Author's notes: Please forgive me.

Description: El Goonish Shive and Star Trek are basically the same. Hence, fanfiction.

Disclaimer: Don't own. I hope Mr. Shive doesn't kill me. Also Paramount, I guess, but what are they going to do? They don't have nearly as much power as he does.

…

It was a day like any other day. Though in all honesty it, really wasn't because on any other day Chekov would not be up at this ungodly hour. Any other day he would have slept in like a good teenager and woken up just in time to run a comb through his hair and maybe think about breakfast but not actually eat.

But on this unusual day Chekov was stepping out of his quarters a full hour before his shift even started. He hated life.

His hatred was postponed when his day got even odder. He met Spock in the corridor.

And Spock was in a t-shirt.

And that t-shirt had clearly emblazoned on the front the words "El Goonish Shive."

Chekov's first thought was oh sh- followed quickly by what, what is this? What.

"Good morning, Ensign."

"G-Good morning, Commander." Chekov could barely hear his own answer over the sound of Jaws slowly approaching.

"Have you prepared the briefs for the Captain?"

"Sure, yeah. Um, hey, is that an 'El Goonish Shive' shirt?"

Spock glanced down at his clothing. He arched an eyebrow. "Affirmative."

"Wow. That is so… Russians would be proud. Okayseeyoulaterbye." He took off running before Spock could say another word.

He had to find Doctor McCoy. Stat.

…

He couldn't find the Doctor.

"Sulu, wake up!" He pounded on his friend's door. At this point he didn't care that he was waking the other man up hours before his swing-shift began. He needed help.

Eventually, after much pounding and caterwauling, the door swished open to reveal a tired Sulu dressed only in pajama bottoms.

"Chekov what?"

"Where's Doctor McCoy?"

"How should I know! I've been asleep! Go ask Chapel."

Chekov leapt in front of the door before it could close. "No! She must never know of this!"

"Know of what?" Sulu let out a long sigh, already resigned to his fate.

"I need to talk to McCoy. Right now. Spock is wearing a t-shirt!"

Sulu stared at him. Chekov tried to look as convincing and cute as possible. "I'm going back to bed."

"No! It's an 'El Goonish Shive' shirt!"

"Chekov, I don't even know what that is." Sulu tried to push him back outside but Chekov prevailed by wrapping him in a hug.

"Look it up. Also, I am very certain that this will lead to the Doctor's death!"

"Stop shouting so much! Why do you think a t-shirt is going to kill Doctor McCoy?"

Chekov calmed down. "Mr. Spock only wears such shirts when he is in a highly agitated state. He claimed once that reading comics was similar to mediation, so when he cannot meditate he reads them. But once he starts wearing the shirts bad things are going to happen."

"And you're worried that the Doctor will push him over the edge? You really think that's likely?"

Chekov stared at him. Sulu stared back. After a long moment Sulu let out a deep sigh. "Fine, fine, just… let me get a shirt."

"We may have some time. As long as we find the Doctor before he finds Spock."

…

"Well hello, Mr. Spock," Doctor McCoy greeted with only a hint of a malicious nature. "Is that a t-shirt I spy? An 'El Goonish Shive' one, no less?" He waggled his eyebrows.

Spock did not even dignify him with a response. His emotions belonged to him and he refused to react. Not even a little.

"I never would have guessed! Is this some sort of secret love affair? I never thought it possible that you of all people would read an old-Earth webcomic." Spock allowed himself to react a little. It was only a small build up. He would simply need to meditate later and—Oh, McCoy was interrupting him. "You are aware that Elliot is supposed to be a guy, right? Why is he constantly being feminized? Doesn't the overuse of plot completely destroy any credibility in the storyline?" He was calm. He was cool. McCoy meant nothing. But McCoy would not stop talking. "Eh, I guess it makes sense that you would be interested in a webcomic like that. It's so decidedly human."

Spock heard nothing. His ears were a rush of blood. He didn't hear the pout in McCoy's voice as he demanded Spock argue back, nor did he see the frown on his face. He was too busy letting his emotions loose.

…

Meanwhile the Captain was in a real pickle.

It didn't take him long to escape the pickle, but still. And now he smelled like vinegar.

"Klingons…destroying the galaxy. Beautiful ladies causing…" he glanced around dramatically. "Mayhem. My ship it… lies in shambles. Even my perfectly coifed hair is slightly askew." He straightened his hair piece.

"There once was a time!" he shouted to the ceiling. "I time when I—JamesTiberiousKirk—could keep order—order!—on my ship. When all it took was customer appreciation day at. The. Messhall." He looked dramatically at the ground than slowly raised his eyes to about the height of your average 20th century movie camera.

"I just don't know!"

Before he could get much father in his rant he heard a noise. He decided (dramatically!) to investigate. So he walked a few feet to his left and saw Spock trying to claw McCoy's eyes out as McCoy tried desperately to poke him in the ribs.

It was sort of funny. But no! He was the Captain!

"There will be no sissy-slap fights on this ship!" He dragged them apart just as McCoy struck an epic karate-esque pose.

"He started it!"

"I believe you are in error, Doctor," Spock replied smoothly, his voice completely level. "It was you who made fun of my heritage and 'El Goonish Shive.'"

"Shut up, both of you! I don't care who started it, you're both grown men and should not be fighting aboard this ship—wait. 'El Goonish Shive?'" Kirk swiveled his head to stare pointedly at Spock's chest. "…This started because of your t-shirt?"

Spock considered. "It could be interpreted in that manner, Captain."

"Yes! I'm a genius! I know how to save the galaxy! Uniforms, lots and lots of sexy low-cut—I mean, completely unisex uniforms!" He cackled evilly and scampered off, leaving a dumbstruck Spock and McCoy in his wake.

…

McCoy glanced at Spock. "Are we in trouble?"

"Based on past experience with the Captain's short attention span I would hazard no." Spock blinked at him.

"All right. Now what did you try to claw my eyes out!"

Spock was mildly miffed. "You began the ordeal, Doctor."

"Yeah, duh. Arguments are the whole basis of our friendship!"

"I do not understand your reasoning, Doctor. We are colleagues nothing—"

"Don't even say it. We've grown far beyond colleagues."

Spock stared at him. He was actually slightly taken aback by the Doctor's statement. "I…suppose you are right then."

"You're damn right I am." McCoy clasped his hand on Spock's shoulder. "Now let's start this argument over from the beginning…"

…

Chekov rolled over and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He stared at the ceiling. Why was he in Sulu's quarters asleep on the couch?

"Sulu, were we supposed to be somewhere?"

Sulu wrapped a pillow around his head. "Chekov, just go to sleep."

Chekov stared at the ceiling a while longer before rolling over to drift back to sleep.

Maybe tomorrow he would dye his hair purple…

…

END

Author's notes: Did that seriously just happen?