Seascape Part 4 (R for language) Star Trek Bigbang
Title: Seascape (Part 4)
Author: Rip_the_tide
Beta(s): my sister
Series: Star Trek IX, Nu!Trek
Character/Pairing(s): Spock/McCoy
Rating: very light R (mostly for language)
Word Count: 29,525
Warnings: A little graphic violence in a few places, but nothing really bad, also pirates
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that belongs to someone else. no copyright infringement was intended. This is all just in fun.
Author's Note(s): Sometimes there is silliness. Please excuse the silliness.
Summary: Dr. McCoy is about to start a new life across the sea. His plans abruptly change when he is kidnapped by the infamous pirates of the Enterprise.
Link to Fic: ...
Link to Art: You will be jealous of this amazing artwork, I know I am: wootsauce.livejournal.com/577505.html
Link to Mix: You will also be jealous of this amazing fanmix: community.livejournal.com/yodayoga/1831.html
Out of the corner of his eye Jim saw a rather alarming sight. Was Spock carrying a body? The answer was yes, yes he was. Not only was he carrying another person, but the person he was carrying was the illustrious doctor that they were all so indebted to. Also, Jim had promised the doctor that he would be safe aboard this ship and he would defy anyone to make James T. Kirk a liar. He jogged over to Spock.
“Spock, what happened to him?” he asked, catching up.
“The good doctor has been neglecting himself. I found him outside the infirmary near collapse and brought him to the mess hall as he has also lost significant weight and planned to give him a bunk afterwards. The doctor had different plans.” He said, shifting the man in his arms, which drew Jim’s attention to the doctor. And damn if he didn’t wish he were the one with his hands on the man. The scruffy, unshaven, disreputable look really worked for him. The bags under his eyes only made him more endearing.
“I had thought,” Spock said slowly, noticing his preoccupation with examining the doctor, “to bring him to the officers’ quarters and give him my bunk.”
“Yours?” Jim said, surprised, then a sly smile grew on his face, “Why, Mr. Spock, are you blushing?”
He hadn’t been, but he was now. Jim held the door to their shared quarters as Spock bore the doctor inside to his bed. As the Captain and first mate they shared quarters that were well and beautifully furnished with bookshelves, paintings, a desk and actual beds. Everything was bolted down of course, but it was rather nice. Besides the beds they each had hammocks. Jim actually preferred the hammock. Spock didn’t seem to have a preference. There was a curtain between their two separate sections of the room, but it was seldom closed.
Spock carried McCoy to his bed and gently laid him down, removed his boots (of course Spock would never allow dirty boots in his bed Jim thought), then covered him with a sheet and a light blanket.
He walked to the curtain and said, “With your permission Captain.”
Jim who was trying his hardest not to smirk, nodded and Spock drew the heavy curtain across the room, closing off the area in which McCoy slept.
“So, Spock, what have you found out about our good doctor?” Jim asks, beckoning Spock over to the desk and the bolted down chairs.
“Very little, Jim. I have spoken very little with him, although he seems to think that we may be cannibal pirates and seems very suspicious of us in general.” Spock replied.
“Yes, I noticed that too.” Jim smiled. But he wouldn’t be around forever. He was only there temporarily and had already served his purpose. He would be gone soon. Jim’s smile melted with that thought and Spock…he wasn’t one to give his heart freely. What with McCoy’s suspicion of them in general, it was unlikely that they would be able to convince him to join them as a permanent member of the crew.
“What do you think the odds are that we can convince him to join?” Jim asked Spock, knowing that he was probably already aware of the problems that his attraction presented.
“Slim to none, considering the regulations we are bound by.” was the reply. Jim nodded and watched Spock’s face carefully for a reaction. Spock so seldom showed preference for anyone openly. He was withdrawn and silent, not shy, really, only cold and indifferent, at least on the outside. He was not a man ruled by passions, but, Jim had a feeling that was only because nothing had yet roused his passions to an extent that would overpower the man’s control. Considering how strongly he had already reacted to the doctor Jim wasn’t sure what Spock would do. Spock just didn’t have any experience with the kind of overpowering emotions involved in passionate romantic flings. It would have been amusing to watch if there weren’t such a large chance of heart break in it for Spock.
“We’re heading to Port Volcano now, right? That should be a suitable place to drop him off.” Jim said, testing Spock’s reaction to the idea of separation.
“Yes. That should be an adequately sizeable place to leave him. He will be able to find passage to several different places.” Spock replied, absolutely emotionless. So, he wasn’t completely unaffected, but he wasn’t going to break down in tears. Jim was satisfied.
“Now, for ship’s business…” Jim said, rubbing his hands together in false anticipation.
“Yes, Captain. Mr. Chekov is resting in his bunk, but he has looked at the maps…”
McCoy woke up with something warm, furry and vibrating on his chest. He opened his eyes and thought that it was very fortunate that he wasn’t allergic to cats. A tortoiseshell cat was sitting on his chest as if it thought he were a throne. At first he intended to expel the cat from his personal space but a moment later he decided that the bed he was in was quite comfortable and he had absolutely no desire to move from it anyway. Plus he liked cats.
A short moment after that he remembered that, oh right, he’d been abducted by potentially cannibalistic (wait, where had that come from?) pirates and that, no, he did not remember falling asleep in bed. He could tell from the gentle rocking that he was still on a ship, but the décor of the room he was in was of a completely different caliber than anything piratical. There were deep red and black wall hangings and darkly stained cabinets filled with books and maps. The floor was covered by what looked like an incredibly soft rug, also red and there was a large curtain drawn at the far side of the room. The bed was as comfortable as any McCoy had ever been in before and the sheets were soft and smooth, above them was what looked like a handmade quilt. It didn’t match the rest of the room at all, but somehow, that made it all the more mysterious and meaningful.
Beyond the curtain McCoy heard voices murmuring softly. He nudged the cat off his chest gently and it gave way graciously and preceded him through the curtain. He stood and sank into the thick carpet with a grin of absolute hedonism. He took note of the position of his boots and padded over to the curtain. However before he opened it he heard a few words that made him pause.
“So we should hit the storm tomorrow at one hour after noon. We can tie everything down tomorrow morning, early and bring the sails down before midday meal.”
“It might be wise to review emergency procedure and lifeline knots and perhaps move some of the crates from the upper decks further down.”
“I’d rather move crates so that anything we can afford to dump overboard, if the time comes, is most easily accessible and things we can least afford to lose are the most secure.”
McCoy cleared his throat and scuffed the floor before opening the curtain and emerging to find Captain name-that-starts-with-a-K and Mr. I-don’t-let-people-pass-out-on-the-floor. They both immediately stood, which seemed a little strange.
“Doctor, how are you feeling?” the Captain said, smiling in a somewhat unsettling manner. The man was clearly conniving something or he there was some private joke.
“Better.” He answered truthfully, things were a lot less blurry, “Mostly hungry.” He admitted.
“Of course.” The Captain said, “Mr. Spock had been escorting you to the mess hall when you…fell asleep.”
What the hell kind of name was Spock?
“Ah ha.” He replied, unsure of what to respond. He vaguely remembered something about cannibals, but otherwise…and that couldn’t be a good sign either. “Well, I think I can walk without falling down now, so if you’ll just point me in the right direction I’ll grab something to eat.” He smiled weakly. Then he jumped as something brushed his leg. It was the cat. He crouched down and scratched its head.
“You little rascal.” He said softly to it.
“Tribble seems to like you. He does not often take to strangers.” The man named Spock said. He had a pleasing voice, smooth and he was watching McCoy intently. That was somewhat unsettling.
“You certainly have some odd names here.” McCoy said, standing once again and ignoring an indignant meow.
“Well would you prefer One Handed Joe or Peg Leg Larry.” The Captain joked. McCoy thought he had a point and shrugged his agreement. “In any case” the captain continued, “Mr. Spock and I were just about finished here. Why don’t you escort Doctor McCoy to the mess hall once again and see if it doesn’t go better this time?” he said with a mischievous smile, addressing Spock, who looked rather peevish at the thought.
“Yes, sir.” He replied and swept one hand out to silently invite McCoy to walk before him out the door. This, combined with the standing ovation at his presence, did not comfort McCoy. In fact it rather annoyed him. He wasn’t a woman and he wasn’t a guest. He was a prisoner! The least they could do was act like it. He had never been one for beating around the bush.
Spock could not understand it- this intensely powerful attraction to the doctor. It was problematic to say the least.
Spock had known from a young age that he was not interested in women, regardless he had found himself fancying very few men anyway and never as strongly as this. There was, firstly, very little chance that the doctor shared his proclivities. Second, the man would be leaving as soon as the next made port. Fostering a relationship, especially a romantic one at this time would be both ill-advised and illogical. That fact however did not stop him from wanting too.
He was well aware that Jim had purposefully arranged things so that he and the doctor would have a few moments alone on the way to the mess hall, but he simply could not think of anything to say. He was also rather displeased with Jim.
As they neared the dining hall and Spock’s window of opportunity began to close he finally could not withstand the silence anymore and said, to his great regret, “Doctor, I wish to assure before we proceed to the mess hall that none of the crew have ever shown the slightest interest in the consumption of fellow humans.”
It was simply a statement of fact. They stood for a moment in an awkward limbo before the doctor coughed and responded with, “That’s comforting to know. Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure, doctor.” Spock said sincerely before turning and walking quickly away- a strategic retreat. He was obviously not prepared to deal with this situation with a clear head. He would go meditate and regroup.
McCoy stood awkwardly in the doorway of the mess hall for a few moments after watching Spock’s march down the hall. With posture like that the man’s spine must have lost its capacity to bend. He was certainly an odd one- one moment silent, brooding and restive, the next shy and awkward. It didn’t really make sense. Well they were pirates, a law unto themselves, they didn’t have to make sense.
The mess hall was set up typically with one man, presumably the book serving people’s trays and there were tables at which eat.
He recognized the man serving as the man who had previously been waving the ladle around. At least that explained the ladle. Now he had a wooden spoon, which, as it turned out, was no less threatening than a ladle.
He approached with trepidation, and cautiously picked up a tray. Conversation had ground to a near halt- McCoy gritted hi teeth and moved down the line. For a brief moment he simply stood eye to eye with the large cook, murmurs fluttering across the tables then the cook clapped him on the shoulders and said, “You did good, doctor, you did good. Anything you want, you just ask.”
“Uh, thanks,” he replied, nearly buckling under the cook’s enthusiasm and smiling weakly, “I’ll just have whatever’s on hand.”
“Right then stew and bread.” The cook said and ladled a bowlful that was in sever danger of overflowing and laying next to that what looked like an entire loaf of bread.
“Thanks.” McCoy said unwilling to argue with the man and maneuvering awkwardly to keep from spilling. He turned towards the tables to find his fully recovered waving him over to a half full table. There was no way he could refuse. He carefully made his way over and sat in the newly vacated corner seat that everyone had scooted over to free up. He nodded his thanks and gingerly sat down.
“Ah doctor,” his ex-patients, Chekov said, “I don’t know who you’ve met. This is Sulu, Uhura and Scotty.”
He nodded in acknowledgement. Sulu laughed at the sight of his overfull tray.
“Hungry, doctor?” he joked.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted, “but Mr. Chekov seems very well-loved.” Which wasn’t something he wanted to speculate on.
“Cupcake had a soft spot for strays.” Sulu replied with a grin and got an elbow in his gut for his trouble, “Plus he was pretty freaked out by the way you passed out in here.”
McCoy nearly choked in a bite of bread and he could feel himself blushing violently. To his eternal chagrin McCoy had always blushed easily and visibly. Chekov looked a little guilty. McCoy quickly changed the subject for both their sakes.
“So how did a bunch of well-spoken professionals end up as pirates? Were you kidnapped like me or did you just apprentice with the wrong guy?” he asked, gesturing broadly with his spoon.
“Oh, well, the Captain took me in from a Russian crew. They weren’t very nice, so Captain Kirk offers me a place on the Enterprise as navigator. Being only a cabin boy, I accepted.” Chekov piped up, being the only one without a full mouth at the time.
“You just went off with a bunch of strange pirates?” McCoy asked, incredulous.
“Well it didn’t seem like it could be worse than where I was. Plus, navigators don’t just grow on trees.” Was the reply, which seemed both reasonable and horrifying.
“I was a prisoner on a Navy ship. Kirk took me on as the helmsman.” was Sulu’s answer which also sounded as if there was more to that story than he was telling.
“What were you a prisoner for?” McCoy pushed.
“My parentage.”
Uhura answered next. “Kirk found me in the slave markets just as I had escaped. Instead of turning me in and collecting a reward be brought me to the Enterprise as quartermaster and translator.”
“Oh? Where were you educated?” McCoy asked, slightly curious.
“A school in my village, then in the colonist’s town. I learned a lot of different languages as a slave, travelling to different locations.” McCoy nodded, also noting the unexpanded upon horrible nature of that story.
“Well, in my case, doctor, I was drafted into the Royal Navy and that’s where I met the Captain and Spock. Eh, that was before we were pirates.” Responded Scotty matter-of-factly.
“Wait just a goddamn minute. They were Navy?”
“Oh, aye, Royal Academy.”
“Christ! No wonder…so they’re…who are they?” Anyone at the Royal Academy had high connections of some kind.
“Captain Kirk is the son of George Kirk the hero of the Battle of the Narada. Spock is the nephew of the Spanish Ambassador to England. It’s not something that the respectables wanted to broadcast, you ken?”
“Jesus. So you’re all just misunderstood victims of circumstance? Statistically that’s totally unreasonable. What about the cook? Someone has to…have a more piratical background.” McCoy said. This whole ship was a floating psychosis: everything was insane.
“Oh, Cupcake? He beat the Captain to a pulp in a bar fight over Uhura.”
McCoy floundered for a moment, spluttering out, “Wha..?”
“Well, the Cap’n was asking for it.” was their apparently absolutely reasonable answer.
McCoy shook his head. Nutters, all of them.
Uhura looked at him with an understanding but uncompromising gaze, “We’re not the horrible bloodthirsty cannibals you imagine us to be- the captain least of all. We simply enjoy an alternate lifestyle.”
“What about Spock? He seems the type.” McCoy said, reminded of the man all of a sudden.
“The type to be a cannibal?” Chekov asked.
McCoy shrugged, “Tall, dark, quiet, repressed- he just seems the type to have hidden, violent, bloodthirsty depths.”
“I guess he might seem that way to someone who didn’t know him, but he’s never done anything...extremely abnormal or unhealthy.” Uhura replied looking slightly befuddled.
“That’s exactly my point! Don’t you think someday he’ll just snap and go crazy?” He asked. That was exactly what McCoy envisioned happening. He could see it clearly in his mind. Plenty of men had gone insane due to the long isolations of the open seas.
They looked at him then at each other and shook their heads.
McCoy shrugged and ate his soup. The bread he gave out.
Part 5
.
Author: Rip_the_tide
Beta(s): my sister
Series: Star Trek IX, Nu!Trek
Character/Pairing(s): Spock/McCoy
Rating: very light R (mostly for language)
Word Count: 29,525
Warnings: A little graphic violence in a few places, but nothing really bad, also pirates
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that belongs to someone else. no copyright infringement was intended. This is all just in fun.
Author's Note(s): Sometimes there is silliness. Please excuse the silliness.
Summary: Dr. McCoy is about to start a new life across the sea. His plans abruptly change when he is kidnapped by the infamous pirates of the Enterprise.
Link to Fic: ...
Link to Art: You will be jealous of this amazing artwork, I know I am: wootsauce.livejournal.com/577505.html
Link to Mix: You will also be jealous of this amazing fanmix: community.livejournal.com/yodayoga/1831.html
Out of the corner of his eye Jim saw a rather alarming sight. Was Spock carrying a body? The answer was yes, yes he was. Not only was he carrying another person, but the person he was carrying was the illustrious doctor that they were all so indebted to. Also, Jim had promised the doctor that he would be safe aboard this ship and he would defy anyone to make James T. Kirk a liar. He jogged over to Spock.
“Spock, what happened to him?” he asked, catching up.
“The good doctor has been neglecting himself. I found him outside the infirmary near collapse and brought him to the mess hall as he has also lost significant weight and planned to give him a bunk afterwards. The doctor had different plans.” He said, shifting the man in his arms, which drew Jim’s attention to the doctor. And damn if he didn’t wish he were the one with his hands on the man. The scruffy, unshaven, disreputable look really worked for him. The bags under his eyes only made him more endearing.
“I had thought,” Spock said slowly, noticing his preoccupation with examining the doctor, “to bring him to the officers’ quarters and give him my bunk.”
“Yours?” Jim said, surprised, then a sly smile grew on his face, “Why, Mr. Spock, are you blushing?”
He hadn’t been, but he was now. Jim held the door to their shared quarters as Spock bore the doctor inside to his bed. As the Captain and first mate they shared quarters that were well and beautifully furnished with bookshelves, paintings, a desk and actual beds. Everything was bolted down of course, but it was rather nice. Besides the beds they each had hammocks. Jim actually preferred the hammock. Spock didn’t seem to have a preference. There was a curtain between their two separate sections of the room, but it was seldom closed.
Spock carried McCoy to his bed and gently laid him down, removed his boots (of course Spock would never allow dirty boots in his bed Jim thought), then covered him with a sheet and a light blanket.
He walked to the curtain and said, “With your permission Captain.”
Jim who was trying his hardest not to smirk, nodded and Spock drew the heavy curtain across the room, closing off the area in which McCoy slept.
“So, Spock, what have you found out about our good doctor?” Jim asks, beckoning Spock over to the desk and the bolted down chairs.
“Very little, Jim. I have spoken very little with him, although he seems to think that we may be cannibal pirates and seems very suspicious of us in general.” Spock replied.
“Yes, I noticed that too.” Jim smiled. But he wouldn’t be around forever. He was only there temporarily and had already served his purpose. He would be gone soon. Jim’s smile melted with that thought and Spock…he wasn’t one to give his heart freely. What with McCoy’s suspicion of them in general, it was unlikely that they would be able to convince him to join them as a permanent member of the crew.
“What do you think the odds are that we can convince him to join?” Jim asked Spock, knowing that he was probably already aware of the problems that his attraction presented.
“Slim to none, considering the regulations we are bound by.” was the reply. Jim nodded and watched Spock’s face carefully for a reaction. Spock so seldom showed preference for anyone openly. He was withdrawn and silent, not shy, really, only cold and indifferent, at least on the outside. He was not a man ruled by passions, but, Jim had a feeling that was only because nothing had yet roused his passions to an extent that would overpower the man’s control. Considering how strongly he had already reacted to the doctor Jim wasn’t sure what Spock would do. Spock just didn’t have any experience with the kind of overpowering emotions involved in passionate romantic flings. It would have been amusing to watch if there weren’t such a large chance of heart break in it for Spock.
“We’re heading to Port Volcano now, right? That should be a suitable place to drop him off.” Jim said, testing Spock’s reaction to the idea of separation.
“Yes. That should be an adequately sizeable place to leave him. He will be able to find passage to several different places.” Spock replied, absolutely emotionless. So, he wasn’t completely unaffected, but he wasn’t going to break down in tears. Jim was satisfied.
“Now, for ship’s business…” Jim said, rubbing his hands together in false anticipation.
“Yes, Captain. Mr. Chekov is resting in his bunk, but he has looked at the maps…”
McCoy woke up with something warm, furry and vibrating on his chest. He opened his eyes and thought that it was very fortunate that he wasn’t allergic to cats. A tortoiseshell cat was sitting on his chest as if it thought he were a throne. At first he intended to expel the cat from his personal space but a moment later he decided that the bed he was in was quite comfortable and he had absolutely no desire to move from it anyway. Plus he liked cats.
A short moment after that he remembered that, oh right, he’d been abducted by potentially cannibalistic (wait, where had that come from?) pirates and that, no, he did not remember falling asleep in bed. He could tell from the gentle rocking that he was still on a ship, but the décor of the room he was in was of a completely different caliber than anything piratical. There were deep red and black wall hangings and darkly stained cabinets filled with books and maps. The floor was covered by what looked like an incredibly soft rug, also red and there was a large curtain drawn at the far side of the room. The bed was as comfortable as any McCoy had ever been in before and the sheets were soft and smooth, above them was what looked like a handmade quilt. It didn’t match the rest of the room at all, but somehow, that made it all the more mysterious and meaningful.
Beyond the curtain McCoy heard voices murmuring softly. He nudged the cat off his chest gently and it gave way graciously and preceded him through the curtain. He stood and sank into the thick carpet with a grin of absolute hedonism. He took note of the position of his boots and padded over to the curtain. However before he opened it he heard a few words that made him pause.
“So we should hit the storm tomorrow at one hour after noon. We can tie everything down tomorrow morning, early and bring the sails down before midday meal.”
“It might be wise to review emergency procedure and lifeline knots and perhaps move some of the crates from the upper decks further down.”
“I’d rather move crates so that anything we can afford to dump overboard, if the time comes, is most easily accessible and things we can least afford to lose are the most secure.”
McCoy cleared his throat and scuffed the floor before opening the curtain and emerging to find Captain name-that-starts-with-a-K and Mr. I-don’t-let-people-pass-out-on-the-floor. They both immediately stood, which seemed a little strange.
“Doctor, how are you feeling?” the Captain said, smiling in a somewhat unsettling manner. The man was clearly conniving something or he there was some private joke.
“Better.” He answered truthfully, things were a lot less blurry, “Mostly hungry.” He admitted.
“Of course.” The Captain said, “Mr. Spock had been escorting you to the mess hall when you…fell asleep.”
What the hell kind of name was Spock?
“Ah ha.” He replied, unsure of what to respond. He vaguely remembered something about cannibals, but otherwise…and that couldn’t be a good sign either. “Well, I think I can walk without falling down now, so if you’ll just point me in the right direction I’ll grab something to eat.” He smiled weakly. Then he jumped as something brushed his leg. It was the cat. He crouched down and scratched its head.
“You little rascal.” He said softly to it.
“Tribble seems to like you. He does not often take to strangers.” The man named Spock said. He had a pleasing voice, smooth and he was watching McCoy intently. That was somewhat unsettling.
“You certainly have some odd names here.” McCoy said, standing once again and ignoring an indignant meow.
“Well would you prefer One Handed Joe or Peg Leg Larry.” The Captain joked. McCoy thought he had a point and shrugged his agreement. “In any case” the captain continued, “Mr. Spock and I were just about finished here. Why don’t you escort Doctor McCoy to the mess hall once again and see if it doesn’t go better this time?” he said with a mischievous smile, addressing Spock, who looked rather peevish at the thought.
“Yes, sir.” He replied and swept one hand out to silently invite McCoy to walk before him out the door. This, combined with the standing ovation at his presence, did not comfort McCoy. In fact it rather annoyed him. He wasn’t a woman and he wasn’t a guest. He was a prisoner! The least they could do was act like it. He had never been one for beating around the bush.
Spock could not understand it- this intensely powerful attraction to the doctor. It was problematic to say the least.
Spock had known from a young age that he was not interested in women, regardless he had found himself fancying very few men anyway and never as strongly as this. There was, firstly, very little chance that the doctor shared his proclivities. Second, the man would be leaving as soon as the next made port. Fostering a relationship, especially a romantic one at this time would be both ill-advised and illogical. That fact however did not stop him from wanting too.
He was well aware that Jim had purposefully arranged things so that he and the doctor would have a few moments alone on the way to the mess hall, but he simply could not think of anything to say. He was also rather displeased with Jim.
As they neared the dining hall and Spock’s window of opportunity began to close he finally could not withstand the silence anymore and said, to his great regret, “Doctor, I wish to assure before we proceed to the mess hall that none of the crew have ever shown the slightest interest in the consumption of fellow humans.”
It was simply a statement of fact. They stood for a moment in an awkward limbo before the doctor coughed and responded with, “That’s comforting to know. Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure, doctor.” Spock said sincerely before turning and walking quickly away- a strategic retreat. He was obviously not prepared to deal with this situation with a clear head. He would go meditate and regroup.
McCoy stood awkwardly in the doorway of the mess hall for a few moments after watching Spock’s march down the hall. With posture like that the man’s spine must have lost its capacity to bend. He was certainly an odd one- one moment silent, brooding and restive, the next shy and awkward. It didn’t really make sense. Well they were pirates, a law unto themselves, they didn’t have to make sense.
The mess hall was set up typically with one man, presumably the book serving people’s trays and there were tables at which eat.
He recognized the man serving as the man who had previously been waving the ladle around. At least that explained the ladle. Now he had a wooden spoon, which, as it turned out, was no less threatening than a ladle.
He approached with trepidation, and cautiously picked up a tray. Conversation had ground to a near halt- McCoy gritted hi teeth and moved down the line. For a brief moment he simply stood eye to eye with the large cook, murmurs fluttering across the tables then the cook clapped him on the shoulders and said, “You did good, doctor, you did good. Anything you want, you just ask.”
“Uh, thanks,” he replied, nearly buckling under the cook’s enthusiasm and smiling weakly, “I’ll just have whatever’s on hand.”
“Right then stew and bread.” The cook said and ladled a bowlful that was in sever danger of overflowing and laying next to that what looked like an entire loaf of bread.
“Thanks.” McCoy said unwilling to argue with the man and maneuvering awkwardly to keep from spilling. He turned towards the tables to find his fully recovered waving him over to a half full table. There was no way he could refuse. He carefully made his way over and sat in the newly vacated corner seat that everyone had scooted over to free up. He nodded his thanks and gingerly sat down.
“Ah doctor,” his ex-patients, Chekov said, “I don’t know who you’ve met. This is Sulu, Uhura and Scotty.”
He nodded in acknowledgement. Sulu laughed at the sight of his overfull tray.
“Hungry, doctor?” he joked.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted, “but Mr. Chekov seems very well-loved.” Which wasn’t something he wanted to speculate on.
“Cupcake had a soft spot for strays.” Sulu replied with a grin and got an elbow in his gut for his trouble, “Plus he was pretty freaked out by the way you passed out in here.”
McCoy nearly choked in a bite of bread and he could feel himself blushing violently. To his eternal chagrin McCoy had always blushed easily and visibly. Chekov looked a little guilty. McCoy quickly changed the subject for both their sakes.
“So how did a bunch of well-spoken professionals end up as pirates? Were you kidnapped like me or did you just apprentice with the wrong guy?” he asked, gesturing broadly with his spoon.
“Oh, well, the Captain took me in from a Russian crew. They weren’t very nice, so Captain Kirk offers me a place on the Enterprise as navigator. Being only a cabin boy, I accepted.” Chekov piped up, being the only one without a full mouth at the time.
“You just went off with a bunch of strange pirates?” McCoy asked, incredulous.
“Well it didn’t seem like it could be worse than where I was. Plus, navigators don’t just grow on trees.” Was the reply, which seemed both reasonable and horrifying.
“I was a prisoner on a Navy ship. Kirk took me on as the helmsman.” was Sulu’s answer which also sounded as if there was more to that story than he was telling.
“What were you a prisoner for?” McCoy pushed.
“My parentage.”
Uhura answered next. “Kirk found me in the slave markets just as I had escaped. Instead of turning me in and collecting a reward be brought me to the Enterprise as quartermaster and translator.”
“Oh? Where were you educated?” McCoy asked, slightly curious.
“A school in my village, then in the colonist’s town. I learned a lot of different languages as a slave, travelling to different locations.” McCoy nodded, also noting the unexpanded upon horrible nature of that story.
“Well, in my case, doctor, I was drafted into the Royal Navy and that’s where I met the Captain and Spock. Eh, that was before we were pirates.” Responded Scotty matter-of-factly.
“Wait just a goddamn minute. They were Navy?”
“Oh, aye, Royal Academy.”
“Christ! No wonder…so they’re…who are they?” Anyone at the Royal Academy had high connections of some kind.
“Captain Kirk is the son of George Kirk the hero of the Battle of the Narada. Spock is the nephew of the Spanish Ambassador to England. It’s not something that the respectables wanted to broadcast, you ken?”
“Jesus. So you’re all just misunderstood victims of circumstance? Statistically that’s totally unreasonable. What about the cook? Someone has to…have a more piratical background.” McCoy said. This whole ship was a floating psychosis: everything was insane.
“Oh, Cupcake? He beat the Captain to a pulp in a bar fight over Uhura.”
McCoy floundered for a moment, spluttering out, “Wha..?”
“Well, the Cap’n was asking for it.” was their apparently absolutely reasonable answer.
McCoy shook his head. Nutters, all of them.
Uhura looked at him with an understanding but uncompromising gaze, “We’re not the horrible bloodthirsty cannibals you imagine us to be- the captain least of all. We simply enjoy an alternate lifestyle.”
“What about Spock? He seems the type.” McCoy said, reminded of the man all of a sudden.
“The type to be a cannibal?” Chekov asked.
McCoy shrugged, “Tall, dark, quiet, repressed- he just seems the type to have hidden, violent, bloodthirsty depths.”
“I guess he might seem that way to someone who didn’t know him, but he’s never done anything...extremely abnormal or unhealthy.” Uhura replied looking slightly befuddled.
“That’s exactly my point! Don’t you think someday he’ll just snap and go crazy?” He asked. That was exactly what McCoy envisioned happening. He could see it clearly in his mind. Plenty of men had gone insane due to the long isolations of the open seas.
They looked at him then at each other and shook their heads.
McCoy shrugged and ate his soup. The bread he gave out.
Part 5
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