Disclaimers - I do not own Star Trek, nor am I making any money off this fic. Heck, let's face it. If someone were to steal a fic and make a movie from it... yeah. It wouldn't be this one. Trust me.

Warnings - Um... Insane crack? Seriously. Insane crack. OOCness probably. Eventual non-slashy slashiness. Hard to explain.

Author's Notes - Don't ask me, I started writing this for for my Trekkie sis for her birthday, and couldn't seem to get my muse to let me finish. I am hoping that by posting it, I can prod him into letting me write on it. It's goofy, and weird. And has slashy hints without slash. You've been warned. Proceed with caution.

ALSO I know that the original ship didn't have the Holodeck. I get it. I need it for the fic. Deal.

Ever After

Chapter One

Morning never dawned on the Enterprise.

To any new cadet, this would seem an inconsequentiality compared to the glorious adventure of propelling through space at warp seven, working in simultaneous harmony with hundreds of others enthusiastic crew members, pressing towards one single-minded goal: to devour as much of the universe as possible in the short life span afforded.

Spock, however, found this particular aspect of space travel… disconcerting.

His quarters were programmed to wake him gradually, the lights slowly warming to a dull red as if the crimson Vulcan sun were creeping in his window. The temperature rose with them, shifting from a cool 40.7 degrees Celcius to a more comfortable 49.5. And yet, despite the adjustments, there was no substitute for a good Vulcan sunrise, complete with the occasional solar flare.

On this morning, Mr. Spock was having an exceedingly difficult time convincing his less-logical half to crawl out of bed. The blankets were warm, rough, and utilitarian. Perfect. His room was too bright. He fought the urge to place his pillow over his face and return to slumber. Absurd. He'd had a good three hours of restful respite from his duties. No doubt the Captain would be expecting him on the bridge, 45 minutes before the start of his shift. As usual. He needed to rise. His body required sustenance. He peered at the replicator in the corner, and the two large red buttons peered at him like obscene eyes. They were waiting for his customary breakfast order.

Spock closed his eyes again. Illogical. His replicator was not capable of staring, not of impatience. But he eyed it once more, and was struck by the blinking of those red buttons. It certainly seemed impatient.

He took a deep breath in through his nostrils, steeling himself for the day. Surak only knew what Jim would have in store. If he was not mistaken, upon relieving the Captain, Jim planned an entire day on the Holodeck.

The gods themselves did tremble.

Spock tossed his gray blanket aside swiftly. Not irritably. No. He was incapable of such things. Just because the last time Jim spent a day on the Holodeck there was an interplanetary incident that was resolved at the last second by the Captain, still garbed in what appeared to be a cape and a skin tight leotard with red underpants did nothing to upset the Vulcan's stoic demeanor. No. He was sure that a day alone frolicking in his imaginary worlds would be good for Jim. Spock could mind the store. He was a big Vulcan.

He settled down on his knees, lighting candles. Meditation was in order.

The doors to the lift hissed open, and Spock was immediately greeted by a grinning Kirk, face flushed, hair askew. "Spock!" he cried, slapping his friend on the shoulder merrily. "You're late."

"On the contrary, Captain, I believe I have arrived well before my scheduled start time of.."

"Don't worry about it, Spock," Jim interrupted, and was slipping into the lift already. He leaned forward, eyes twinkling. "You can make it up by staying a little late for me, huh?"

Spock opened his mouth to protest, but Jim was gone. He swallowed a sigh. "Of course, Captain."

The day passed surprisingly uneventfully. McCoy only made one appearance, to warn Spock that there was a bout of chicken pox making its way through the younger crew members. When Spock had lifted an eyebrow, and inquired about the possibility of ship-wide vaccinations, McCoy had exploded into one of his rants about the dangers of over-exposure, conflicting toxins, and a host of other completely unrelated topics. None of them made any kind of sense, and the doctor knew that as well as Spock did, but that didn't stop him from ranting. Spock had listened, as he always did, with a questioning expression and a huge smile that never quite made it to his lips. If he was not incapable of such strong emotions, he would probably love those speeches of the good doctor's. They were so expressive. Of course, that was outside the realm of possibility. He would simply have to settle for tolerating them… and occasionally instigating them.

After lunch, Spock was horrified to find himself on the receiving end of Chekov's latest female conquest stories, which eventually (and inevitably) dissolved into a dumping of emotional baggage and pleas for advice. This had not gone well, which Spock could have informed him of from the beginning, but Chekov frequently did not need advice so much as a listening ear. Spock's were good for that. So he listened, and tried his best to ignore the abysmal relationship advice being offered up by the bridge crew.

His shift ended at five. Spock made a mental note of the time, but did not relinquish the captain's chair. If he knew his Captain, Jim would not be on time. Not with a Holodeck full of mistresses.

Spock did know his Captain. At eight in the evening, Jim was still missing. The bridge crew had changed over, and Uhura was giving him odd looks over her shoulder. He was beginning to feel uneasy. No, that wasn't right. He was beginning to believe that steps should be taken to locate the Captain, for his own safety and the safety of the ship. Yes. Perfectly logical.

Spock shifted in his chair. He didn't want to alarm the crew, and he didn't want to disturb Jim. Especially if there were more tights involved. He would wait ten more minutes. If Jim didn't show, then he would call down to Holodeck C. That was Jim's preferred playground. He'd programmed it with some of his more… indulgent fantasies.

He was not, however, forced to call down after all. The speaker in his chair chirped at him merrily, and Spock scowled at it for its insolence. He flipped the switch with a long, slender thumb. "Spock here."

"Spock!" It was the doctor again. "You'd better get down here fast. It's Jim."

Spock was on his feet and at the lift before the doctor had time to finish his sentence. "Mr. Bettencourt, you have the con."

There was a crowd around the Sickbay doors, and within, Spock could hear McCoy's agitated voice trying to shoo the nurses and onlookers. The crowd scurried back as he approached; that grave look on their science officer was one the seasoned crew members knew all too well. Something was amiss with the Captain. Spock slid through the pressing bodies, stepping briskly into Sickbay, obsidian eyes searching for the doctor. There he was, next to one of the beds. And a princess.

Spock stopped short. Yes, indeed, there was a princess, standing next to the bed where Captain Kirk lay, peaceful, tranquil, and wearing tights. Sigh. For a moment, Spock contemplated the idea that perhaps he was still in bed, and the entire thing was imagined. But no. He had no imagination. Only Kirk could conjure something so absurd.

McCoy was standing over the Captain, bright blue eyes half crazed as he scrutinized the moniters, one eyebrow raised impossibly high, the other hooded. He barked as Spock approached the bed. "It's about time! Do you see what I'm having to deal with here? Do you have any idea what is going on?"

Spock took a look at the young woman, all frills and ruffled skirts, her sleeves ridiculously puffed, and turned to take a slow look at the Captain, dressed like a ponce. Or a prince. Whichever. A hat lay crumpled on his head, feather poking out jauntily. He glanced up at the doctor, face completely impassive. "It is perfectly safe to say that I have no idea what has happened here, Doctor." That wasn't sarcasm he heard in his own voice. No, that was… that was…

All right, it was sarcasm.

But it made the Doctor's eyebrow twitch so.

"Perhaps you would be so good as to enlighten me?" Spock droned smoothly, arms folded over his lean chest. Hungry. He shook off the thought, eyes flickering over to Jim on the cot.

McCoy raised his arms in exasperation, tossing his head at the pretty young yeoman. "Ask her."

Spock recognized her now. She was fairly new, a transfer from the USS Centura, a science vessel. For a moment, Spock wondered what that must have been like. Time for research, quiet missions, sane leadership… He sighed inwardly. Boring.

The yeoman looked frightened. Spock felt briefly irritated at his Captain. This girl had not been on board long enough to realize that a date with Jim Kirk, while flattering, was fraught with hazards. Not the least of which was the Captain himself.

No. That wasn't fair. Jim made a good show of his flirtations with the females on board, but Spock knew for a fact that the Captain was the soul of propriety. Mostly.

The yeoman wrung her hands, standing close to the bed, her bright blue eyes full of fear and confusion. "I don't know what happened, sir!" she fairly whispered. "We were… we were… enjoying the holodeck…"

"They were role-playing," the Doctor interjected dryly.

"And the Captain thought we could perhaps act out some ancient Earth traditions…"

"Jim wanted to play Snow White."

"And… there was an apple…"

"Jim ate the dang-blasted thing."

"Doctor!" Spock's tone was on edge. He took a deep breath. Need meditation. "Yeoman, please continue."

The young woman blinked, tears on her eyelashes. "It's like the doctor says." She looked down at Jim, mournfully. "He ate the apple."

Spock's eyes narrowed. "He ate an apple."

The yeoman and McCoy both nodded gravely.

Was he missing something here?

McCoy dismissed the girl with a quiet sympathy Spock always found disconcerting when connected to that gruff face. He turned to Spock once more, gravelly voice grinding out, "Well?"

Spock was, for once, at a total loss. "Doctor, I fear that I do not grasp the severity of the situation. Can you please explain to me what has happened to the Captain?"

"He ate the apple, Spock!" McCoy thundered, and half of sick bay cringed. "He ate the blasted apple, you green blooded son of a…"

"There is no need to insult my heritage, Doctor. I simply cannot find a plausible explanation for something as innocuous as consuming an apple to be at fault for Jim's condition."

McCoy stepped back, cobalt eyes wide. "Spock, have you never read Snow White? Is it possible that there is a single text in the entire universe that you are unfamiliar with?" At Spock's stoic silence, McCoy's face grew dark. "It was poisoned, Spock. A poisoned apple."

Spock's Vulcan heart stopped beating for a fraction of a second.

It was dark in Spock's room. He couldn't remember exactly when he had dimmed the lights; he only knew that, in his mind, he told himself that he thought better in the dark. If he were being perfectly honest with himself, he would have admitted to a mortal fear that a faint green blush was rising in his cheeks.

His eyes stared, unseeing, at the screen before him. It glowed dully in the darkness, the words echoing and bouncing off the walls of his skull. His arms were folded tightly across his chest, slender white fingers digging into flesh. For the tenth time that evening, his stomach rolled.

Spock reached out irritably (no, swiftly and efficiently), and flicked a button on his desk communicator. "Doctor, report."

"No dad-blasted change, Spock," the doctor's agitated voice crackled back at him. It left for a moment to hurl a string of swear words at the third shift nurse before returning with a weary growl. "The Captain still asleep, and shows no signs of waking anytime this century. You read up on this yet?"

Spock narrowed his eyes at the offending text on his screen. "Affirmative."

"Then what the devil are you going to do about it?" McCoy was tired. Spock could hear his exhaustion across distance of space. He resolved to press for shore leave as soon as Jim was no longer… incapacitated.

"Our options are fairly limited, Doctor. If Jim cannot be cured by conventional medical methods…" The doctor sputtered at the perceived slight against his talents. "…then we will be forced to employ such means as are suggested in the historical account."

Spock could see that one blue eye bulging in his mind. "This isn't a fairy tale, Spock!" McCoy fairly howled into the comm. "Jim may be dying!"

A heavy sigh ripped from Spock's chest before he could halt its progress. It told of endless hours of concern, worry, frustration. His eyebrows knit together as he leaned his forehead into a strong hand, struggling to maintain his Vulcan stoicism. "I am aware. Continue your efforts, Spock out." His thumb pressed the button again, and Spock leaned back in his chair, the ache from the day rolling beneath sinewy muscles in his shoulders. Bath'paik, Jim.

The screen blinked at him, mocking, its amber glow reflecting warmly on the lean, sharp lines of his face as his eyes hovered over those three words:

True Love's Kiss

"Lt. Uhura, I require your presence in my quarters immediately."

The entire bridge staff turned slowly, staring at Uhura where she sat at her station, eyes wide, lips slack and frozen. There was a long moment of silence. Her communicator chirped again. "Lt. Uhura, please respond."

She tapped it once with a long, curved fingernail. "Yes, Mr. Spock, on my way." She stood, her cheeks darkening as every eye on the bridge followed her hasty retreat to the turbolift. Behind her, the skittering began. No one, not a man, woman, child, or seven-tentacled barbarian slime harbinger had ever been received in the first officer's personal quarters. As far as she knew, only the Captain, and perhaps the good doctor were granted the privilege of visiting that most sacred of places. Vaguely, as she murmured her destination to the lift, Uhura remembered another instance where a female crew member had intruded on Spock's personal space; she'd been picking chicken soup out of her bouffant, blond hair for a week.

As she stepped out onto Deck 5, Uhura felt her heart beating wildly in her chest. This was a day to remember, and that was saying something. She'd had many such days since joining the crew of the Enterprise, but somehow, risking life and limb and frequently sanity did not hold a candle to this.

What universe-threatening calamity had befallen that would prompt Mr. Spock to call her to his private quarters?

She stood, pondering this for several minutes outside the officer's quarters. Her badge chirped again, so she steeled herself.

The doors swished open, hasty to receive her. Uhura swallowed, stepping inside with trepidation. "Mr. Spock?"

"In here."

She took a moment to access her surroundings, knowing full well she would be grilled about it come dinnertime. A fair share of the females on board the Enterprise would give their stripes and stockings to be in her stylish yet comfortable boots right now.

Mr. Spock's rooms were dim, lit only by a pale, crimson glow that seemed to pulse slightly from the east corner of the quarters, its source obscured from view. It was warm... no, downright hot, and she was glad for once of her tiny uniform. The room was sparsely furnished with a single desk, two chairs, and a cot. There was a small meditation shrine next to the bed.

Uhura could barely make out the figure of the first officer lying on that cot, arm thrown over his face. She hesitated by the desk, terrified to approach. "Mr. Spock… are you ill?"

"No," he quipped, and rose from the mattress fluidly. His long legs took only two strides to stand before her, and Uhura's eyes widened at the faint glimmer of despair reflecting back at her in those deep, earthen eyes. His lips were thin, pressed together tightly. "Lieutenant, what do you know of the Grimm siblings and their historical recordings?"

"I beg pardon?" Uhura needed to hear that one again.

Spock barely suppressed the urge to tear out his own hair. "The tales of the brothers Grimm."

"Oh!" Well, this was new. She eyed Spock like a mental patient. "I have heard the stories. Most children did. Is there… one in particular you are interested in, sir?"

Spock's eyes dragged shut in sheer disbelief at the position his Captain, his friend had placed him in. Why didn't I stay in bed this morning? "The tale of Snow White."

Uhura shook her head, her laugh a merry silver tinkle in the dim light. "That is one of the most well known, Mr. Spock. A young princess, oppressed by her evil step-mother the queen…"

"I know the story," Spock interrupted. If he had to hear it one more time, he would be as mad as the doctor. "I need more specific information regarding the waking of Snow White. I have conflicting accounts."

Now Uhura was really staring. She shrugged, a half smile on her face that said 'Be prepared to run'. "There are no right or wrong accounts, sir. It's a story. A fable. Nothing more."

Spock turned away, depositing himself at his desk and motioning for her to join him. She sank into the chair opposite, looking terribly disturbed.

That was all right. Spock was disturbed too.

"The reason I sent for you," he droned, fingers playing on the screen in front of him, ready to capture any and all information afforded by his communications officer, "is because I am aware of your popularity among the female staff members of this ship. I require the names of those which have had any romantic contact with the Captain at any time."

Uhura barked out a laugh, which Spock glowered at. She coughed, flushing. "Mr. Spock, that is a… challenging task. Perhaps it would be easier to remove names from the list that he has not had contact with."

Spock lifted a single eyebrow. "It is of the upmost importance. Confidentially, Lieutenant, I am currently tasked with the assignment of producing the Captain's "One True Love" so that he may be freed from the mental prison in which he has ensconced himself. He requires…" Spock did not meet Uhura's huge dark eyes. "…a kiss."

Uhura sat back.

Why was she not surprised?

Don't hate me. There are no pairings. There is no reason or rhyme. There is only crackiness. Review if you like... it's for my sis anyway. O_O Here you go, hiddenfiresindeed!