"Dammit, lad! Ye' know what happens when we bring security on these types of landing parties! They screw the whole thing up!"
Everyone aboard the USS Enterprise knew that Captain James T. Kirk was willing to sacrifice his life for his crew; only a handful of people knew that his dedication to his crew went much further.
"Is it possible to counteract the effects of the illness?" Spock asked, observing the vomiting red-shirt with mild curiosity.
Scotty glared and crossed his arms, careful to keep his boots out of the range of the vigorous projections.
"It's not an illness, Spock - the lad's havin' a hangover...he was partying before an assignment."
Spock frowned.
"Mr. Sullivan, you have compromised the success of this mission by your actions."
The young security officer nodded weakly before almost barfing all over Kirk's feet.
"Nevermind, Spock," the captain said, glancing at his first officer, "we'll take care of it when we return to the ship."
Flipping his communicator open, Kirk squinted into the sky.
"Enterprise, four to beam up."
"Yes captain. Preparing to transport."
The landing party began to spread out for beaming, per regulations. Shakily, the red-shirt gained his knees, only for them to buckle beneath him.
"Stay still so they can get a lock on you, lad," Scotty advised, eyeing the miscreant with some amount of disgusted pity, "if ye' stagger around, they'll lose ye'."
The red-shirt nodded half-heartedly, and promptly slipped in his own vomit.
"Captain, advise landing party to remain still, please."
"Stand up, son," Kirk commanded, taking a step towards the young officer, "give me your hand."
Spock visibly shuddered as the captain grasped the vomit-covered hand and pulled the boy upright. Slinging a perfectly clean arm around his crewman's shoulders, Kirk held the shuddering, puke-coated officer to his side without even a grimace.
"Kirk to Enterprise, ready to beam up now."
"Yes sir. Standby."
Captain James T Kirk wouldn't only sacrifice his life for his crew, but his nice clean shirts as well.