"Reddy for Duty"
Title: Reddy for Duty
Author: Fair Hearing
Pairing: K/S
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, sexual innuendo, really quite unfairly characterized Kirk, cracked-out crack-smoking crack.
Kink request: "Kirk decides to prove to Spock and his crew that the Redshirt Phenomenon is just a myth." This is quite possibly the stupidest thing I have ever written in my life.
"Right, then," Kirk said at last, still staring at the viewscreen where the last, fateful, transmission of the Atropos Science Station had been abruptly cut off. "We're going to have to beam down there. This doesn't smell like an accident. It smells like... sabataj."
At his console, Sulu moaned softly and put his head in his hands.
"You would like to assemble an away team?" asked Spock.
"Absolutely." Kirk swiveled a little in his chair, surveying the bridge crew. "Ensigns... Eman and Beatty. Lieutenant Gonzales, you'll act as security. And I'll lead, of course. Let's go."
He hopped briskly to his feet and strode purposefully toward the turbolift. It took him a minute before he realized there'd been no "aye"s or "yes, sir"s or even "fuck yeah, Captain Kirk!"s in reply to his announcement. He glanced over his shoulder.
Ensigns Eman and Beatty were staring at him, still at their stations. Gonzales had stood, but she was grasping the edge of her desk tightly, as if she'd forgotten she wasn't allowed to leave it.
"Uh," said Kirk. "Guys?"
Gonzales was the first to break the silence.
"My desk," she blurted. "It" -- she glanced at it quickly -- "it has work on it."
"Mine does too," added Beatty.
"You don't have a desk, Beatty," said Kirk in confusion, exactly at the same time Eman was saying "you mean my desk, that one's mine."
Kirk furrowed his brow.
"That's not a desk," he said slowly, pointing to where the two of them were gathered. "It's just another one of those decorative molding thingies on the wall."
Which it was.
Beatty and Eman both stared at it anyway, as if they were unsure of this new hypothesis.
Luckily just then Spock spoke up.
"Captain. May I have a word?"
Even when they were sheltered in the doorway of the conference room, Spoke insisted on talking to him in a voice hardly more than a whisper.
"Jim. Have you noticed what officers Gonzales, Eman, and Beatty all have in common?"
Very slow and sneaky, Kirk whipped his head back to stare at them.
"They... all have crushes on me?" he asked Spock hopefully.
"Ensign Eman's species is asexual, sir."
Kirk crossed his fingers and bit his lip, as if still waiting to hear a yes.
"No," said Spock with a sigh. "That scenario is improbable --"
"But possible!"
" -- and immaterial. I was referring to their uniforms."
Kirk narrowed his eyes, studying them closely.
"Their color, Jim."
"Oh. Red. So?"
"I believe I may infer that you are not yet aware of the highly unlikely correlation between Engineering-Communications-Personnel Standard Red tunics and away team member deaths."
"What, is it bad?"
"To date, exactly sixteen officers, all of whom were junior-grade and dressed in Standard Red, have been killed planetside."
"Out of how many officers total?"
Spock blinked at him. "Sixteen."
"Oh." Kirk glanced back to his would-be away team, all of whom were still looking extremely busy at their desks and/or wall moldings.
"I dunno, Spock," he said doubtfully, after a second. "Collaboration doesn't equal causation, you know."
"Indeed. Nor does correlation."
"If you ask me, I bet it's more like junior officers just don't have the experience for planetside missions. Or the guts for it, or something like that."
"You seem to suggest junior officers only dress in Standard Red, when in reality they wear uniforms of all colors."
"Well, yes, but like... maybe the ones in red all belong to some secret deathwish dare fraternity or something."
Spock raised his eyebrow.
"Or," Kirk amended hastily, "or, yeah? How about THIS, a couple of them got frizzlefied into space dust (God rest their souls) on one of the first missions, and someone was like, 'it was their red shirts, it's an interplanetary conspiracy,' dicking around, but then all the redshirters started getting nervous and being like the curse of the bloody raiment in the halls to each other and spreading around rumors and dressing up like dead people in red uniforms for Halloween and freaking themselves out so that they freaked out on away teams and died because they were so scared they were going to die, huh?"
Spock was quiet for a moment.
"I fear I have somehow understood the theory posited in your bizarre ramblings," he said thoughtfully. "I acknowledge it may be a possible explanation, though unlikely."
"It makes more sense than junior redshirts getting killed on away missions just because they're -- what -- not as cool as you and me and Uhura and everyone? I mean they're not as cool, sure, but really, now."
Spock looked doubtful.
"I'll prove it," said Kirk firmly. "Get Gonzales and the others some other uniforms. Blue, yellow, checkered sweaters, I don't care. Then escort them down to the transportation deck."
"You will not be leading the mission?"
"I didn't say that," said Kirk with a grin. "On the other hand, I didn't didn't say it either. You just bring them down there at 1515, okay?"
"Very well," said Spock, regarding him suspiciously.
"I'll be back in a bit," Kirk called back to the bridge. "Oh, right. Uh, Sulu... no. Spock." He turned back to Spock and tapped him on the nose with his forefinger. "You have the conn."
Spock stared over Kirk's finger, unsmiling.
"Oh, wait, you're doing the transporter thing, right. SULU," he shouted suddenly, over his shoulder. "Just kidding, Sulu, you actually do have the conn, that was a test. Okay, back soon."
Before the turbolift doors closed after him, Kirk nodded once more at Spock, knowingly, as if the two of them were in on some top-secret espionage.
The idea made Spock quite uncomfortable.
At 1514 and 45 seconds, Spock led a far more relaxed trio of officers, all dressed in science blue, into the transporter room.
"Where's the captain?" asked Gonzales, looking around.
"He shall be here presently. Although -- " Spock glanced at his watch -- "in exactly one minute, five seconds, he will be a minute late."
Just then they heard the doors whoosh open. Spock glanced over his shoulder, then blinked, in what was clearly a Vulcan double-take.
Kirk was dressed, not only in a Standard Red tunic, but in odd old-fashioned dark glasses and what looked to be some hideous kind of knit cap. "Ah, what up, youse guys," he said in a strange nasal voice, which Spock just barely managed to recognize as an imitation of the New York City American-Terran accent. "Da captain told me to lead da away team, y'know what I'm sayin'? He was, whaddyacallit, busy. I'm Special Officuh Doohan. Howie U. Doohan."
Spock closed his eyes, very briefly.
"Uh...?" said Beatty, looking to Spock for help.
Spock took a deep breath. He reminded himself how many of the captain's unorthodox methods, no matter how bizarre they seemed at first, produced surprisingly successful results. He also reminded himself that total mortification was a particularly illogical emotion to give into, and that it was highly improbable that Kirk thought his disguise was actually effective in hiding his identity -- surely, highly improbable? And also that as first officer he could erase the video logs later and order the entire away team to never, ever breathe a word of this to anyone else as long as they lived.
"Ah," Spock managed to say, his teeth gritted only slightly. "Yes. Officer Doohan."
Kirk grinned. "Da captain toldja about me, huh, Spockie?"
Spock must have allowed his murderous response to show on his face without realizing it, because at once Kirk swallowed nervously. "I mean uh, yeah, so, anyway. Let's, whaddyacallit, get goin'."
"Officer Doohan will be leading you," Spock told the away team.
"But," whispered Gonzales, looking incredulous as she walked onto the pad. "Commander, it's the capta-"
"Correct, Lieutenant, the planet is indeed Class M," Spock said very loudly. "An important confirmation on your part, thank you. We'll beam you back at your signal, Cap... ppicer Doohan."
"Tanks, Mistuh Spock," said Kirk solemnly, bowing his head. "Enuhgize."
When they had disappeared, Spock put both hands against his temples and let out a deep sigh.
"Fascinating," he said caustically, under his breath. Then he turned to the transporter chief. "You are still locked on their signal, Mr. al-Mansur?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." Spock tapped his communicator. "Spock to McCoy."
"McCoy here. What, is Jim back?"
"He will be returning in --" Spock checked his watch again -- "approximately two minutes."
"I suppose you want me to come down there and meet him."
"That would seem prudent, Doctor."
McCoy grumbled something about idiots and harebrained schemes. "Fine."
Patiently Spock waited at the transporter pad, checking his watch frequently. He nodded briefly when McCoy entered, carrying his medical bag and scowling.
"Fifteen seconds," announced Spock. "Chief, begin initialization --"
"Gonzales to Enterprise!" a staticky voice suddenly shouted from the console. "We need beamup now, the captain's..."
Three figures swirled into existence on the transporter pad.
"... been attacked by some kind of alien... life... form," Gonzales finished, blinking at her surroundings.
As for Kirk, he had his arms wrapped tightly around Eman's ankles, shouting into the ensign's boots.
"Special Officer Doohan?" Spock said, leaning down.
Slowly, Kirk's shouting died away. After a second, he lifted his head. His dark glasses were broken, hanging off one ear.
"Spock?" he said hoarsely. "B... Bones?"
"Indeed," Spock said. He meant to add another "Special Officer Doohan," just to get a little even, but then Kirk leapt from the transporter pad and threw himself into his arms.
"I thought I'd never see you again! Jesus, Spock, you were right, I should have listened to you, I should always listen to you, you are always fucking right."
Spock patted Kirk's head a little. He didn't much mind the tone of this conversation.
"It just WENT for me." Kirk drew back, looking at Spock with hugely wide eyes. "A fucking plant thing! It didn't even have eyes! But it knew, Spock, somehow it knew. Bones," he said, turning to a sullenly scanning McCoy. "I'm telling you, Bones, it knew."
"Uh huh. Nice hat."
"You may return to the bridge, Ensigns, Lieutenant," Spock told the away team, who had been watching Kirk with disbelief and, strangely enough in Eman's case, a little fond amusement. As the doors closed behind them, Spock found himself suddenly wondering if Kirk's first guess about his three-officer away team might have been right after all.
McCoy snapped his tricorder shut.
"You're fine," he said. "There'll be a bruise on that cheek tomorrow, but what the hell else is new. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work."
"It didn't get any sex pollen on me or anything like that?" Kirk asked wistfully. McCoy ignored him and stalked off.
Kirk let out a deep breath. "Come on," he said, curling himself around Spock's arm tightly. "Walk with me, I'm post-trauma."
"I presume you have modified your opinion regarding uniforms."
"Yes, yes, oh Jesus yes. No more red, not for anybody. It's like... a cursed bloody raiment."
They had to pause in the corridor for a second so Kirk could shiver properly. Then they continued on their way.
"I'll ask Administration to inform Starfleet of the change in policy. And to place an order for more jerseys, in color...?"
"Oh, God. I don't care. Green. White. Teal, lilac, chartruese, I don't care, as long as it doesn't reflect any fucking wavelengths between 620 and 750 nanometers."
The corner of Spock's mouth lifted slightly.
"I mean, why even red in the first place? Who even came up with that? Because it's so good for camouflage, right? Bright-ass red. I mean, that's how the British went down, for Christ's sake, you would think there'd be a greater effort to understand this stuff."
They had reached the captain's quarters.
"Spock," Kirk said before he went inside.
"Yes?"
"You knew I was in trouble even before Gonzales made contact with you guys."
"I suspected."
"How?"
A few years earlier, Spock would have made the mistake of answering with the truth, that he'd known Kirk wouldn't make it three minutes in the ... bloody raiment of death? ... before catastrophe struck. Now, he just tilted his head, allowing himself to seem thoughtful.
"You had a feeling," Kirk said, nodding at him. "Didn't you."
This time, Spock lifted one shoulder slowly, a trick his mother had taught him at his cousin's bat mitzvah on Earth. "People will always see The Shrug as exactly the answer they're looking for," she had told him, "and you'll usually get the reaction you're looking for."
As usual, she had been correct, because Kirk pulled Spock in for a kiss. Light and sweet, softer than his usual.
"I knew it," he said, trailing his fingers down Spock's back.
"Mm."
"Hey, Spock."
"Yes?"
"So what do you think?"
Kirk was pointing to his knit cap, smirking.
"I would never have expected you to wear such a thing," Spock replied honestly.
"Yeah, but I mean... do you like it?"
Spock tilted his head, allowing himself to seem thoughtful.
"You do, don't you. You... youse totally tink it's sexy, dontcha, Spockie."
This time, Spock used the tried-and-true failsafe: raised eyebrow with steady gaze.
"Whaddyacallit," Kirk said triumphantly, pulling Spock inside by the shirt and slapping the door firmly locked.
Author: Fair Hearing
Pairing: K/S
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, sexual innuendo, really quite unfairly characterized Kirk, cracked-out crack-smoking crack.
Kink request: "Kirk decides to prove to Spock and his crew that the Redshirt Phenomenon is just a myth." This is quite possibly the stupidest thing I have ever written in my life.
"Right, then," Kirk said at last, still staring at the viewscreen where the last, fateful, transmission of the Atropos Science Station had been abruptly cut off. "We're going to have to beam down there. This doesn't smell like an accident. It smells like... sabataj."
At his console, Sulu moaned softly and put his head in his hands.
"You would like to assemble an away team?" asked Spock.
"Absolutely." Kirk swiveled a little in his chair, surveying the bridge crew. "Ensigns... Eman and Beatty. Lieutenant Gonzales, you'll act as security. And I'll lead, of course. Let's go."
He hopped briskly to his feet and strode purposefully toward the turbolift. It took him a minute before he realized there'd been no "aye"s or "yes, sir"s or even "fuck yeah, Captain Kirk!"s in reply to his announcement. He glanced over his shoulder.
Ensigns Eman and Beatty were staring at him, still at their stations. Gonzales had stood, but she was grasping the edge of her desk tightly, as if she'd forgotten she wasn't allowed to leave it.
"Uh," said Kirk. "Guys?"
Gonzales was the first to break the silence.
"My desk," she blurted. "It" -- she glanced at it quickly -- "it has work on it."
"Mine does too," added Beatty.
"You don't have a desk, Beatty," said Kirk in confusion, exactly at the same time Eman was saying "you mean my desk, that one's mine."
Kirk furrowed his brow.
"That's not a desk," he said slowly, pointing to where the two of them were gathered. "It's just another one of those decorative molding thingies on the wall."
Which it was.
Beatty and Eman both stared at it anyway, as if they were unsure of this new hypothesis.
Luckily just then Spock spoke up.
"Captain. May I have a word?"
Even when they were sheltered in the doorway of the conference room, Spoke insisted on talking to him in a voice hardly more than a whisper.
"Jim. Have you noticed what officers Gonzales, Eman, and Beatty all have in common?"
Very slow and sneaky, Kirk whipped his head back to stare at them.
"They... all have crushes on me?" he asked Spock hopefully.
"Ensign Eman's species is asexual, sir."
Kirk crossed his fingers and bit his lip, as if still waiting to hear a yes.
"No," said Spock with a sigh. "That scenario is improbable --"
"But possible!"
" -- and immaterial. I was referring to their uniforms."
Kirk narrowed his eyes, studying them closely.
"Their color, Jim."
"Oh. Red. So?"
"I believe I may infer that you are not yet aware of the highly unlikely correlation between Engineering-Communications-Personnel Standard Red tunics and away team member deaths."
"What, is it bad?"
"To date, exactly sixteen officers, all of whom were junior-grade and dressed in Standard Red, have been killed planetside."
"Out of how many officers total?"
Spock blinked at him. "Sixteen."
"Oh." Kirk glanced back to his would-be away team, all of whom were still looking extremely busy at their desks and/or wall moldings.
"I dunno, Spock," he said doubtfully, after a second. "Collaboration doesn't equal causation, you know."
"Indeed. Nor does correlation."
"If you ask me, I bet it's more like junior officers just don't have the experience for planetside missions. Or the guts for it, or something like that."
"You seem to suggest junior officers only dress in Standard Red, when in reality they wear uniforms of all colors."
"Well, yes, but like... maybe the ones in red all belong to some secret deathwish dare fraternity or something."
Spock raised his eyebrow.
"Or," Kirk amended hastily, "or, yeah? How about THIS, a couple of them got frizzlefied into space dust (God rest their souls) on one of the first missions, and someone was like, 'it was their red shirts, it's an interplanetary conspiracy,' dicking around, but then all the redshirters started getting nervous and being like the curse of the bloody raiment in the halls to each other and spreading around rumors and dressing up like dead people in red uniforms for Halloween and freaking themselves out so that they freaked out on away teams and died because they were so scared they were going to die, huh?"
Spock was quiet for a moment.
"I fear I have somehow understood the theory posited in your bizarre ramblings," he said thoughtfully. "I acknowledge it may be a possible explanation, though unlikely."
"It makes more sense than junior redshirts getting killed on away missions just because they're -- what -- not as cool as you and me and Uhura and everyone? I mean they're not as cool, sure, but really, now."
Spock looked doubtful.
"I'll prove it," said Kirk firmly. "Get Gonzales and the others some other uniforms. Blue, yellow, checkered sweaters, I don't care. Then escort them down to the transportation deck."
"You will not be leading the mission?"
"I didn't say that," said Kirk with a grin. "On the other hand, I didn't didn't say it either. You just bring them down there at 1515, okay?"
"Very well," said Spock, regarding him suspiciously.
"I'll be back in a bit," Kirk called back to the bridge. "Oh, right. Uh, Sulu... no. Spock." He turned back to Spock and tapped him on the nose with his forefinger. "You have the conn."
Spock stared over Kirk's finger, unsmiling.
"Oh, wait, you're doing the transporter thing, right. SULU," he shouted suddenly, over his shoulder. "Just kidding, Sulu, you actually do have the conn, that was a test. Okay, back soon."
Before the turbolift doors closed after him, Kirk nodded once more at Spock, knowingly, as if the two of them were in on some top-secret espionage.
The idea made Spock quite uncomfortable.
At 1514 and 45 seconds, Spock led a far more relaxed trio of officers, all dressed in science blue, into the transporter room.
"Where's the captain?" asked Gonzales, looking around.
"He shall be here presently. Although -- " Spock glanced at his watch -- "in exactly one minute, five seconds, he will be a minute late."
Just then they heard the doors whoosh open. Spock glanced over his shoulder, then blinked, in what was clearly a Vulcan double-take.
Kirk was dressed, not only in a Standard Red tunic, but in odd old-fashioned dark glasses and what looked to be some hideous kind of knit cap. "Ah, what up, youse guys," he said in a strange nasal voice, which Spock just barely managed to recognize as an imitation of the New York City American-Terran accent. "Da captain told me to lead da away team, y'know what I'm sayin'? He was, whaddyacallit, busy. I'm Special Officuh Doohan. Howie U. Doohan."
Spock closed his eyes, very briefly.
"Uh...?" said Beatty, looking to Spock for help.
Spock took a deep breath. He reminded himself how many of the captain's unorthodox methods, no matter how bizarre they seemed at first, produced surprisingly successful results. He also reminded himself that total mortification was a particularly illogical emotion to give into, and that it was highly improbable that Kirk thought his disguise was actually effective in hiding his identity -- surely, highly improbable? And also that as first officer he could erase the video logs later and order the entire away team to never, ever breathe a word of this to anyone else as long as they lived.
"Ah," Spock managed to say, his teeth gritted only slightly. "Yes. Officer Doohan."
Kirk grinned. "Da captain toldja about me, huh, Spockie?"
Spock must have allowed his murderous response to show on his face without realizing it, because at once Kirk swallowed nervously. "I mean uh, yeah, so, anyway. Let's, whaddyacallit, get goin'."
"Officer Doohan will be leading you," Spock told the away team.
"But," whispered Gonzales, looking incredulous as she walked onto the pad. "Commander, it's the capta-"
"Correct, Lieutenant, the planet is indeed Class M," Spock said very loudly. "An important confirmation on your part, thank you. We'll beam you back at your signal, Cap... ppicer Doohan."
"Tanks, Mistuh Spock," said Kirk solemnly, bowing his head. "Enuhgize."
When they had disappeared, Spock put both hands against his temples and let out a deep sigh.
"Fascinating," he said caustically, under his breath. Then he turned to the transporter chief. "You are still locked on their signal, Mr. al-Mansur?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." Spock tapped his communicator. "Spock to McCoy."
"McCoy here. What, is Jim back?"
"He will be returning in --" Spock checked his watch again -- "approximately two minutes."
"I suppose you want me to come down there and meet him."
"That would seem prudent, Doctor."
McCoy grumbled something about idiots and harebrained schemes. "Fine."
Patiently Spock waited at the transporter pad, checking his watch frequently. He nodded briefly when McCoy entered, carrying his medical bag and scowling.
"Fifteen seconds," announced Spock. "Chief, begin initialization --"
"Gonzales to Enterprise!" a staticky voice suddenly shouted from the console. "We need beamup now, the captain's..."
Three figures swirled into existence on the transporter pad.
"... been attacked by some kind of alien... life... form," Gonzales finished, blinking at her surroundings.
As for Kirk, he had his arms wrapped tightly around Eman's ankles, shouting into the ensign's boots.
"Special Officer Doohan?" Spock said, leaning down.
Slowly, Kirk's shouting died away. After a second, he lifted his head. His dark glasses were broken, hanging off one ear.
"Spock?" he said hoarsely. "B... Bones?"
"Indeed," Spock said. He meant to add another "Special Officer Doohan," just to get a little even, but then Kirk leapt from the transporter pad and threw himself into his arms.
"I thought I'd never see you again! Jesus, Spock, you were right, I should have listened to you, I should always listen to you, you are always fucking right."
Spock patted Kirk's head a little. He didn't much mind the tone of this conversation.
"It just WENT for me." Kirk drew back, looking at Spock with hugely wide eyes. "A fucking plant thing! It didn't even have eyes! But it knew, Spock, somehow it knew. Bones," he said, turning to a sullenly scanning McCoy. "I'm telling you, Bones, it knew."
"Uh huh. Nice hat."
"You may return to the bridge, Ensigns, Lieutenant," Spock told the away team, who had been watching Kirk with disbelief and, strangely enough in Eman's case, a little fond amusement. As the doors closed behind them, Spock found himself suddenly wondering if Kirk's first guess about his three-officer away team might have been right after all.
McCoy snapped his tricorder shut.
"You're fine," he said. "There'll be a bruise on that cheek tomorrow, but what the hell else is new. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work."
"It didn't get any sex pollen on me or anything like that?" Kirk asked wistfully. McCoy ignored him and stalked off.
Kirk let out a deep breath. "Come on," he said, curling himself around Spock's arm tightly. "Walk with me, I'm post-trauma."
"I presume you have modified your opinion regarding uniforms."
"Yes, yes, oh Jesus yes. No more red, not for anybody. It's like... a cursed bloody raiment."
They had to pause in the corridor for a second so Kirk could shiver properly. Then they continued on their way.
"I'll ask Administration to inform Starfleet of the change in policy. And to place an order for more jerseys, in color...?"
"Oh, God. I don't care. Green. White. Teal, lilac, chartruese, I don't care, as long as it doesn't reflect any fucking wavelengths between 620 and 750 nanometers."
The corner of Spock's mouth lifted slightly.
"I mean, why even red in the first place? Who even came up with that? Because it's so good for camouflage, right? Bright-ass red. I mean, that's how the British went down, for Christ's sake, you would think there'd be a greater effort to understand this stuff."
They had reached the captain's quarters.
"Spock," Kirk said before he went inside.
"Yes?"
"You knew I was in trouble even before Gonzales made contact with you guys."
"I suspected."
"How?"
A few years earlier, Spock would have made the mistake of answering with the truth, that he'd known Kirk wouldn't make it three minutes in the ... bloody raiment of death? ... before catastrophe struck. Now, he just tilted his head, allowing himself to seem thoughtful.
"You had a feeling," Kirk said, nodding at him. "Didn't you."
This time, Spock lifted one shoulder slowly, a trick his mother had taught him at his cousin's bat mitzvah on Earth. "People will always see The Shrug as exactly the answer they're looking for," she had told him, "and you'll usually get the reaction you're looking for."
As usual, she had been correct, because Kirk pulled Spock in for a kiss. Light and sweet, softer than his usual.
"I knew it," he said, trailing his fingers down Spock's back.
"Mm."
"Hey, Spock."
"Yes?"
"So what do you think?"
Kirk was pointing to his knit cap, smirking.
"I would never have expected you to wear such a thing," Spock replied honestly.
"Yeah, but I mean... do you like it?"
Spock tilted his head, allowing himself to seem thoughtful.
"You do, don't you. You... youse totally tink it's sexy, dontcha, Spockie."
This time, Spock used the tried-and-true failsafe: raised eyebrow with steady gaze.
"Whaddyacallit," Kirk said triumphantly, pulling Spock inside by the shirt and slapping the door firmly locked.