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5.
When Captain Kirk showed up for alpha shift five minutes late, and with a ring of fresh, finger-shaped bruises not even remotely hidden by the neckline of his uniform tunic, it was obvious to everyone on the bridge that the command team’s foolish attempt to make peace over a friendly game of three-dimensional chess last night had not gone well.
Chekov mentally reviewed Starfleet regulations, trying to work out whether it was his duty to report attempted murder to someone back at HQ. Uhura put a discreet call through to medical asking Doctor McCoy to pop up to the bridge with a dermal regenerator when he had a moment. And Sulu turned back to his station and began tapping out a cheery invitation to the captain to join him in the gym some time for a series of helpful lessons on swordplay and the proper use of a belt knife or dagger.
4.
“Honestly, he was trying to drown poor Spock. And you know poor dear Spock’s from a desert planet. I don’t even know if he can swim, poor thing. But the Captain yelled at me to get out of there, that the swimming pool was reserved for a reason, and, you know, I would like to make Lieutenant, junior grade, one day. So I just left. But you can bet if, you know, anything ever happens, I’ll be right there on the stand to testify for poor darling Spock!”
“Quite right,” said the second ensign, turning a page in her magazine. “Quite right.”
Spock was so bemused by this exchange that he did not know where to begin correcting Ensign Dollman’s misapprehensions. So he made do with raising an eyebrow for a moment before returning to his examination of his father’s new six-hour musical composition which he had received in the latest subspace mail call.
3.
McCoy looked up at the commotion. Three or four burly security drones were attempting to fit through the main doors to the medical bay while also attempting to drag one Kirk, James Tiberius and one Spock, Unpronounceable with them. McCoy smirked at their efforts. It seemed to take an inordinate amount of time for the red-shirted lads to realise that going single file might make more sense. Sure enough, all six managed to get in this way without too much trouble, despite Spock’s attempts at passive resistance and Kirk’s attempts at inappropriate placement of elbows.
“Now then,” McCoy boomed, just for the hell of seeing the security guys form up as if on parade, “what seems to be the problem here?”
“Sir, found these two fighting, sir! Looked pretty serious.”
“We weren’t fighting, Johnson, we were sparring.”
“You bit his neck, sir.” Johnson, bless him, seemed to have his heart in the right place, even if he wasn’t the fuzziest peach in the orchard.
“All right, then,” McCoy said, reaching for a hypospray and adopting his best menacing expression, “leave them with me.”
“Aye, sir, Doctor, sir.”
And the four took themselves off with all the grace and beauty of a squadron of flying pigs. McCoy waited until the doors had safely sealed behind them before permitting himself to crack a smile.
“Fighting, huh? Tryin’ to kill each other?”
Spock looked at Jim.
Jim leered.
“Only a little death, Bones.”
2.
“Eyup,” said crewman Daggitt, stepping back to allow Parsons into the cabin with the new flat-pack furniture box. He’d already dismantled what was left of the old, broken bed and was hoping to be able to avoid being the one who had to lug the pieces down to Engineering for recycling.
“Hiya, Andy. Captain’s quarters, huh? Thought’d be grander, somehow.”
Despite himself, Daggitt had another look around. Not really more spacious or finer than the enlisted men’s quarters, if you asked him. “Still, he don’t have to share, does he?”
Parsons had the package open and was peering at the two tools inside, no doubt trying to distinguish the Allen key from the Torx and mentally scratching his head (as they all did on these occasions) trying to figure out why Starfleet had to design general issue furniture which required both types of screw.
“Any idea what happened to the old one?” Parsons mused, now peering at the instruction sheet (multi-lingual, allegedly, but best interpreted based on the diagrams alone).
“Ah,” said Andy, scenting the possibility of being able to reveal new gossip, “there’s no official explanation, but I heard—now don’t you go spreading this, mind—that Commander Spock tried to beat the Captain to death with it!”
“With a bed? He’s that strong?”
“Aye."
Parsons looked impressed. Then he looked greatly put upon. “Oi, are you going to give me a hand with this or not?”
1.
When Yeoman Rand detoured into the mess to ensure that the captain was eating a reasonably healthy meal not composed entirely of coffee and sugar, she did a double-take at the appearance of the first officer sitting opposite Kirk. The Vulcan’s face had turned bright green, and he did not appear to be able to stop coughing and spluttering. He’d dropped his spoon and spilled what appeared to be some kind of chilli dish all over the table. The Captain, meanwhile, was clutching his sides and roaring with laughter.
Rand harrumphed, turned on her heel, and made a beeline for the nearest comm panel. She called sickbay and informed the duty doctor of an “accidental” poisoning in the officers’ mess. Her next call would be to her Academy sponsor, to discuss what might be done to preserve both men’s lives and careers despite their evidently uncontrollable homicidal tendencies towards one another.
+1.
“Perhaps,” Spock murmured, his voice a silky purr in the dark of the observation deck, “in light of the crew’s… overactive imaginations, we should confine our more libidinous activities to the privacy of personal quarters?”
Despite this eminently sensible suggestion, Jim noted that Spock couldn’t quite contain another roll of his hips which rubbed his obvious hard-on against Jim’s thigh. He sniggered. “Yeah, like that worked out so well for us last time.”
“Forgive me, Jim, but you do not appear to object to your current situation. Perhaps we might continue this on the floor of your quarters, rather than the bed.”
Jim thought about this. But it seemed like a lot of effort to move. And, besides, sooner or later even a crew with murder on the brain would have to put two and two together and not get five, right? Perhaps all they needed was for someone to walk in on them actually getting into it, instead of just in the foreplay stages? On the other hand…
“Your mouth still tastes like chilli. Let’s relocate so you can brush your teeth, hmm?”
“I remind you that it was your idea for me to consume what you alleged was a favourite Terran foodstuff—”
Jim snorted. “Shut up, Spock, and get down to my quarters so we can try out my new bed. I had them reinforce it, you know. Perks of being the boss around here.”
Spock shifted just enough to remind him exactly who was pinned to the carpet here. Jim laughed. Spock kissed him into silence.
***END***