Author's Notes:  The more astute, or curious, among you may wonder if I was inspired by the humorous epics of Tavia, Keridwen, Rihannsu (or whatever she's calling herself this week), etc.  And the simple answer is:  NO!  Of course not, you fools!  Actually, yes.  However, I coincidentally (is that a coincidence that I wrote a story while others also wrote stories?) started this some time ago and stopped at a random point for no apparent reason.  I even knew where to go with it, just not…right at that point. And then I finally finished this part.   You can try to guess where I left off, if you like.  You won't get anything out of it, but go ahead.  Hint:  It's toward the end, in the middle of a paragraph.  So here it is, anyway.  Chapter 1, at least.  There's even a cliffhanger, for those of you who hate that sort of thing.  I just hope it matches up with our resident comedic geniuses.

LOCKED BOX

                                                      Chapter 1: Trapped!

            McCoy awoke with a splitting headache.  He felt like someone had beamed his brain right out of his skull, then sent it back all scrambled.  And furthermore, he couldn't see a damned thing except those flashing bright spots.

            Whatever he was lying on, it was cold and hard as rock.  Why, in fact, now that you mention it, it very well might have been rock.  Where the hell am I? he thought.

            McCoy groaned and tried to massage his temples.  It was then that he discovered he wasn't alone.

            "Doctor?" Spock's voice said quietly, from somewhere to McCoy's right, he thought.

            "Spock!" McCoy cried, and immediately regretted it.  The noise echoed off whatever walls surrounded them and pounded back into McCoy's head like a hammer.  He groaned again.

            "Are you all right?" Spock asked, still quietly.

            As the surge of pain passed, McCoy felt a twinge of annoyance that Spock would bother asking such a ridiculous question.  But underneath that, he privately felt very happy that Spock was there.  He wasn't alone, and surely, if anyone could find a way out of this, Spock was the man.  Or Vulcan.

            McCoy ignored the question and asked, "Is it just me, or did somebody turn the lights out?"

            "If by that you mean to ask whether it is dark here, yes.  Very much so."

            "Except for the spots in front of my eyes…"

            "I believe that is an indication of a concussion.  As I recall, you received a severe blow to the head."

            "I know what it means!  I'd like to know why someone took it upon himself to conk me on the head with a brick."

            Spock was silent.

            "Did you see who it was?" McCoy asked.

            "I do not believe so."

            "Don't believe?  What's that supposed to mean?"

            "I must have been rendered unconscious shortly after you."

            "Hmm.  So you probably have a headache to match mine."

            Spock hesitated a second.  "Actually, I do not."

            "And why is that?  Are Vulcans impervious to being clubbed on the head as well?"

            "No.  I was rendered unconscious by…some other means."

            "Well, then, why the devil'd they have to hit me over the head?" McCoy complained, just loudly enough to make himself wince.

            "Perhaps it was because of your mouth."

            McCoy tried to scowl angrily, but it hurt too much; and besides, there was no point when Spock couldn't see him.

            "Have you examined…wherever we are?  Maybe even found an escape route?" he finally asked.

            "That has not been possible."

            "What?  Why?"

            "I have been unable to break my bindings."

            McCoy was confused.  "Bindings?  What are you talking about?  Do you mean you've been tied up?"

            "That would be the logical assumption.  Aren't you?"

            McCoy felt his wrists, then stretched to check his legs.  "No.  Not unless they're invisible."

            "Mine are not currently visible; however, I know they are there."

            McCoy tried to sit up, and paused while a wave of dizziness swept over him.  "Well, I guess our first step, then, is getting you free."

            Spock was skeptical.  "How do you propose to do that?"

            McCoy didn't feel like thinking about that just yet.  "I'll figure that out when I find you."

            "I believe I may be approximately 3.2 meters to your right."

            "Oh, three point two.  Okay."  McCoy got on one knee with his hand supporting him against the wall and floor.  "All right.  I'll be pleased if I can stand right now, thank you."  He actually managed to make it to his feet, but the subsequent vertigo nearly overwhelmed him.  "Is it me, or is this room rotating?" he said queasily.

            "To my knowledge, the room is quite stationary," Spock said helpfully.

            "Of course."  McCoy turned toward the sound of Spock's voice, trying to steady himself for a three-meter walk (three point two) through pitch darkness.  "Something just occurred to me," he began, in part to stall for time.

            "Should that surprise me?" Spock replied mildly.

            "Are we the only ones here?  How long had you been awake, before I came to?"

            "Perhaps an hour.  I heard your ragged breathing quite clearly, and only yours."

            "How did you know it was me?" McCoy asked, moderately puzzled.

            Spock didn't reply, so McCoy inhaled deeply to prepare himself.  And gagged.

            "What's wrong?" Spock asked, in as much alarm as he was likely to express.

            "I just noticed how horrible it smells in here!" McCoy said, coughing.  He steadied himself again.  "All right, I'm coming over."

            "I wondered if you were planning on doing so in the near future."

            McCoy ignored him and concentrated on putting one foot carefully and firmly in front of the other.  He tried closing his eyes to stop the flashing spots, but it didn't help.

            "Keep talking so I know where you are," McCoy said.

            "What shall I say?"

            "I don't care!  Just say something!"

            "I find it difficult to continue speaking when there is no topic of discussion."

            "Then figure out some new way to insult me!  Just keep that trap of yours moving for once!"

            Spock paused.  "I admit, at the moment, I am having difficulty finding a sufficient complaint about you."  As McCoy growled, he continued, "I was becoming disturbed when you refused to awaken.  I tried calling your name a number of times, but you did not respond."

            "I was having a lovely nap—" McCoy broke off with a pained cry.  Spock immediately realized what had happened:  McCoy tripped over Spock's foot.  He should have realized how close McCoy was, and warned him.

            "Doctor?  Are you all right?"  Spock felt like he'd been through this before.  He had to wait several minutes before McCoy began to groan again.  "McCoy?"

            "Did you get them?" McCoy mumbled dazedly.

            "Get…who?"

            "Whoever it was knocked me on my head."

            "That…was me."

            "What?" McCoy nearly shouted, then moaned.

            "You tripped over my feet," Spock admitted.  Even McCoy could almost detect a certain sheepishness to his tone.

            "Well, what the devil are your enormous feet doing in the middle of the floor, just waiting for me to trip over them?"  McCoy's tirade was slightly less impressive on account of the pain.

            Spock expressed a fraction (11/168) of annoyance.  "Where shall you have me put them?"

            "You could've warned me:  'hey, watch out, there, Bones, you're one step away from falling on your face!'"

            "I apologize.  I miscalculated the distance, due to the distortion of noise in this room."

            "Oh, you miscalculated!" McCoy was pleased in spite of himself.  "I don't suppose you'll admit to that when we get out of here!"

            "It would first be prudent to determine if it is actually possible to escape.  Another consideration is, who put us here and why?"

            "That's two considerations."

            Spock considered.  "True."

            "Well, it's a good question.  I thought you might be able to shed some light in that area.  I seem to be having trouble remembering anything that happened for the past…well, I don't know how long."

            "We can discuss that once you've freed me," Spock said pointedly.

            "Oh.  Yes."  McCoy shifted his body slightly.  It was going to be hard to try and move around again.  "Are you…nearby?"  McCoy reached out a hand and waved it around until he hit something.  He patted it several times.  "Is that you?"

            "You are currently stroking my leg."

            "Oh.  Sorry.  I guess I made it here, then, huh?"

            "Obviously."

            "Where's your hands?"

            "Tied behind my back."

            "Okay," McCoy said patiently.  "Where's your back?"

            "Behind me."

            McCoy paused.  "Are you trying to make this hard on me?  Because right now, the sound of my own voice reverberating in my skull is making me wish I was still unconscious."

            "I find it most interesting that at last you are moaning at the sound of your voice," Spock replied.

            McCoy shifted onto his side.  "If I knew where you were, I'd consider pasting you one right now."

            Spock raised an eyebrow.  "Violence, Doctor?"

            "There isn't enough darkness in the universe to prevent me from knowing when you're doing that blasted eyebrow thing!" McCoy muttered.  Then he concentrated on dragging himself across the filthy floor, toward Spock's back.  "What I wouldn't do for an aspirin right now." [do they have aspirin in the future?]

            "I may be able to help you when my hands are free," Spock offered.

            "What, and perform one of your mind melds on me?  Wouldn't that transfer the pain to you?"

            "To some degree.  I can, however, handle pain."

            McCoy pulled himself forward another several inches, wincing at the pressure on bruises he didn't realize he had.  They must have done a number on him, whoever they were.  "No, I'd rather have one of us clear-headed.  I'll deal with it."  Then he stopped.  "I'm not about to smash my head into a wall, am I?"

            "Possibly."

            "Thanks for the warning."  McCoy reached out again, and felt something soft and moist.  Spock recoiled next to him.

            "What was that?" McCoy said, pulling his hand back.

            "You just stuck your thumb in my eye," Spock replied calmly.

            "Oh.  Sorry.  Well, it's not like you'll be needing it anytime soon, huh?"

            "I would regardless prefer to keep my eye, assuming we escape this situation."

            "Yeah, you and your absurd desires."  McCoy pulled himself into a sitting position.  "Can you turn around so I can reach your hands?"  

            Spock awkwardly adjusted himself so he was leaning partially against the wall, with his hands in front of McCoy.

            McCoy groped for the bindings.  "Let's see what we can do about this."  He found the rope, almost a kind of wire, twisted tightly around Spock's wrists.  "Well, this can't be very comfortable."

            "I assure you, it is not," Spock said, his voice muffled by the wall.

            McCoy fumbled with the rope for several minutes in silence.  "I can't get the knot undone.  I'm not even sure there's a real knot here.  Do you have anything pointy?"

            "Besides my ears?" Spock asked dryly.

            McCoy smiled slightly in the dark.  "Well, yes, and sharp.  I need to cut through this rope."

            "I have nothing that could serve that purpose."

            "Damn," McCoy said, and patted down his pockets.  "Too bad I don't carry a scalpel around with me."

            "That could prove injurious to your health."

            McCoy sighed.  "I don't know what the hell to do here.  I'm gonna have to try using my teeth to cut the rope."  He paused.

            "Don't bite me," was Spock's response.

            He waited a beat, then said, "I'll try not to."  He bent over and tested the texture of rope between his lips.  The rope seemed difficult, but not impossible, to chew through.  "Okay.  It's wrapped around your wrists four times.  I'll try to break through a layer or two and let you go from there."

            "Agreed."

            "Now, just to keep me distracted from this, how about you fill me in on what's happened."  McCoy clamped his teeth around a piece of the rope and began to gnaw away.

            Spock hesitated, considering.  Then, he spoke.  "I believe this encounter began when we entered standard orbit around Skeptia Ture 6.  A small scientific landing party was assigned to a particularly intriguing region of the planet."

            McCoy paused in his gnawing.  "Who else is down here, then?"

            "Botanist Philips, geologist Nunez, and dendrologist Morrison were all members of the initial landing party, led by the two of us."

            "What do you think happened to them?"

            With a hint of annoyance, Spock replied, "I do not even know what has happened to us; at this point, I cannot speculate."

            McCoy grunted and returned to the rope.  Spock continued, "The most puzzling aspect of this problem is that we did not detect any form of sentient life on or around the planet.  What, then, is responsible for our abduction?"

            "So that's all the information you have?  The name of a random planet and a bunch of invisible aliens who attacked us and stuck us in a dark room?"

            "I do not see you contributing to the pool of knowledge here, Doctor."

            "Well, I'm doing my part," McCoy said as he pulled furiously at the rope with his teeth.  Then, suddenly, he stopped with a curse, and grabbed at his face.

            "Is something wrong?"

            "No, I'm fine," McCoy murmured.

            "You don't sound fine."

            "I just caught my lip on the rope."  He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.  "I'm all right.  I'll be through this strand in another minute or two."  He set back to work, even more determined.

            "Doctor, I believe you are bleeding on me."

            "Look, do you want to be free or not?" McCoy growled.

            "I simply do not understand how you could have cut yourself deeply enough to continue bleeding for an extended period of time."

            "Spock…you're not helping."  McCoy muttered to himself.  "How am I gonna live this down, gnawing you out of this like some kind of rodent."

            Then, with a triumphant cry, McCoy said, "I've got it!  One of 'em, anyway.  See what you can do with that."

            Spock adjusted himself to a more stable position and tried to wriggle out of the ropes.  "I believe I can evade them now, if you will assist me."

            Together, they managed to get the bindings free of Spock's wrists.  Even Spock seemed pleased.  He tenderly stretched his arms in front of his body to loosen stiff muscles.  "Thank you, Doctor."

            McCoy tried to shrug it off as he touched his lips again to test the bleeding.  "It was nothing.  Now, just see about getting out of here."

            Spock stood and began to feel his way along the wall.  His fingers carefully probed every inch of the surface, searching for any escape possibilities.

            "I suppose I must have put up quite a fight.  I'm really feeling it now," McCoy winced.  "I don't think there's any part of my body that isn't bruised.

            Spock ignored him as he reached a strange crevice.  He examined it for a moment, then gave up on it and moved on.  "This room does not seem to be constructed by humanoids.  I believe it is a natural cave."

            "That's nice," McCoy said.  "Can you find a way out?"

            "I have not completed my initial examination."

            "Well, watch out.  There's probably a bear or something in here just waiting to maul you to death."

            "If a bear were waiting to maul us to death, it would have done so already," Spock replied patiently.

            McCoy shrugged.  "Well, if you get eviscerated and start spraying that green blood of yours around, don't come crying to me."  He paused.  "God, I wish I had my medical kit here.  A tricorder, at least, would do a world of good."

            Spock hesitated at the doctor's logic.  "How would I—"

            "It's an expression, Spock.  Relax."

            Spock continued to search the perimeter of the room.  He mentally began mapping the layout of the cave.  It was apparently an oblong oval surrounded on all sides by essentially solid rock, with one exception.  At the opposite end from where Spock had been placed (and where McCoy now sat), a series of crevices seemed to suggest the existence of an opening.  Currently, however, that opening was blocked by what amounted to a large…rock.  Quietly, Spock tested his strength against the rock.  It didn't budge.

            Spock decided not to mention the rock, or the opening, at this time.  He continued in the counter-clockwise route he had been taking, investigating other possibilities.

            "Find anything?" McCoy asked, more out of a desire to break the silence than any expectation that Spock would have reached a door, casually turned the knob, and walked out.

            When Spock didn't immediately respond, McCoy began to wonder if, in fact, there was a bear mauling him to death.  Well, he had to hand it to the bear, it was a very quiet mauler.

            "Spock?"

            "Yes, Doctor?" Spock said calmly, as if the mauling were not actually taking place, which, of course, it wasn't.

            "Anything?"

            "Nothing of particular note so far."

            McCoy heard a soft footstep somewhere in the vicinity of where he woke up, but then, he couldn't be certain.  Then he heard a skittering noise, the sort of sound plastic makes when it is kicked across a rock floor.

            "What was that noise?" McCoy asked.

            "I kicked something.  I believe it moved in your general direction."

            "What was it?"

            Spock paused just long enough to convey his annoyance, expressing a great deal of exasperation at the doctor's illogic in one short, split second of silence.  Especially considering he was a Vulcan.  McCoy, knowing Spock as he did, picked up on most of it.  "My feet do not possess sophisticated sensors that can identify objects they kick."

            "Well, that would be your shortcoming," McCoy drawled, realizing how stupid the question had been, anyway.  "I'll find it, whatever it is."

            "Based on the estimated velocity of my kicking force, and the probable mass of the object in question, I would predict that you may find it approximately 5.8 meters—"

            "Spock," McCoy stopped him.  "I'll find it.  Remember the last time you reported numbers to me?"

            "I am not currently in your path," Spock protested.

            McCoy crawled forward, feeling the ground around him.  He held a fraction of a hope that this small plastic object could be a communicator.  Then again, he worried that the rocky walls might prevent a signal from getting through, anyway.  But it was worth a shot.  If it was a communicator.

            As he searched, he heard Spock carefully moving toward him.  McCoy couldn't help wondering if Spock was crawling or at least duck-walking, or in some other ridiculous-looking position.  The thought had the strange effect of cheering McCoy up somewhat.

            Just then, both of his hands found two different and unequally surprising things.  His left hand brushed against the plastic object, which McCoy quickly determined by touch was his medical scanner.  "Got it," he announced.  "My scanner.  I must've had it in my pocket.  Not that it does a lot of good by itself, but maybe my tricorder's here, too."  He didn't seriously hold much hope for that, especially considering what his other hand was currently touching.

            "Spock," he murmured.  "I think you'd better check this out."  He clicked on the scanner, which emitted the faintest green light.  It really didn't help McCoy see any better, and in fact only made the surprise more disturbing and mysterious.

            The light, however, apparently allowed Spock to avoid tripping over McCoy.  He quietly reached McCoy's side.  "What is it?"

            "Feel that.  Right in front of us."  McCoy looked at the scanner's readings, but there was nothing on the display.  "I think I know why it smells so horrible in here, now."

            Spock reached in front of them and felt.  "I do not understand, Doctor."

            "Well, the scanner doesn't say anything, but I'm certain of it!"  He crawled ahead and felt again.  "Yes!  Here's another!"

            "What, Doctor?"

            "These are dead bodies, Spock."

HOW will they escape?  WHO has trapped them in this nefarious Chamber of DOOM?  And for WHAT devious purpose?  Find out in the next exciting chapter, coming soon!

Post A/N:  It's funny.  I started this as a half slapstick, half sappy-serious friendship story between Bones/Spock, without any apparent plot.  In the course of writing, I actually found a plot.  Chapter 1 is more expository slapstick, but next (or in Chapter 3, if it goes that way) comes the sappy part.  Be forewarned.

 Oh, and since I'm constantly seeking approval, please review!  It'll make my therapy sessions go by faster (j/k, I don't have a therapist.  But I may need one…if you don't bring me back from the edge of sanity, that is.  Then again, it's kinda fun here).