Long-ish Author's Note: Hey, everyone! I just wanted to explain this little project, lovingly called "Common People" after Shatner's song. ;3 Basically, we transported the crew to a place where we wouldn't be bogged down in the details of ship life and could write about things we really knew well and spend all our energy on writing these wonderful characters instead of worrying with plot. Where is the setting? We're not even quite sure ourselves, but essentially we are to understand that for whatever reason Kirk, Spock, and McCoy have taken their pursuit of the unknown to some small apartment on some nondescript planet in the corner of the galaxy and are now battling with the beasts of co-habitation and day to day domestic life. :)
On that vein, this was written while we were in the throughs of our brief but passionate romance with TOS this summer and all of the events are inspired by things we actually did. That means that here you will find silliness to the extreme, ridiculousness at every oppurtunity, shameless slashing in every direction, and no real ending. Had we gotten this posted in the summer, we were hoping other people would add on and write along with us in this peculiar little setting, and you are still welcome to do so, in fact, we would love for these thirteen some chapters to go on and have a life of their own in the fandom. However, what we want most with this story, I think, is for people to have a good laugh and love these characters as much as we do. :)
Please enjoy and thanks so much for reading! I turn you over now to...
The Laundry Issue, Part I. In which Kirk incurs the wrath of his house mates and is assigned a most arduous task.
"Jim," a singular shiver worked its way up his spine at the sound of the quiet summons, "could you come here for a second, please."
A very singular shiver.
He could all but see them in the doorway behind him, framing it like sentinels calling him to the execution block. Better to speak now than have it forced out of him later.
"Why, yes, Leonard, yes I can." His smooth smile remained intact despite his internal wariness but did little to impress a stoic Spock or sinister McCoy, though it did coax a twitchy sideways contortion of the lips from the latter, something close to a sarcastic smirk but not quite there. This, however, as Kirk well knew, was far from a good thing.
It was time to take the charm up a level.
"Gentlemen! Why so serious? Something bothering you?"
"A very vaguely worded inquiry, captain," Spock adjusted his position in order to keep Kirk in full view, arms remaining crossed and brows raising as he pivoted slowly, "and a rather exclusive one as well, given that in order for something to bother me it would be implied that something was causing an emotional reaction in me, which we both know is impossible-"
"Improbable, Spock, not impossible," cut in McCoy with foreboding purpose lurking behind his words. "But your Vulcan qualities aren't the point of this conversation."
"My apologies, doctor," a blissful respite from being stared down on all sides came for Kirk as Spock turned his unsettlingly even stare on McCoy, "had you alerted me that your goal had switched from entertaining unnecessary chatter to getting to the point, this conversation could have finished approximately three minutes and twelve seconds ago when you first brought up the predicament in question."
McCoy's scowl broke instantly in order to fire back a reply, but Spock nonchalantly went on talking, attention returning to the unfortunate Kirk, "The doctor has a great deal of problems with the state of your somewhat surprisingly extensive wardrobe."
"What does that mean, Bones? A man needs some options as far as attire-"
McCoy, lips pursed in slight chagrin at having to give his self-made, pointy-eared nemesis the last word, cut Kirk off with a stubborn shake of the head.
"It's not the actual clothing articles I have an issue with, Jim, though I might find one or two disagreeable if I looked through them all," McCoy led the way on the short trot from Kirk's bedroom door to another entrance before sweeping an arm to display the source of his alleged 'great many problems', "it's that they're all over our living room floor."
Kirk relaxed, even chuckling a little in his extremely canned but charming way.
"Is that all, Bones? God, you had me worried there for a minute…"
Bones' eyebrows shot up to a dangerous height.
"Oh, you've got every reason to be worried, James Tiberius-"
"Spock, how is it that he got you to come along on the complaining crew?"
"I'm not quite sure I fully understand your question, captain. Though I am not, as you said, 'bothered' by the presence of your personal belongings laid across our communal living quarters, I do find it an extremely illogical and inappropriate place to keep things."
The amusement did not relinquish its hold on Kirk's features as he responded, ignoring McCoy's mounting impatience, "And why's that, Spock?"
"Well," the dark eyes under elevated, slanted brows cast about the moderately sized living room, "to begin, I find it a severe handicap to yourself seeing as you must leave your private quarters, where most people are inclined to dress and undress, in order to clothe yourself. Secondly, it is inefficient, as well as highly inconvenient, for your cohabitants to use this room for its primary functions when most of the furniture is either buried or difficult to reach. And finally, though I am sure I could continue upon further meditations, it is my opinion, and very probably the doctor's as well, that some things," the Vulcan stooped over mid-sentence to fish an item from the sea of clothes lapping at the doorway, coming up with a faded pair of navy boxers with what could only be hand-stitched miniature Enterprises sewn at jaunty angles, "are best kept private."
One of the almost-smiles that occasionally lightened Spock's solemn physiognomy played across the first officer's lips and spread, if anything, as Kirk quickly snatched the offending undergarment from him and wadded it up with a heated haste and a markedly darker, "Understood."
Kirk glanced ruefully at, first, McCoy, who was making no effort to conceal his righteous amusement, and then Spock, who closed and opened his eyes deliberately before reigning in his smile to a minute smirk.
"What is it you're wanting me to do exactly? If you want me to put this all up, you're just going to have to wait a while because, as you both saw, I'm not done unpacking-"
"Obvious and already considered," Spock curtailed what was slowly but surely evolving into an excuse.
McCoy took Kirk's arm in what would have been a companionable way in any other context, but now was as good as the farmer's grasp on a miserably squawking chicken's neck.
"No, no, no, Jim, we've got something much better planned for you."
Spock followed McCoy and his temporary prisoner across their perilously plowed path to the kitchen where the doctor proceeded to open a cabinet under the sink and produce a roll of industrial sized, black trash bags. Kirk squinted up from the ominously opaque cylinder he found pressed into his hands to the wickedly satisfied smile on his friend's face.
"I don't follow-"
"Allow me, captain," Spock joined the pair, shoulder leading, with McCoy's unexpected but apparent approval. "Surprising as it may sound, the good doctor here and I actually agreed that the cost of doing laundry would be lower if we took advantage of the community laundry facilities instead of using the appliances at our own home. Before you argue, I triple checked my calculations and also added in the price of petroleum needed to drive a vehicle to and from the facility."
Kirk shut his mouth sourly as Spock continued as if he hadn't noticed.
"Because the cleanliness of your laundry is obsolete-"
"Eh, eh, eh! Shut your yapper, Jim. We've both seen you toss dirty clothes in here on multiple occasions; don't even try to tell us otherwise."
McCoy shifted slightly to stand beside Spock and once again Kirk felt hopelessly and irreversibly trapped.
"Agreed. To this end we concluded that the most logical course of action was to have you wash and dry all of this today-"
"But, where am I going to put it? Like I said, my room-"
"Again, obvious and already considered. We reached the consensus that what the doctor calls your 'punishment' should be abridged to sorting the clothing into whites, darks, and brights so that the doctor and or myself can attend to the actual washing while you then tackle the task of unpacking and arranging your room into some semblance of order. Any questions?"
Spock tilted his head with a courteous raise of the eyebrows.
Kirk gave a short, rueful exhale, "Yeah. How upset will you be if Bones ends up in one of these black, plastic abysses?"
McCoy's confrontational expression fell immediately into place as Kirk flapped open one of the bags, making a peal of painfully synthetic thunder.
"I've got worse ways for you to spend the weekend, if you're interested, Jim."
Spock, however, turned to leave with a shrug, plunging back into the ankle-deep tide of laundry as casually as if it wasn't there, while intoning delicately, "So long as he's not with the brights."