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Chapter Text

Spock and Jim Finally Get a Room

“Captain’s Log: Stardate 2401.43. After months in space, the Enterprise and her crew are dearly looking forward to shore leave on the Helsing Space Station. However, upon our arrival, we have discovered it unresponsive to our communication attempts, and ship’s sensors only count two life forms aboard. Chief Engineer Scotty also noted that he could sense it in his left ear that the mechanics on board the Helsing were functioning in a peculiar manner. Myself and a landing party have boldly gone to investigate these anomalies.”

Electric sockets flashed like lightning and engines rumbled like thunder in the haunting gloom. Bones swore he heard a howl. Goddamn it. Why did space always have to be so weird?
“So much fer a wee bit o’ R & R, Captain!” Scottish echoes bounced through the empty, dark space station, like the thousands of tribbles that had once bounced out of a grain store and onto Jim Kirk’s head. Dammit, couldn’t they just go to on one godforsaken break without being hassled by Klingons, buried in tribbles or getting stabbed by a lance? The darkness flinched as Doctor Mccoy raised that eyebrow which had once frightened a planet back into its correct orbital path.
“Scotty! You’re looking rather put out for a man who’d spent the last few shore leave trips burning technical journals into his brain for fun.” Even though everyone knew Jim and his smoulder could hardly see anything in the gloom, he peered keenly into it. Well as Captain, a lot of that kid’s job was to peer keenly at things until Spock or Mccoy figured out what to do.
“Aye, true be that! But those were the times I had me trusty Scotch, if ye understand me Sir!” The Chief Engineer’s voice rasped. Now that would be Scotch withdrawal symptoms. A carved pumpkin came into view as they rounded a corner. Looked like the kiddos on this ship liked Halloween. Spock’s sudden eyebrow manoeuvre gave the entire landing party a jumpscare. “Why is there a semblance of a face carved onto that vegetable? It seems most illogical.”
Good job Sulu wasn’t there, else they’d have had to give the poor, mutilated plant a full Starfleet Funeral.
“Just another human quirk, I suppose Spock.” Jim’s smile literally lit up the darkness. Jeez, could those two get a room already? It was on Bones’ To Do list.
“Keptin! Dere is a song playing…it reminds me of an old Russian tune.”

Something that sounded like the ancient earth ballad ‘The Final Countdown’ blared in the depths of this floating hunk of metal. Why? All of the landing party apart from Spock had put it down to the ol’ ‘Space Is Weird And Sometimes Asking Questions Really Doesn’t Help’ reason.
“Swedish, I believe, but you are closer than your usual estimations.” The darkness parted before Spock’s fierce brows. Mccoy briefly wondered if the old glow-in-the-dark Vulcan genitalia myth was true. Then again, the Doctor would rather go insane and jump through another time vortex than be guided by Spock’s green glow-stick. Hell, why was he even thinking about that? He considered surgically removing the part of his brain that had come up with the thought. No, if anyone here was going to solve that particular Vulcan anatomy mystery, it’d be an enthusiastic Jim.

“Crew of the Helsing Space Station.” A chirpy female voice announced. “The Final Countdown has ended. The 100 year quarantine has begun right on schedule! If you did not vacate the area, as of 4 minutes, 55 seconds ago, you are now permanent residents of the Helsing Space Station! And can I be the first to say you are most welcome and I hope you enjoy your lengthy stay.”
“Well, that explains the feelin’ in me left ear!” Scotty sighed and looked about the creaking hull.
Oh, well of course they were stuck. The Doctor’s gargantuan eye-roll thundered on Spock’s sensitive hearing.
“Sulu, beam us out!” Jim ordered. The Space Station windows opened, and in poured the light of the resident full moon.
“Sorry Captain, the whole station’s on lockdown! It’s protected by shielding, but we’ll get on trying to find a way through.” Knowing Sulu, he’d probably stab it with a fencing foil. Well, if the wasabi trick had worked on the Klingons and releasing the bees had worked on the Romulans, in Sulu’s capable hands a fencing foil might do the trick.

“Try disrupting the shields with phasers at minimum power.” Jim commanded.
A few seconds later and the Station began to rock like Spock had rocked out on a harp with some space hippies. There was a crash and a string of Scottish curses. Mccoy immediately pounced forward, armed with several hyposprays, and induced some more Scottish curses. When the dust cleared, the landing party beheld (in the shining light of those legendary hands) a disgruntled Scotty with a limp, but nothing worse.
“Sulu, cease immediately. We must find another way.” Jim frowned. “You alright, Scotty?”
“Aye indeed.” Scotty rasped. Well that’s what darn-diddly happens when your diet is 70% Scotch. “But Captain, if I know the workins of this here contraption, I know that the quarantine can be broken by an Admiral! And the Enterprise, me clever wee lass, picked up two life forms aboard. Ye don’t think Admiral Thomson stayed a-hind do ye?”
“Captain, I am picking up one of the life forms exactly 500.24m from our current position. It seems they are in the medical lab.”

***

Well, life signs wasn’t how Mccoy would put it.
“Dear God!” Scotty yelped in a Scotch-parched tone.
“What happened here?” Even Jim’s perfect hair gave a quiver of shock.
“Oh. Zis kind of reminds me of Russia.” Chekov shrugged.
“Oh yes, Spock, look at all that life. Never seen so much life in all my life. Good job with the life signs, kiddo.” They looked around at all the quite visibly dead crew members. Well, the parts of them. And unless the crew of the Helsing had really been dedicated to Halloween decorations, Mccoy guessed they might not get to live out their delightful 100 years in this piece of blasted metal.

“Doctor Mccoy, I assure that exactly 3.8 minutes ago there was a life form in this very room.” They all eyed the slightly chewed bodies. A plastic skeleton that reminded Mccoy very much of his own one labelled ‘The Last Crew Member to Talk Back to Doctor Mccoy’ grinned like Jim’s deranged Irish bully Finnegan in a corner.
“Cap’n, look.” Scotty picked up an arm. The sleeve had the distinct (yet slightly bloody) markings of an admiral.
“Scotty, I don’t see how that could come in handy.” How the Captain said that with a face straighter than his sexuality, Mccoy had no clue. Spock flicked on a console in the background.
“Fer the lockdown on this place, sir! If we can piece Admiral Thomson back together an’ get some heat recognition on his body, we’ll be able to fly this coop! All we really need is a hand an’ eye scan!” The Scotsman waving a disembodied arm actually seemed to have a point.
“Can it be done?” The Captain looked between his Chief Engineer and CMO.
“It’ll be a crime against nature and science, but so was Spock in a yellow turtleneck and nobody stopped that.” They all gave a shudder at the memory and nodded in agreement.

“Captain, I believe I have found something of relevance to our situation.” Even seeing Spock reminded Mccoy of that unholy sin. Needless to say, the doctor had made a nice flambé with that shirt, then bodily thrown it out an airlock. “It indicates that the questions about the life forms we have may be answered in the science labs.”
“Alright.” Jim slapped on his ‘thinking smoulder’. “Bones, Scotty and Chekov stay here and keep each other safe while you figure out what to do about the Admiral. Spock and I will go and investigate the science labs.”
Finally. Those two were getting a room.
 

Chapter Text

Jim’s Nips Are Tamed and Chekov Becomes an Alpha Male

Walking the corridors of this space station decked out with fake ghosts and leering pumpkins wasn’t half as scary as walking round the ship on Jaegerbomb Tuesday, Jim decided. Even if they met a hideous monster in the gloom, it could never be as scarring as walking in on Scotty in his tartan underwear, drunkenly proposing to the warp engines of the Enterprise. However, neither Jim Kirk or Spock expected a red-eyed man in a cape to materialize with a hiss out of the darkness. Before they had time to even register this weirdness, the creature latched pointed fangs onto Spock’s neck. Jim internally sighed with frustration. If anyone was going to bite Spock’s neck in a darkened corridor, it should be him.
“Spock!” Nevertheless, Kirk whipped out his phaser faster than Mccoy had whipped cream to outline a dying redshirt in a previous Jaegerbomb Tuesday. Well, it had been a miracle that they’d lived through as many as they had without casualties.
Even on stun, the light from the phaser vaporised Spock’s assailant instantly.

“Spock! Are you alright?” Did he need Jim to kiss anything better? Jim would kiss everywhere better. And he meant everywhere.
“Wounds are not severe, Captain.” Green blood oozed from two neat holes in the Vulcan’s neck. “I will be able to function without medical attention.”
“That fellow looked a lot like a traditional vampire from Earth mythology, Mr Spock. Speculation?” Jim ripped off the front of his shirt to not only release his restless wild nipples from captivity, but also provide a makeshift bandage for his Science Officer.
“The small amount of available data fits that description. However I would refrain from making a concrete assumption until more facts are known.” Spock noted that the Captain’s wanton shirt-ripping was quite illogical, taking his Vulcan physiology into consideration. However, Spock did not find it necessary to point that out. After all, why should he rebuke the Captain for…. being considerate? They stepped over the crumpled cloak and headed onwards.
“Well, in legends, vampires only seemed to go after pretty young girls.” Kirk’s smarmy little shite smile crept over his features. “Virgins at that.”
“Are you insinuating that I am a pretty, young girl, Captain?” That eyebrow soared like a majestic black eagle up the alien’s forehead.
James T Kirk had a sudden vision of Spock with double-ponytail anime hair in a maid’s outfit, face as logical as when he’d popped out his mother as a deadpan half-Vulcan. He could only wish it was a memory, but no; only Scotty, Uhura and Chekov had memories of Spock in a maid’s outfit.
“I – well, no…you’re certainly not a girl.” He smiled to distract from the other two adjectives that had gone unaddressed, clapped Spock on the blue-clad shoulder and entered the door labelled ‘Science Lab 1’. Spock’s eyebrow almost flew away.

They filtered through the reports first in Lab 1, then Lab 2 and were finally at the last few files in Lab 3 when things took a turn for the oh so much better. So much better that Jim never really forgot it.
He put in the penultimate slide and listened to the report.
“Due to the upcoming holiday of Halloween, we scientists on the Helsing Station thought it might be scientifically intriguing and jolly good sport to try and recreate versions of some of Halloweens most infamous monsters!” As they began to recount the experiments, the Captain almost felt as bewildered as when he’d seen Abraham Lincoln pop up on the bridge screen. “Of course, if it all goes terribly and predictably wrong, we’ll put the station in quarantine – “
A warm hand slid over his shoulder. From the psionic buzz, oooh mama, that was Spock.
“Mr Spock – “
“Jim.” Another hand slid through Jim Kirk’s perfect hair (which practically purred), until long fingers reached his jaw. Even though he was the Captain, there was one part of Jim standing to attention at Spock’s presence. That sturdy Vulcan chest pushed up against his back, pinning him to the workbench. He swallowed a gasp and literally pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t in his own imagination again. “Jim, it seems that I very much desire to suck your – “
There were a couple of choice words the Captain finished that sentence with before Spock did.
“ – blood.”

Oh. Damn. The breath on his ear sent shivers down his spine and he gave a sigh. Despite the party in his pants, Jim Kirk had a duty to the Enterprise and her crew not to become a vampire. He wrenched himself out of those mesmerising hands with almost tangible reluctance. And then he almost threw himself back into them. Good God, Spock. The Vulcan looked simply demonic: eyes as red as a bleeding redshirt and canine teeth as sharp as their owner’s sass. Paired with those ears and wicked, wicked eyebrows? He was panting a little too hard for just that small exertion of escaping Spock.
Red eyes suddenly snapped into focus.
“Captain, I must apologize for assailing you.” It didn’t help that the Vulcan’s gaze twitched down to Jim’s neck, then down to his irresistible nipple-hole, then back to his eyes again.
“Quite…” Kirk noticed his voice was a tribble-like squeak and amended. “Quite alright, Mr Spock. See to it that it doesn’t happen again, and I think we had better get you to Doctor Mccoy.”
“Have we attained the appropriate information regarding the life-forms, Captain?” The Vulcan vampire moved forward, eyes holding him like a snake. There was more to do with snakes and holding that Jim could think of as his First Officer prowled closer.
“Yes, it’s this slide here.” Jim held up the microptape but almost forgot about it as Spock’s hand splayed over his left boob. Impressive. Spock had tamed his feral titties.
“I can hear your heart beat, Captain, your blood throb through your veins…” Well, he was right about the throbbing part anyway. Even more so when those Vulcan lips traced a hot line up his neck.

***

While Captain James T Kirk was being seduced by his vampire Vulcan First Officer, Ensign Chekov, the man who had fought an Alternative Universe Dracula, was not really feeling the love.
“Keep vatch, Chekov. Get eaten by ze beast first Chekov. Vell, it could be vorse. I could be vearing a red shirt.” He thought about comming his honorary Komrade Sulu for a rousing chat about the best fruit to go with vodka, and then he heard….a growl? But not being a redshirt had its advantages. He did not go and check out the noise. No. He cocked his phaser and backed up into the medical lab.
“Doktor Mccoy!” Flashes of lightning-like electric crackled over where the Chief Engineer and CMO were working. Now and then Scotty gave a Scotch-deprived cackle.
“Yes Chekov?” The good doctor grinned manically and threw a body part over his shoulder. Chekov made a mental note to never mess with doctor Mccoy.
“I zink zere’s something – “

A deep growl like ten thousand slo-mo tribbles vibrating angrily rumbled through Chekov’s communist bones. He turned. There, dripping saliva from razor sharp teeth, was a towering werewolf. Oh. His babushka had fought off a wolf bigger than this when they were pitching a tent in a refreshing Russian snow-storm. Ahh, if only he had an axe, or a hammer and sickle to fight it off with! Well, there was another Russian wolf-fighting tactic he could try. A terrifying war-cry tore from Chekov’s lips and he tackled the beast on to the ground. The best way to describe the monster’s expression was shock.
“Go back to your lair, volf!” His right fist was the hammer. His left the sickle. In a patriotic frenzy, Chekov punched the bejeezus out of that werewolf until it finally bit down on his arm and tossed him in an arc of Russian glory to the other end of the corridor. He landed quite comfortably on a straw-filled Halloween scarecrow. The werewolf didn’t even think twice about going back for another round and scampered away. Back in the lab, Doctor Mccoy made a mental note to never mess with Ensign Chekov.

Chapter Text

Spock Wants the Bondage

“Don’t vorry Doktor, don’t vorry Scotty, I chased ze volf avay, no need to come and help.” Chekov muttered to himself. He then got up, admired the attractive shade of Communism Red blood on his arm and strode back into the lab. The telltale bleep of a communicator chirped from the vicinity of the young Russian’s butt.
“Chekov here.”
“Sulu here. Pavel, are you alright? We heard your battle cry from here!” His Honourary Komrade exclaimed in a leafy, plant-like tone.
“Yes, ve just had a leetle volf problem, but it’s sorted now.” He peered out the space station window. There, sihouetted against the full moon, was the Enterprise towing something long and thin in it’s tractor beam. What in all the Kremlin was Sulu doing? He was about to ask but…the moon was so pretty. Like in Russia. So round and white and shiny.
“Alright then. Tell me all about it when you get back! Sulu out.”
“Chekov, I think I should have a look a that arm.” He barely noticed Doctor Mccoy as the medical officer examined the bite. The moon. “Scotty, hold his arm for me, wouldja? I’m gonna have to seal it up.”

And then Ensign Chekov began to grow chest hair for the first time in his young life. Maybe he had suddenly Come of Age. Maybe beating a wolf into submission with your bare Russian hands gave you instant manly chest hair. Or maybe…he had a sudden urge to play fetch. Oh no. He spasmed and accidentally shoved Scotty into a wall. The Scotsman’s back gave a nasty crack.Then a hypospray stabbed Chekov in the hammer-and-sickle arm tattoo. The last thing the Ensign saw was Mccoy pouncing on Scotty and stabbing him too.
“This’ll give you a twitchy eye for a bit, but your back’ll be right in ten minutes.”
A raspy Scottish ‘arrrgh’ filled his hearing and he saw no more.

***

Meanwhile, the Captain of the U.S.S Enterprise was in a very hard (such a hard) situation involving around three years of sexual tension, a Vulcan vampire and nipples that seemed to have a will of their own. Which was all interrupted by a bleeping communicator. Every time.
“Kirk here.” Jim panted as Spock shook himself and began to have a personality crisis.
“It’s Mccoy. We just figured out what one of them life-forms are.”
A high-pitched, phonetically Russian bark sounded in the distance. Oh no.
“And we figured out what the other one was.” Jim looked back at the glowing red eyes of his First Officer. “I also found a tape explaining their experiments.”
“Then what are you waiting for? Sulu to stab the station shields with a goddamn fencing foil?” James T Kirk breached copyright by feeling Mccoy’s eyebrow raise in The Force. “Git down here. Mccoy out.”
“On my way.” The Captain sighed and wondered whether this was payback for not eating the good doctor’s salads. Surely being 3lbs overweight wouldn’t kill him.“Spock, are you alright?”
“Captain, I believe it would be mutually beneficial for your safety and my dignity that you restrain me. ” The Vulcan’s now-sharp nails scraped the lab table as that logical mind battled with the urge to pounce on his Captain. Well, the stronger than usual urge.

Jim Kirk choked slightly. He opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Then he raised his pure (by contrast) eyebrows. He had never really forgotten the image of Spock being chained up in the crazy cat lady’s dungeon. Halloween was always a fun time.
“Now Spock, let’s not resort to bondage of any kind.” The Captain smirked. Despite turning into a bloodthirsty monster, Spock still had the capacity to raise a fearsomely sassy eyebrow, which Jim deflected off his hearty, barrel chest. “You stay in front of me and I’m sure you’ll be able to resist my buxom charm.”
In reply to this statement, Spock stared at his Commanding Officers illogically oiled nips for exactly 5.8 seconds.
“Then, after your previous analysis toward the ‘vampiric’ infliction, illogical as it was, you must now believe yourself to be a pretty young girl or a virgin.” The Vulcan gave a slightly pointy smirk and whooshed out into the dark corridor like a logical bat who had won God’s eyebrow raffle. But where that galaxy-acclaimed sass would have burned normal mortals to a crisp, it just gave Jim Kirk rather pleasant tingles.

***

The ventilation system howled like an Irish banshee by the name of Lieutenant Riley. The pitch black swirled and space debris pattered on the station’s hull like torrential rain. The light of a full moon pierced the gloom through shreds of asteroid belt. Amidst this terrible night, a beautiful blonde struggled forward. Through the sound of the howling vents and the drumming of debris, a deranged cry split the night.
“Try it now!”
A thunderous flash! Electricity sparked before the wide, hazel eyes of our buxom protagonist.
“Yessss Doctor!” A rasp hissed back. A limping hunchback lurched into view, an eye twitching manically. One, shaking, whisky-deprived hand grasped a lever and pulled. The blue buzz of electricity filled the night and –
“IT’S ALIVE!”
A hand clawed up into the air.
The beautiful, blonde, hazel-eyed, buxom Jim Kirk flicked the light back on.
“Having fun gentlemen?”

“Voof! Voof voof voof!” A puppy with a marking that suspiciously resembled a hammer and sickle bounded around Jim’s feet. Spock gave a hiss, swirled his newly acquired cape and became a green-tinged shadow.
“Don’t touch him Jim, he’s a werewolf!” Bones suddenly beheld vampire Spock, who was now somehow hanging upside-down from a support beam. He also beheld the fact that Jim’s nips had gotten loose again. “Oh my god, you can’t be serious.”
“Captain!” Scotty’s hoarse voice interrupted the eyebrow raise of the century. “What’ll we do now?”

They all looked back at the table. Admiral Thomas and several other officers sat up as one. This all had to be against some Federation Law. But hey, they’d zombified Spock once and had gotten away with it, right? They didn’t call him James T ‘YOLO’ Kirk back at Starfleet for nothing.
“Well, we fix Chekov and Spock and then get this Frankenstein up to the Control Room.”
“Goddamnit, I’m a Doctor, not Doctor Frankenstein! And we also have another werewolf running around the space station.” Mccoy sighed as if every day was just made to test his patience (as opposed to his patients). Yes, one day the good doctor would snap, fill the vents of the Enterprise with happy drugs and eject himself onto the nearest, pretty-looking M-Class planet. But it was not this day. “I already made an antidote to Chekov’s venom, but we thought that with his current affliction, he might somehow be able call the other werewolf. If only we could somehow talk to him, dammit!”

In a stroke of great luck, or perhaps the bond of Komradery between Sulu and Chekov, the nearing Enterprise and whatever it was towing suddenly covered the moon. In a couple of seconds the young Russian was human again, in only his red, vodka-scented boxers. He sadly touched his youthful, hairless chest again.
“Keptin!” Those Communist eyes widened at the sight of his Captain’s manly chesticles, which did not need hair to inspire fear and awe.
“Chekov, can you call the other werewolf?”
“Yes Keptin, I think so.” They did not have any more time for conversation, because the Enterprise unleashed the light of the full moon upon Chekov again.

Chapter Text

Mccoy Milks a Vulcan

Halloween had turned out to be anything but dull: Mccoy and Scotty had resurrected the dead, Spock had fangs like his childhood teddy bear and Jim was trying his best not to be a Spockula’s bride. And to think he’d been the one who’d been arrested for witchcraft that one time!
Meanwhile the other werewolf had come before the Chekov puppy, grovelling and whining so as not to be dealt some more hard Russain pain (Russpain). Mccoy had happily stabbed them both with the antidote - kind of like the shower scene in Psycho except with less blood and more hyposprays. Just a usual holiday celebration aboard the U.S.S Enterprise. All was going well until Jim’s Spock Senses began tingling.
“Dammit Jim, where’s your pointy-toothed little Vulcan?” Mccoy was brandishing what looked like a pot with clingfoil stretched over it. “We gotta milk Spock.”
Many images ran through Jim’s head; many sexy, one of a four-legged, mooing Vulcan, before he realized he was standing there with his mouth slightly open. “We have to what?”
Doctor Mccoy’s eyebrow nearly performed a Buddhist levitation technique. “Don’t get excited kid, it’s like a snake. He bites the drum, we get the vampire-venom, I make the goddamn antidote and stab the man with it.”
Pretty much every crew member, even the random cured werewolf felt that Mccoy was getting sliiightly too hypo-happy.

“But Spock has disappeared as dis Russian demon!” Chekov and his childishly smooth chest exclaimed. “How do we get him back?”
Scotty looked at Mccoy. Mccoy looked at Chekov. Chekov looked at his werewolf buddy. The werewolf buddy bowed and began to clean Chekov’s shoes. Chekov’s side-eye passed on to Jim. Jim looked at Scotty. Scotty looked back at Jim. Everybody looked at Jim.
“All I mean is Captain, if anyone’s goin t’ lure that devil oot, it’s going t’ be ye.” Scotty’s eye had stopped twitching and he was less hunch-backed now, thanks to Mccoy.
“I agree, Scotty.” Jim nodded. “But I’m afraid I’m no expert in luring out – ouch, Bones!”
Mccoy’s adept surgeon hands sliced a neat cut on his shoulder with a sanitized piece of space station debris. The Captain’s shirt, which already had a sizable boob hole, gave up the ghost (which began to immediately haunt the Halloween-themed station) and fell off completely. Jim Kirk’s weary, half-naked side-eye chased Bones and the rest of the landing party (plus Chekov’s servant) into hiding places.
“Spock? Mr Spock!”

From the darkness a pair of red eyes glowed in the shadows. The fake bats hanging from the ceiling seemed to flutter as a pale, cloaked form manifested. The attractive young victim turned, heart beating fast. Dust floated about the ground like mist on an eerie night. One could almost hear foreboding violins in the background.
“Give yourself to me…your blood, your mind…” The vampire slid out of the shadows catching those wide, doe-like hazel eyes with a hypnotic gaze. Clawed fingers brushed along those scandalous bare shoulders, up to that tender throat. Every member of the landing party tried very hard not to have a nose bleed.
“Yes…” The buxom blonde said with almost too much enthusiasm for being hypnotized. Long, white teeth neared that tempting neck and – Doctor Mccoy shoved a clingfoil-covered jar in the way and stabbed Spock with enough tranquilizer to knock out a rhino. Pearly venom pattered into the pot as Kirk eyed his vampiric First Officer with the usual frustration. That was probably as close as he was going to get to having Spock spurt his white liquid into Jim’s body. Little did he know.

***

“Alright Scotty, Mccoy, let’s get this thing up to the Control Room.” The Captain nodded at the questionable excuse for an Admiral sitting on the table. Spock was de-vampirized, but still out for the out for the count. At least he wasn’t a Count though. Dead to the world, but not undead to the world. The creation juddered upwards and began to make its way toward the door. Jim had to agree with Mccoy. It was pretty unholy. But he also had to agree that it wasn’t as unholy as Spock in a yellow turtleneck. Why, as Captain, had he ever let that happen?
“Captain, d’ye hear that now?” Scotty cocked his head, listening.
“Look Keptin!”
Outside the window of the Helsing Space Station, the shields were flickering white. What the Devil?
“Enterprise, come in!” The communicator hissed. One day everything would go alright. The communicators would work, the shore leave wouldn’t try to kill them and Spock would suddenly and conveniently Pon’ Farr and tackle Jim into bed. But today was sadly not that day. No, today was the day that Sulu went down in history.
 

Chapter Text

Sulu The Swashbuckling Space Captain

Sulu liked being the temporary Captain of the Enterprise. It wasn’t the power or the control or the title...no. He felt that the Enterprise was one big, if slightly peculiar tree. Its roots were Engineering; the engines and the warp core. Its xylem and phloem were the circuits, corridors and lifts, carrying everything it needed. The crew were the nutrients, the sugars and the energy that gave the plant the things it required to perform well. Plants were good. He liked to think he was in control of one big plant floating around in the bigger tree that formed the galaxies. Everything was better when he thought of it as a plant.
But it was his duty to get the Captain (a very important plant) and the landing party back. So when he’d told the Captain he’d find a way through the shielding, he would find a way. It had almost been impossible…impossible until the small asteroid belt had floated their way. Ahhh yes.

“Captain, reports are showing a small asteroid belt heading in this direction.” Uhura, the lady who had once written him the album Plant Love with hit singles And I Will Always Love Plants, Near, Far, Wherever Plants Are and Tonight I’m Loving Plants for his birthday, looked up from her board.
“It is dangerous to the ship or the station?” Sulu had the most powerful urge to spin around on the Captain’s chair. But he didn’t dare do that ever since that one terrifying incident when an inexperienced Engineer fixing the chair had decided to sit in it and been spun around at about 30km\hr. Nobody knew whether it had been the Engineer’s fault or whether Kirk or Spock (or both) had booby-trapped it. The mystery of the ferociously spinning Captain’s chair was one they would never solve.
“Negative. However reports are showing that it has some interesting minerals in it.”
Sulu looked over to the science officer who had replaced Spock. She nodded.“It contains a malleable metal that seems to repel certain kinds of energy.”
The officer gave a list of its properties and Sulu suddenly had an Idea.
“So if we set our ship’s phasers to emit a kind of power that affects it, we could mould the metal?”
The woman nodded.
“Uhura. Alert phaser crews and Engineering to set the phasers to the correct energy pattern. I think we have found a way to get through those shields.”

Sulu vacated the conn and moved back to his usual seat at the helm. Yes, the other helmsman was good….But he didn’t have the eye, the skill, the expertise for the manoeuvre they were about to perform. Sulu sighed as he felt the hum of his big, throbbing Enterprise-plant underneath his fingers. He wondered how Chekov was doing. The last time they’d heard from him had been quite unnerving!

“It the last of the welding done, Engineer Jaydal?” Sulu loved flicking the buttons on the conn. Captain Kirk must have so much fun. Then again, they all knew that the most fun the Captain had was getting a glance at that Vulcan booty when he thought nobody noticed.
“Yes Captain, but I don’t see what we’re going to do – “
“Never mind that Jaydal.” His voice was as calm as a falling leaf. Half the crew probably thought he was mad. But they would see –
“FOR ZE MOTHERLAND!!!”
“Uhura, what was that?! It sounded like Chekov!” Chekov’s battle cry at that! Sulu had only ever heard Chekov use twice: Once on Captain Kirk; that particular Jaegarbomb Tuesday where the Captain had decided to beatbox into the intercom and Chekov had tackled him out of the chair wearing nothing but a Russian flag. The second time was when Sulu had tried to teach him fencing and the young Russian had charged screaming at him with a double handed broadsword that had been sent to him from his mother for ‘making friends’. Needless to say, Sulu hadn’t asked him along to fencing again. They had more fun making spirits out of gourds anyway.
“It was Chekov, but not on any of my frequencies!” Uhura did some vaguely musical button-mashing.
“I’d better call him and see if he’s ok.”

Now that the metal was in contact with the Station energy field, it was creating too much subspace interference for communicators. But that would be alright. Everything would be alright. This was going to work.
They had welded a great chunk of rock to the metal for the energy of the tractor beam to hold…kind of like a hilt. The phasers had been able to mould and stretch the metal out to a point, perfect for cutting through the shield precisely. The Enterprise was his body. The tractor beam was his hand. The metal and stone was his fencing foil.

Somewhere deep in the bowels of the Space Station, Mccoy looked up and narrowed his eyes.
“Jim, do you ever get the feeling that something you predicted just came true?”
“No, why?”
“I just got that feeling.”

The crew watched in awe as Sulu lived the fencing dream and used an entire ship and giant fencing foil to swashbuckle his problems away. A single tear rolled down the face of everyone on the bridge. It was all too beautiful for words. The shields crumbled before his glory. Today was the day the Sulu went down in history for creating the Giant Space Foil Strategy.

Chapter Text

Mccoy and Jim get KO’d

Goddamn it, of all the goddamn things to happen. A smile to crept on to Mccoy’s face as he passed the Halloween-themed celebration party in the rec room. Sulu’s huge, sunny grin lit up the grunge mood-lighting like the sun. God only knew what went on in that kiddos head, but hey, it’d worked hadn’t it? A Giant Fencing Foil. Goddamn it Sulu. Mccoy chuckled to himself and went on towards the Captain’s quarters. Spock was still snoozing his pointy little ears off, but if all else failed they’d lure him awake with some irresistable Plomeek Soup. Hell, them Vulcans loved that stuff. No wonder Jim had asked the doctor to slip him Nurse Chapel’s recipe on the sly. Sometimes their Captain was just too darn adorable. Speaking of the Captain, Mccoy was outside his quarters and could distinctly hear music and singing from inside.
“IIIIIIIIIIIIII’M HOOKED ON A FEELING! I’M HIGH ON BELIEVING, THAT YOU’RE IN – oh, hello Bones.” How Jim went from yodeling to a suave smile, Mccoy had no clue. Witchcraft. Maybe those people in Sarpeidon’s history had been right to accuse him of some hocus-pocus with a smoulder like that.And after today, Mccoy’s eyebrow muscles would be able to lift a 300lb barbell. Which, by great coincidence, was 100 times the amount that Jim Kirk had to lose in weight.
“Oh don’t look at me like that Bones!” Jim turned down his music a notch as the song changed to Katy Perry’s Futuristic Love. Hm. Looked like someone had a theme going. “You’re always the one telling me to be a bit more human, aren’t you?”

No matter how hard that kiddo tried to dazzle him with that glittering, biologically and medically impossible hair, Mccoy wasn’t going to let this drop.
“Well it is nice to see, Jim.” He sat down and offered his Captain some of Chekov and Sulu’s Gourd Booze. If it was good for sanitizing medicinal tabletops then it should be fine to drink. “But the love songs? Looks like someone’s got someone on their mind.”
“Bones…is it too much for a ship’s Captain to hope for a relationship…for love?” Jim looked into the swirling glass of alcoholic pain and suffering. “And not just fleeting flings. You know what I mean.”
Looked like someone was moonier than Chekov had been over the moon.
“I wouldn’t say no, Jim. All you gotta do is find someone who’ll stand by you through thick and thin. Who’ll see your worst side and you’ll see theirs and you’ll come out better for it. Someone you’d cross a universe to find and they’d do the same for you.” Goddamn alcoholic fumes must be making him go all soft. “Someone who’s always there for you, to catch you when you fall. Someone who makes you smile at the end of a long day.”

Someone with pointy ears and green hobgoblin blood. Someone with a bitchface and petrifying eyebrows to frighten your enemies away.
“Oh dear, I hope you’re not talking about yourself, Bones.” Jim chuckled. The playlist flicked on to Right Round (You Spin Me).
“Don’t think you’d be that lucky, sweetheart.” The sarcasm was almost as strong as the booze they were about to make the terrible mistake of drinking. “But I’m sure if you wrack your brain hard enough you’ll find the answer.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
Jim and Mccoy both raised their glasses, downed the contents and immediately passed out.