Title: Ingenuity
Series: Tales from the Lower Decks
Written for: st_20_fics Table, Prompt #04 - "I thought you were dead!"
Characters: Spock, Kirk, OC Matthew Turner (seen elsewhere such as A Celebration in Infinite Combinations and Insontis)
Warnings/Spoilers: written by me? :P
Series Summary: The adventures of an ordinary Maintenance man aboard the Enterprise, and his observations of the developing trifold powerhouse which is Kirk, Spock, and McCoy.
This Bit Summary: Ensign Turner is the first responder on the scene of an accident involving the First Officer. Gratuitous Spock!whump. :P It's my day off, I'm entitled, okay.
This Bit Word Count: 2363

Prompt #04 – "I thought you were dead!"

Firm believer in the equality of race and species, me. No xenophobe gets into Starfleet without being able to hide his tendencies better than a Level Five mind probe will discover, and so thankfully bigotry is a rare thing in the 'Fleet, and frowned upon when it surfaces. Part of the joy of serving aboard a starship is meeting new species (when you're not stuck below decks fixing sinks, that is) and even serving with some of them. Although most of the Federation starships are far more human-populated than any other species, that's due more to the fact that few species in the Federation can successfully serve on a human ship, in human climate and environment. While most species are able to function for short distances in such a human-centric environment, such as transportation to colonies and such, a five-year mission is far too long for most to live comfortably.

For example, Mr. Spock is the only Vulcan I know of who can tolerate serving on a human ship; and he has for over a decade now. How the man doesn't freeze to death is beyond me, although I know the captain's request for a heating vent installed under the science station was a huge hit. Spock is the primary non-human aboard, though there are a few others.

And I'm a firm believer in interspecies cooperation, I really truly am, and it's an honor to serve with one of the primary Vulcan scientists in the Federation.

I just have to wonder sometimes, if Spock knows exactly how creepy he can be, and just delights in screwing with us poor humans.

Just a bit. I mean. I was on the observation deck one night about three months back, just knocking about with a sketch pad under the glass dome. Dr. McCoy and the captain were sitting on two of the chairs off in a shadowed corner, just chatting-like, when all of a sudden Mr. Spock melts out of the shadows like some Vulcan Batman and says "Good evening, Doctor, Captain Kirk," in that funereal intone that makes his Science people hide behind their tricorders to watch their lives flash before their eyes.

McCoy was looking twitchy anyway, and he practically jumped out of his chair, then went off on Mr. Spock like any normal human would at being given the jim-jams like that, but the captain only snickered a little into his coffee cup and didn't even bother to say good evening back. Spock faded away a minute later, probably to go do the same thing to some poor snogging couple in one of the alcoves, and life continued as per normal; or whatever constitutes normal on this crazy ship.

But Spock's a hard taskmaster, and an intimidating one. He expects nothing less than perfection from his Science departments – one reason why we receive the top ratings in the 'Fleet year after year – and receives pretty near that from all his personnel, despite his constant hanging over them to check their human inefficiency. Everyone knows half the people in Ops were sent there because they didn't take work in Spock's labs seriously enough, and everything he does is backed by Captain Kirk's firm and wholehearted approval.

Sciences is a bit of a grindstone to work in, on this ship; it's not for the fainthearted, and it's not for the thin-skinned. I was repairing circuitry in Science Lab Twelve once and heard Spock dressing down a lieutenant over a programming mistake that only a Level Three computer expert would catch, and let me tell you – the First Officer is a bit of a frightening alien. And I don't mean that in a xenophobic way, mind – only that he's very much not human in those moments when his people don't produce what he's set for them to.

Still, oddly enough, nobody has ever asked for transfer out of Spock's direct departments; he's transferred some, but none have ever requested it – and that's a record for most departments aboard ship. Obviously, he chose his people with care, and they're thick-skinned enough to see past what looks like an iceberg exterior to see whatever the captain for one obviously has already found.

I fortunately don't have much weekly interaction with Mr. Spock (give me Scotty's smoke and brimstone over Spock's ice any day), and so for a long time had only rumours on which to base my opinions of the fellow. A harsh taskmaster and harsher disciplinarian, though of a gentle race, and a brilliant scientist who demanded such quality from his subordinates without question or excuse.

And then, some idiot in Maintenance – not me this time, and a good thing too because Captain Kirk probably would have said that was the last straw in my ill-fated and mediocre career – didn't realize he spilled oil on a catwalk ladder on Level Nineteen while Mr. Spock was doing a routine department inspection.

I was working on a loose coupling in the intersecting Jefferies Tube when the Commander slipped and fell from nearly twelve feet up. Not far enough for the emergency forcefields to deploy, and too far to land without hope of injury.

He scared the holy hells out of me, because he weighs nearly twice what a human his size would, and from the thud when he hit the floor of the shaft I was sure he'd broken his neck and probably every bone in his spine.

Lucky for him, those weird rumors of his felinoid ancestry apparently had some merit; he'd managed to land on his feet, of all things – whereupon the impact promptly snapped his left leg. That was nasty, but it wouldn't have been the nightmare it turned into had he not hit his head on the side of the shaft and a protruding control unit when he was collapsing.

I'd heard that Vulcans bled green before, every child who's studied xenobiology knows that – but to actually see it starting to puddle underneath the First Officer's head and leg, where a shard of thick white bone was actually protruding through the skin?

There was a very good reason I'd never possessed even the remotest desire to go into Medical.

I was just glad I managed to choke out the emergency medical alert into the comm before losing my lunch quietly in the Jefferies Tube next to us (thankfully I had an empty parts container in my toolkit). Feeling a bit better after that lovely interlude, I crawled back to the unconscious commander, and knowing it would be a good five or ten minutes before someone could make it to us, I got my jumpsuit off (glad I wore my uniform underneath that day, because I didn't much fancy running to Sickbay starkers) and put it over him, knowing his body temperature was lower than a human's anyhow. Who knew what going into shock would do for a (literally, not a xenophobe, remember) cold-blooded Vulcan. I didn't dare touch him, because of the head injury and because I'd no idea how the whole touch-telepath thing worked; with my luck I'd send the poor sod into a coma with my rampant human emotions or some such rubbish.

Annnnd then it occurred to me, I hadn't direct-commed Sickbay; I'd voice-commanded the direction, which meant Lieutenant Uhura up on the Bridge would be directing and monitoring the call through normal channels.

Fantastic. Now the captain was probably going to beat the medical team to us, since there was a direct turbolift from the Bridge to this deck, and he was going to have my head.

On a platter.

Most likely in marshmallow-sized pieces.

I sighed and gingerly began to climb the ladder to investigate, careful to test each rung; for Spock was graceful as a cat, and he would never have fallen without some sabotage. And sure enough, about twelve feet up, a viscous substance coated a few rungs of the ladder, no doubt dripped from an engineer's oil can attached to a utility belt.

After mopping up the mess as best I could, careful not to spread it further, I heard distant thuds and scurried back down to the Commander's side. He hadn't moved, but when I spoke his name his eyebrows twitched slightly. That was good, right? Or was it just a reflex for the species?

Someone came sliding down the sides of the catwalk ladder instead of taking it rung-by-rung (which actually was good, since there had only been so much I could do to clean the spill with my sleeve), and too bad Riley wasn't with me or I'd've bet money it was the captain being his usual oh-charming-let's-freak-out-the-Security-Chief-by-doing-stupid-things-aboard-ship-for-no-apparent-good-reason self. Sure enough, a second later Captain Kirk dropped to the floor beside me.

I took one look at his face and got myself out of the way, thank you very much.

"Spock? Spock, can you hear me?" There was no answer, and so his attention turned to me. "Report, Ensign."

"Apparently there was a spill on the ladder, Captain, about twelve feet up," I said, gesturing to the ladder he'd just slid down. "I was in the Jefferies Tube repairing a power coupling when I heard the Commander fall; I came out, and after investigating found something on three of the rungs, sir."

Kirk's eyes flashed, and I cringed internally; one thing the usually amiable man refused to tolerate was an accident due to someone's carelessness. The fact that it was Commander Spock who met the accident only meant that heads would roll faster. "And you believe it was…?"

"Oil, I believe sir; most likely from a Maintenance oil can hanging on a tool belt. Not mine, sir," I hastily added, turning in a circle to show him that I wasn't wearing anything but an anti-grav belt for security purposes.

The captain raised an eyebrow and then to my surprise chuckled briefly. "No need to give me the full runway walk, Turner; I believe you," he said, taking the time to smile reassuringly at me though his attention immediately turned back to his unconscious First.

Spock suddenly winced, a hand flying up to his head – which was a bit scary, more than anything, because it was the first time I'd ever seen him look anything other than stone-faced Vulcan.

"Spock? Come on, Spock. Hey," the captain said quietly, as the Commander's eyes finally flickered open. And as if the poor fellow wasn't creeping me out enough, he winced again and this weird cat eyelid thing slid down over his eyes against the light. "Can you understand me, Commander?"

"Well enough, sir," the Vulcan rasped, and the sound was as painful as nails on wet brick.

"Good. You have a head injury and a compound fracture of your lower left leg, I can't tell more without touching you." Kirk leaned closer when the Commander looked to be drifting away again. "Focus, Spock! Focus on my voice," he repeated, much less sharp this time. "I need you to focus that healing sense and report, tell me what to tell McCoy."

"Request he…refrain from his standard pain relievers, Captain."

Kirk nodded, never blinking. "Due to?"

"Concussive effects include nausea, sir. His potions will only exacerbate that current condition."

"Well, you can't be too bad off if you can still spit out words like exacerbate without slurring," Kirk said gently, smiling. His hand hovered uncertainly over the commander's torn trouser leg, fingers twitching but not landing. "Can you focus enough to block the pain from your leg? It's going to be nasty trying to move you if you can't."

"Unknown…sir." A shiver shook the Commander's thin figure, and the words were longer this time in coming; I saw frown lines beginning to form between the captain's brows. I moved to a wall panel and removed the cover, fused a few wires and jury-rigged a circuit board.

Kirk cast me an incredulous eye. "Turner, what the devil are you doing?"

"Trying to give him some heat, sir," I muttered, not really listening, as I finally was able to hack into the environmental control coupling junction two corridors over, and divert the heat to the now wide-open ventilation shaft. A furious blast of hot air, heated straight from the warp engine coils, suddenly washed over us, immediately ratcheting up the temperature at least ten degrees. "Ha! Knew Scotty's unorthodox training would pay off someday!"

"Well done…Ensign." Spock's voice was not weird just because the poor guy was shaking with shock and probably pain – but because Vulcan praise for accomplishments, unusual or not, was very rare and, according to his people, very cherished for that reason.

"Thank you, Turner," Kirk echoed, squeezing my shoulder as I returned to crouch beside the injured Commander.

Spock looked pretty bad, a pasty sort of grey colour, and was shivering on the cold floor, but I knew if it'd been my leg poking through my trousers I'd be emptying my guts all over the floor so I couldn't blame the poor fellow for any non-strictly-Vulcan indications of that kind of injury and the pain that accompanied it.

"Try again to block it, Spock," Kirk instructed gently. Obviously the man knew what he was talking about, though I'd no idea. "McCoy will be here soon, but you have to focus enough to block the pain if you want him to not drug you."

I'd like to think it was my jury-rigged space heater, but it was probably more Mr. Spock's stubborn determination and that weird fingers-on-the-face bit that Captain Kirk was doing, but finally I could see from the captain's expression that the Commander had succeeded in whatever he was attempting.

Then, as if my life wasn't busy enough, I got to witness firsthand, Dr. Leonard H. McCoy having an entirely-medical-and-not-emotionally-compromised-at-all-what-the-blue-blazes-are-you-talking-about-Nurse freakout, complete with so much mutual name calling and species slurring that if I didn't know the First Officer and CMO were what the lower decks called best frenemies I'd be tempted to report the man for xenophobia and Mr. Spock for denigrating a subordinate's professional capabilities.

And the captain for giggling in the corner at both of them.

This ship.

Insane, I tell you, the lot of them.