanation, "but my backgroun' starts in simple things with simple purposes whereas all the lads straight from Star Fleet don' really know how ta treat somtin' if it's any simpler than a refrigerator."

Spock had removed his eyes from the narrating Scotsman at some point during one of Scotty's frequent aversions of his gaze to corners of the room.

He drew his mouth together with a tinge of nervousness, concerned that he might have misspoken.

"Fascinating… I had never considered that there was such a marked gap in education on Star Fleet's part in concern to basic mechanics," he looked up, brows furrowed, an expression that Scotty interpreted to mean he wanted some affirmation to his statement.

His usually even brows rose as he went on, "Aye, I know. I was right surprised tha day I brought in a toaster an' they all went crazy tryin' ta figure out how it worked," Scotty shook his head, apparently neglecting to notice the lack of logic involved with him having had a toaster on board at some point in the past that had briefly caused his conversation partner to freeze mid-comprehension.

"It's right shameful, but I'm leadin' us off subject. I've already taken a look at tha door an I couldn't think of anything… sometimes it just takes a new angle, ya know how it is."

The Vulcan blinked, something that Scotty took to mean meant he did not 'know how it is'.

"Ahhh…" Scott made an upward sweep of the head, drowning in the deluge of awkwardness ushered in by the silence. Circuit completed, he stared at the floor blankly until a thought began to crawl its way up in his brain, forcing his brows down.

"I believe it would be wise for me to report to the captain-"

"Great God above us!" Scotty leaped suddenly from his chair and used it as a step up to the table. Spock's eyes widened briefly at this unexplained and potentially dangerous activity, and expanded again as the engineer mounted the computer like it was a step stool.

"Mr. Scott-"

"The ventilation, lad!"

Spock came instantly to the table, peering up to the small screen Scotty was fingering elatedly.

"If we can get 'er open there's a chance we could crawl up an' get out in one of tha larger filters on tha wall in tha engine room."

With a sneer of concentration, Scotty reached over and out to the overhead vent and felt around the edges, "Ahh… as I thought, as I thought, let's see here." Stepping down from the monitor, the engineer ran his hands up and down his pant legs feeling his pockets.

Spock leaned towards him as he squatted with the contents of one pocket in his hands. "No, no… here we are," he wiggled a slim, silver tool in front of Spock's eyes.

The Vulcan lifted a brow, "Quite convenient… I'm sure very few engineers would have the foresight to have such tools on their person at all times."

Scott just beamed (an action Spock interpreted as a humble thank you) before rising again and balancing atop the computer. With the utmost caution, Scotty leaned out and, bracing one hand on the ceiling, he took the tool in the other and put the wider end against a fastener, encompassing it. Then, with considerable dexterity, he eased his thumb down to the other end of the tool and pressed, as one would do with a syringe. A very faint clack and slight pop indicated a successful removal of the first of eight fasteners. Another compression popped the small steel object into Scott's palm and he prepared to repeat his prior series of steps.

Before the bolt-holding hand could make it up to its place on the ceiling, it was taken hostage temporarily by the attentive Vulcan who, one foot on the table, wrestled the metallic object from the Scotsman's limp fingers.

Scotty glanced down and blinked, thrown off by this unforeseen aid.

"Oh, umm, thank ya, Mr. Spock."

The three remaining bolts nearest the engineer came easily in a series of attach, press, press, deposit, attach, press, press, deposit, but as Scott rose for the fifth time and firmly set his hand on the ceiling, he encountered a slight problem.

"Tch… I don' think I can reach tha other side without faAAAH!" Scotty waved his arms as he plummeted forward and, contradictory to what he perceived to be happening, felt himself rise.

An arm halted his progress towards the table top.

"Mr. Scott."

"Mr. Spock!" sputtered the beleaguered engineer from his new and unexpected post atop the Vulcan's sturdy shoulders. The flapping worked its way down to his hands where they rested on his bent knees, swinging helplessly and exasperatedly. "Ya about scared me ta death an back, Mr. Spock!"

"It did not occur to me that you might be startled were I to lift you." Spock bent his head to the side and back so he could meet Scotty's distressed but forgiving gaze. "I realize now that it was quite a logical reaction for an emotional creature such as yourself. I extend my apologies."

"An' I thank ya for 'em, but ya don' 'ave t'apologize. I shoulda been payin' better attention to ma surroundins…"

Scotty ducked as Spock took a step forward and then turned so that the remaining four bolts were accessible. "Alright… here we go…"

Scott put a hand up to hold the half-dangling screen in place as he made to remove the next bolt. Attach, press, press, deposit, attach, press, press, deposit…

Spock maneuvered the bolts in his hand so that he could hold both of the engineer's legs in place and then let his head fall back as far as he felt safe in order to monitor Scott's progress.

The engineer was pleasantly practical, Spock noted as he observed him methodically removing the fasteners. Throughout their entire experience together, he had acted only after careful thought, he had been respectful of his fellow temporary captive's space and silence, and, most impressively, had kept his emotional outbursts to a minimum while all the while exhibiting an exceptional capacity in his field. It was unfortunate, Spock decided as he opened a hand to accept the third bolt, that he did not have the opportunity to encounter Mr. Scott more frequently. Aside from his admirable qualities involving his position on board, Mr. Scott, he'd found, was the type of human a Vulcan didn't mind having around for extended periods of time: intelligent, peaceful, thoughtful, of a warm body temperature-

"Bridge to briefing room, Kirk here!"

The following moments were ones that would consume Spock's meditation hours for months afterward. The main mysteries he hoped to penetrate were why the sound of Jim Kirk's voice managed to evoke a physical reaction in him and, second, how he could possibly have lost his balance, at such a critical moment nonetheless. To the first conundrum, he had produced the answer that it was solely because he was so deep in thought that the captain's voice was sufficient to break his control enough to allow a bit of surprise to escape. To the second puzzle, however, he had been forced to employ the human excuse of 'plain old bad luck an' misfortune, Mr. Spock'.

Needless to say, if Spock had been a little surprised at the sound of his captain's voice, he was more than startled to find himself sitting on the edge of the table as Mr. Scott rolled across the floor in a half-somersault, half-flail and hit the door with the back of his head and a hefty thud. Some time between the thud and finding himself on the edge of the table, a clatter exploded somewhere behind him as the screen gave into gravity and fell on the table.

It was till clinking its way out of motion when the door, with a surreal slowness, opened.

Scott stared at the doorframe above him.

He blinked.

Of the crew outside the door, Scotty himself, and Spock, the latter was the first to come to his senses. He opened the communication channel.

"Spock here- Are you injured, Scotty?"

He arrived at the sprawled Scotsman as the hallway came to life, crewmen filling the air with cries of concern as they swarmed around the pair.

Scotty brought his deep brown eyes, larger and brighter than usual, to rest on Spock.

"I don' think so, sir," he managed as Spock exercised the extent of his medical knowledge, feeling for broken bones or tender spots on limbs and, finally, his head and neck.

"Can you sit up?" The engineer's mouth scrunched up in exertion and he squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to perform the proposed task.

"Aie!" He gritted his teeth about a fifth of the way to a sitting position and began to lower himself, gasping, "I don' think so, sir."

Spock helped Scotty to the floor with firm delicacy.

"Sorry," he grimaced.

Spock studied his momentary patient and then lifted his even gaze regally. "I thank you for that, but you do not have to apologize. I should have been paying better attention to my surroundings."

Just as the prostrate engineer recognized his own words within the Vulcan's more formal recitation of them and was about to mouth soundlessly at him (in lieu of saying something of importance), Spock stood to make room for the owner of a singular irritated shout that was abusing the ears of all in the doorway.

"Get out of my god damned way! Where is he? Move, did ya hear me?" Dr. McCoy fell into Spock's deserted space, almighty shriek shifting seamlessly into his soothing and strong patient murmur. "Hey, Scotty, how's it goin'?" he paused in his poking and prodding to smile at the pitiable Scotty.

"It's goin'," he returned with a deep sigh.

"Yeah? It looks like it. Say, can ya tell me where ya fell from?" The medical scanner whirred as McCoy brought it up and down Scott's extremities and chest.

"Aye, I can tell ya. About the table an' Mr. Spock's height added together," he responded miserably.

If this unusual unit of measurement surprised the doctor, he concealed it with an ease even Spock would have been proud of. "Okay, Spock's height and the table's, got it. Now did ya hit anything on the table edge or a chair or anything?"

The pale blue gaze took a last good look at the scanner before, satisfied, McCoy took out a hypospray and began preparing an injection.

"No, I di'n't hit a thing but tha floor an tha door, doctor!"

"Good, Scotty, good," he placed the capsule into the hypospray and then put it aside. "And you did some good work on the door, too, Scotty!"

A little smile forced its way across the tightly drawn lips. "Thank ya, doctor."

The addressed let his mercurial mouth slip into a comforting reflection of Scotty's expression.

"You're welcome. Say, Scotty," he leaned over the inert engineer, brushing his bangs back in place. "Do you wanna sleep a bit?"

"What?" Scotty's features drew back together in confusion.

"Do you wanna take a rest?" McCoy picked up his hypospray and Scott's brows jumped in comprehension.

"Oh, please, sir! There isn't a thing I'd rather do at tha moment." He felt the cool kiss of the injector on his neck and let his eyes wander up.

Mr. Spock smiled at him.

"I'll see ya in Sick Bay, Scotty."

The bridge was in a deceptively calm silence when the lift doors opened to allow its three passengers to disembark. Almost everyone instantly whipped around to see who it was, with the notable but predictable exception of Spock.

The lurking tension exploded in a shower of murmurs summarized perfectly by Kirk's clear welcome, "How are you feeling, Scotty?"

The engineer, flanked by McCoy and Nurse Chapel, heaved a small sigh that dissipated into a chuckle.

"I'm just fine, captain. Feelin' a little stupid, but just fine."

Kirk returned the humored grin, gravity-defying bangs flopping as he nodded mildly.

"Perfectly understandable… sometimes the worst of an injury is the damage done to one's pride; I've had plenty of those."

"Aye, captain. I've been privy to a good part of them."

Kirk's nodding gained momentum and then died in shake of the head as he turned to exchange a smile with the doctor.

"Well, it's good to have you back in working order, Scotty."

"And I'm right glad to be so, sir!" The engineer rested an elbow on the left arm of the captain's chair, mirroring, McCoy's position. "You've got some great mechanics in yer medical staff. They patched me up quite nicely."

A warm pause followed in which everyone in the nucleus of the bridge shared a fuzzy moment of mutual contentment and camaraderie.

At last, Scott broke it by posing a particularly gnawing question, "There is one thing I'm anxious ta know though… what was keepin' that door shut?"

"A very practical inquiry and one that I am well prepared, with the permission of all those who shared in the discovery, to answer." Spock stepped down to stand directly behind Chekov.

Following a nod from the captain and a gracious gesture of offering from the doctor, Spock turned his attention to the engineer and carefully checked a bubble of excitement that was rising with the prospect of explaining the mystery that had kept he and Mr. Scott together for exactly four hours, forty two minutes and twenty one seconds.

"As you suspected, the problem was, first, one of a simple nature, and, two, not a fault of the ship, but rather of her crew."

Scotty's brows knit, but instead of voicing his confusion at this point, he patiently waited for Spock to continue.

Without any warning, the Vulcan lifted one leg to showcase his shin, one hand supporting his booted foot and the other holding the leg still from the knee.

At first, the engineer's face fell even further, thoroughly let down by this only further befuddling action, but at last its significance became apparent. Scotty leaned across Kirk, squinting.

"What is that?"

"Touch it," ignoring any objections either Scotty or Spock might have had, McCoy grabbed Scotty's wrist and guided it to the bizarre splotch on Spock's pant leg.

A thumb and forefinger made a quick tactual evaluation and the Scotsman's brows hopped in response, "Ooh! It's sticky!"

"Yes," Spock let his leg drop, "it is."

Scotty looked from the stain, to Spock, to McCoy, to the stain, to Chapel, and on and on until the captain came to his rescue.

"Feel your head, Mr. Scott."

Spooked by the many possibilities indicated by this command, the engineer instantly twisted an arm to his dorsal side and began patting his hand around in search of any abnormalities.

His eyes widened impossibly.

"I'm sticky!"

"Well, your head is, yes, Mr. Scott," Chapel put in to curtail his continued searching. "We found that out trying to lift you onto the stretcher from the briefing room doorway, which reminds me," she produced a small, transparent bag with a small mahogany tuft in it and held it out to the chief engineer.

"Here's a little bit of you that you left at the scene of the crime."

Scotty took the bag and then quickly felt the back of his head again before exclaiming at the doctor, "Ya ripped ma hair out!"

"Don't look at me!" snorted McCoy. "It's the captain you should be getting on to."

"Now, Bones, you have yet to prove that it's my fault!"

"That what's yer fault?"

Cutting each other off in excitement, Chekov and Sulu jumped to respond before Kirk could even finish giving the doctor his hurt look.

"Dr. McCoy believes theht the steekiness we found under the door was from speeled coffee-"

"Yes, and because the captain is notorious for drinking his with an appalling amount of sugar and the spill is exceptionally sticky, he's convinced that the captain is to blame-"

"A false accusation! Don't you think I would remember spilling coffee all over the briefing room?"

"I think you're a busy man who might not remember every second of every day-"

"Or maybe one who has a good reason not to remember certain seconds of certain days."

All attention fell on Nurse Chapel who seemed not to notice, mild and pleasant smile, remaining firmly in place.

"What exactly are you implying, Miss Chapel?" the intensity of Kirk's injured expression increased exponentially as he melodramatically put a hand to his heart and angled himself in her direction.

"Implying?" Chapel gave the captain a run for his money in theatrics, stepping back more than was necessary in faux surprise. "I was merely making an observation…"

"Fascinating," Spock's use of the f-word as well as his singular thoughtful expression, revealed that the gears of his logical brain were hard at work.

"Mr. Scott, did you ever tell me precisely when you arrived in the briefing room?"

The engineer considered the question carefully before responding slowly, brows furrowed. "No, no, I di'in't…"

"Can you make an estimation?"

A small smile overcame the terse look of befuddlement. "Aye, an' I can do better than that! I looked at the computer for tha time as soon as I got there. It was exactly twelve minutes after the captain called us down."

Spock nodded and turned his focus to the pair of medical officers purposefully and pointedly meeting Kirk's intense put implacable gaze en route.

"Doctor, can you tell me what you did upon leaving the bridge after receiving orders to go to the briefing room?"

"I… I went straight to sick bay to tie up some loose ends before- say," he turned to study Kirk suspiciously, "you may be on to something here, Spock… Jim showed up about five or ten minutes after I got there, which means he must have come right after me but taken a little detour somewhere along the way."

"Affirmative. Take into consideration also that the spill was over a very precise area of the floor. It was over almost nothing but the door's track-"

"That's enough! To your places everyone!" Kirk whipped his head to face the screen with a scowl. "Maybe I should have you run drills to keep your minds busy so you don't sit around plotting and scheming."

Unable to resist, even when given the perfect opportunity, McCoy added deviously, "We're just makin' observations here, captain."

The façade of fury fell as Kirk craned his neck to call at the departing doctor, "Go back to your bowling, Bones!"

With a heckle, the doctor stepped into the lift after Nurse Chapel.

Grin in place, Kirk made to turn back to the screen but was incited to stop halfway as Spock spoke from his station, "Incriminating as the evidence may be, the doctor was accurate in saying our statements are mere observations. There is little to be gained by pursuing the issue of your involvement or the lack there of in Mr. Scott's and my brief imprisonment."

"Thank you for reiterating that point, Mr. Spock."

"However, somewhat ironically, the happenings of this morning have provided me with an answer to your prior inquiry."

"Oh?" Kirk settled into his chair, wearing an unreadable smile. "You figured out who you'd like to be stranded on a desert island with?"

Sulu and Chekov exchanged a glance.

"Let's hear it then!"

The Vulcan's almost undetectable expression of amusement went unnoticed by all but the captain as Spock rose and answered lightly, "Unquestionably, I would select Mr. Scott," the engineer, who had lingered on the bridge at the station across from communications where one of his men was currently working, froze at the sound of his name before pivoting on the spot slowly.

Spock's brows rose a slight bit and he allowed his eyes to meet the startled and straight-backed engineer's while keeping his body facing the captain. "Mr. Scott is experienced in dealing with emergency situations, indisputably level-headed, innovative, and extremely practical: the most logical choice by any evaluation."

Scotty could do nothing but press his lips together in a compact smile as his cheeks lit up in crimson pride and gratitude. He gave a hearty nod in the first officer's direction, which Spock returned with a slight inclination of the head.

Both knew this meant mutual approval.

"Sir,"

Kirk quickly checked his lengthening smirk before giving Scotty his attention.

"I'll be in engineerin' if ya need me."

"Thanks, Scotty," again, Kirk bent his neck back and to the side to add to the exiting engineer, "I'll probably call down in a while about the rescheduled meeting."

"Aye, sir," the lift whooshed open and was about halfway done with whooshing back when it met with Scotty's arm. "Ah, sir?"

"Yes, Scotty?"

"Would it kill ya ta be a wee bit more prompt this next time?"

Kirk shot his winning look over his shoulder to look at the reprimanding Scotsman.

"No, Scotty. I don't imagine it would."

He beamed, eyes shining with good humor. "Thank ya, sir."

The lift door completed its closing unimpeded and left the bridge in a relieved and relaxed repose.

Just as the last person let down his guard and gave into the lull of unusual but welcome quiet, a tiny click sounded.

Sulu sat up straight, waiting for any sudden command; Chekov stole a glance under an arm and saw the captain's feet peddling off the ground.

Uhura put a hand to the bridge of her nose and said a silent prayer.

Spock turned a knob on the monitor.

Click.

"If you were forced to marry someone on board the Enterprise, Mr. Sulu," the captain's chair swiveled slowly and majestically to the right as its occupant, currently staring with a thoughtful intensity at the screen, used the floor to propel himself, "who… would you marry?"