Why Bones Hates Transporters
Title: Why Bones Hates Transporters
Author: triskellion
Pairing(s): gen, or maybe hints of Bones/Kirk
Rating: PG
Word Count: 421
Disclaimer: It belongs to Gene Roddenberry first, Paramount second, and me not at all.
Summary: The title says it all.
Notes/Warnings: My friend nightshadow_t2 has a thing for a certain type of transformation fic. After reading the story akuchan_47 wrote her for trekmas, the idea for my story just blossomed full force into my head. So here you are, nightshadow_t2. Enjoy.
Jim hung out in the transporter room after he beamed up from shore leave. Spock hadn't left the ship, as usual, but Bones was due back soon and Jim loved to compare stories with the cranky doctor. Or brag and be threatened with medicines for the myriad of strange space STDs he'd probably garnered on his absurd activities, as Bones insisted on describing these conversations.
The doctor also usually spent at least the trip to the nearest turbo lift bitching about the horror of using a transporter rather than a shuttle craft when going to and returning from any planet. Bones was quite vehement about hating having his molecules scrambled. Jim just found the rant funny as hell.
Except today he found out why Bones hated transporters. When Bones arrived on the pad, the boots and blue shirt were per normal, but everything in between was all wrong. Shreds of black fabric floated out around narrow legs covered in dark brown fur. Above the legs was a long, strong body covered in more brown fur, running back from the transport point to another pair of brown covered legs, this pair not wearing boots.
It took only a few seconds to take it all in, from the flicking of the long tail to the scowl on the familiar face above the unfamiliar body. “Bones?” Jim asked.
“What?” Bones snapped. A foot shifted, inside the right boot, and Bones scowled. Then looked down. Then rattled off a full minute of vicious cursing that was harsh enough to tarnish the Enterprise's walls. “This is why I hate transporters. Never know when the damned things blow it and put everything back together in the wrong form.”
Bones pulled off his blue over-shirt. In the same moment the dark brown body, the horse body attached to Bones, vanished. Before Jim could get a good look at the parts no longer covered by pants, Bones tied the over-shirt around his waist.
“You will say nothing,” Bones ordered, pointing and glaring at the ensign behind the transporter controls. The look only lasted a moment, but the gulp it engendered was audible across the room.
“Bones, you're ...”
“Not a word, Jim,” Bones snarled, stalking down the transporter pad steps on muscular and lightly furred but human legs, showing clearly between uniform boots and blue shirt.
“But, Bones ...”
“I am not having this conversation until I have pants on.” Bones stalked out the door. Curiosity curling around Jim's brain, he followed.
Author: triskellion
Pairing(s): gen, or maybe hints of Bones/Kirk
Rating: PG
Word Count: 421
Disclaimer: It belongs to Gene Roddenberry first, Paramount second, and me not at all.
Summary: The title says it all.
Notes/Warnings: My friend nightshadow_t2 has a thing for a certain type of transformation fic. After reading the story akuchan_47 wrote her for trekmas, the idea for my story just blossomed full force into my head. So here you are, nightshadow_t2. Enjoy.
Jim hung out in the transporter room after he beamed up from shore leave. Spock hadn't left the ship, as usual, but Bones was due back soon and Jim loved to compare stories with the cranky doctor. Or brag and be threatened with medicines for the myriad of strange space STDs he'd probably garnered on his absurd activities, as Bones insisted on describing these conversations.
The doctor also usually spent at least the trip to the nearest turbo lift bitching about the horror of using a transporter rather than a shuttle craft when going to and returning from any planet. Bones was quite vehement about hating having his molecules scrambled. Jim just found the rant funny as hell.
Except today he found out why Bones hated transporters. When Bones arrived on the pad, the boots and blue shirt were per normal, but everything in between was all wrong. Shreds of black fabric floated out around narrow legs covered in dark brown fur. Above the legs was a long, strong body covered in more brown fur, running back from the transport point to another pair of brown covered legs, this pair not wearing boots.
It took only a few seconds to take it all in, from the flicking of the long tail to the scowl on the familiar face above the unfamiliar body. “Bones?” Jim asked.
“What?” Bones snapped. A foot shifted, inside the right boot, and Bones scowled. Then looked down. Then rattled off a full minute of vicious cursing that was harsh enough to tarnish the Enterprise's walls. “This is why I hate transporters. Never know when the damned things blow it and put everything back together in the wrong form.”
Bones pulled off his blue over-shirt. In the same moment the dark brown body, the horse body attached to Bones, vanished. Before Jim could get a good look at the parts no longer covered by pants, Bones tied the over-shirt around his waist.
“You will say nothing,” Bones ordered, pointing and glaring at the ensign behind the transporter controls. The look only lasted a moment, but the gulp it engendered was audible across the room.
“Bones, you're ...”
“Not a word, Jim,” Bones snarled, stalking down the transporter pad steps on muscular and lightly furred but human legs, showing clearly between uniform boots and blue shirt.
“But, Bones ...”
“I am not having this conversation until I have pants on.” Bones stalked out the door. Curiosity curling around Jim's brain, he followed.