A/N: The prompt for this week was 'For the Hundredth Time, in honor of 100 weeks of free writes. We were to use that as the first line for this short. Hell if I know where this came from...

For the Hundredth Time

"Fascinating."

"For the hundredth time, so help me God, if you say that one more time, when this is over I'll slap you into next week, Spock." The doctor was positively livid. "It'll be worth the time in the brig," he interjected under his breath. "Just use those mathematically perfect brainwaves of yours and figure out how to get me the hell out of here!" he pleaded, louder this time, balking at swallowing his pride and having to ask his nemesis for help. He'd already been here for close to twenty minutes, and was growing more agitated with each passing second.

"And YOU! Don't you dare laugh," he added, fixing his most baleful stare on the shorter man, clad in gold, standing at the Vulcan's side. Not that he could see the captain's expression very well from this height.

Kirk screwed a neutral look onto his face, but the mirth continued to bubble up in the hazel eyes. "I'm not laughing, Bones. I feel for you, really I do." And how could he not? The doctor was suspended some twelve meters above the ground, pinned to the side of a cliff face by what could only be described as a huge ball of goo, his head—as luck would have it—the only part of him not thoroughly covered by the sticky material.

"Are you positive we can't use the transporter and beam him out?" Kirk asked, turning to his first officer.

"Affirmative, Captain. The substance does contain some traces of organic compounds," Spock remarked. Frowning slightly, he consulted the tricorder in his hand for the umpteenth time. "Essentially it is not an inert material but does contain the rudiments of living tissue, yet it is not life as we know or understand it."

"That's because, as I told you before, it's a huge spitball, courtesy of the humongous, indigenous herbivore I was studying before it decided to use me for target practice, you green-blooded hobgoblin," McCoy threw out angrily. "I'm stuck up here thanks to a gigantic, alien loogie."

Spock chose to ignore the irate medico's outburst, looking to his captain instead. "As we are unfamiliar with the physical properties inherent to the foreign matter, transporting it and Doctor McCoy simultaneously may confuse the transporter pattern, intermingling some of the alien substance's organic proteins and structures with his own. As they are both 'living matter,' the transporter may have difficulty distinguishing one from the other. The effects of even a minute transference of the native 'organism's' chemical make-up to the doctor's system are inconclusive at this juncture, but it is my recommendation that we find an alternate method of extracting him from his current predicament, in order to ensure that his DNA is not compromised in any way."

"Is he in any immediate danger?" Kirk pressed, once again casting his eyes skyward and struggling mightily to suppress a grin. Leave it to Bones…

"Negative. As it does not contain any known substances toxic to humans, and is not covering his face, therefore preventing normal respiration, I do not see any urgency in attempting to extricate him with undue haste," Spock supplied innocently. "It would be best to proceed with caution, therefore mitigating the chance of unforeseen injuries or complications."

McCoy rolled his eyes at that, positively fuming. The Vulcan was enjoying his predicament way too much for the doctor's taste. The CMO let out an exasperated sigh. "Just someone, please get me down. This stuff stinks to high heaven," he said, fighting the urge to retch.

"How do you suppose he wound up way up there, Spock? The animals in question are earthbound, and have exhibited no particular skills at scaling sheer walls," Kirk asked the science officer, as a flurry of activity was underway at the base of the cliff. A security team was rearranging portable airbags, which had been placed there ten minutes ago, in case the doctor and his gargantuan glue ball should suddenly pull free and plummet to the ground below. However, that didn't seem likely. Once they'd had them in position, Kirk had coaxed the doctor to try and wriggle loose, but he appeared to be stuck fast to the barren rock face.

"The creatures' spitting appears to be a defense mechanism against its natural predators, likely meant to temporarily distract or even hinder the pursuer's vision while the prey animal makes its escape. As we are significantly smaller and lighter, the force placed behind the expulsion of mucus could have been enough to sweep Doctor McCoy off his feet, carrying him a considerable distance from the point of contact. It is fortunate the cliff was in the trajectory of his flight; otherwise it would have been difficult to calculate how far the blast could have propelled the doctor without additional data," Spock explained drolly. Suddenly, another thought occurred to the Vulcan. "Doctor, have you sustained any secondary injuries?" the science officer inquired. Initially Spock had surmised that the cocoon of goo would have cushioned the impact with the rock wall. McCoy had not complained of any—and the man did tend to complain about everything, loudly and vociferously—but the possibility did exist nevertheless.

To McCoy, the situation was rapidly becoming unbearable. Just wait until he was finally free. All kinds of scenarios for revenge flitted briefly across the doctor's mind—revenge to be inflicted on his pointy-eared tormenter and the man's human compatriot. It went without saying that they'd never let him live this down. He chose to ignore them at the moment, focusing instead on the task at hand. "Other than being covered in snot I'm just hunky dory, Spock." When no response from below was forthcoming he added, "Well?"

"Recommendations, Spock?" Kirk chimed in on cue.

"It might be possible to use a shuttlecraft to facilitate the rescue. Conceivably it could hover just below the doctor, a team of two to three men on its roof employed to extricate him from his organic anchor. In this way, were he to suddenly be released, he would land on top of the shuttle, as opposed to the airbags below. The shuttle could then be made to gently touch down and the doctor could be retrieved from the roof."

Kirk didn't seem too keen on that plan. "Any other options?" he asked, when a distraught voice sounded from above:

"That works for me," McCoy announced desperately, clearly at the end of his rope. "Just somebody, please do something soon, will ya?"

It took ten minutes for Sulu to pilot the small craft from the Enterprise to the location in question, and another fifteen for Spock and two members of security to carefully cut the doctor free with plasma torches.

Once they were back on solid ground Kirk approached his CMO, mouth open to speak, but the surgeon cut him off. "Not a word outta you, hear?" he said testily, gesturing to the communicator affixed at Kirk's waist. The captain swallowed his remarks, handing over the device without comment. McCoy snatched it, while fixing the captain and first officer, who had come to stand dutifully at his commanding officer's shoulder, with a look that could melt neutronium.

He unceremoniously peeled off all his clothing, wiping what sticky material was left from his neck and hands with his black undershirt. It had been one helluva day already. The last thing he needed was to have his atoms scrambled with that of the alien substance. Stark naked, he activated the communicator. "McCoy to transporter room. One to beam up, and please have a towel handy when I arrive," he said into the small device, disappearing in a hail of sparkling light. He could have sworn he heard laughter in the background.