It's You Birthday! (And I Am Obligated to Celebrate it With You)
"Come on, Spock, it's his birthday!" James T. Kirk, captain of the Starship Enterpirse, whined to
his First Officer. The 'his', or 'he' in question was the CMO, Dr. Leonard H. "Bones" McCoy. It
was his birthday, although I'm sure this has already been made clear by the first line. Moving
right along, Spock, (the First Officer, in case you didn't get that) raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, I realize that, this is a seventh time you have told me this. Is there something I should
know?" Spock said, his face completly straight and solem. "There is nothing I can do for the
doctor, it is his human fate that he will age."
"I know that, we're throwing him a party, will you come?" Jim asked, Spock raised the already
raised eyebrow a little higher.
"You are 'throwing' him a party? Will he be safe with the chance of dropping it? Or not catching
it at all? Is that in the regulations? I'll have to check-"
"Spock! Stop taking me to litterally, we are giving Bones a party. For his birthday. Well, we're
giving him other things to, but the party is one of this things. Are you going to come?"
The eyebrow lowered itself and a Vulcan-type thoughtful look came over Spock face. Essentially
his forehead creased 0.000000000000023%, but, that's thoughtful. Really.
"Yes. I will attend." Spock looked at Kirk. "But Captain, what will I get him?"
"For his birthday?" Spock nodded. "I don't know, what do you think he'd want from you?"
"I am not going to dignify that question with a response." There was pause and Spock sighed
softly. "If I knew would I be asking?"
"Spock!" Jim cried, looking shocked, one of Spock's eyebrows rose again. "That was the most
un-Spock thing I've ever heard you say!"
Spock repressed the urge to beat the snot out of Kirk and calmly walked off to his quarters. Then
it hit him. He did the Vulcan equivalent of a victory dance (he blinked) and went straight to
work.
Four hours, six packs of eggs and lots of hissy fits, (though not from Spock, but from the people
who kept trying to cook themselves eggs and failing because the couldn't find any. Heh. ) IT was
done. Spock was very proud of his creation, and hoped to Logic that IT wouldn't kill the doctor.
So then Spock waited for the party.
The party started two hours after the finishing of IT, so IT got decorated and made pretty, or
aestetically pleasing, as Spock would put it, and it was securely placed in a box and said boxed
was dressed in paper and carried off to where the party was.
By the time Spock got there the party was in full swing. Uhara, Sulu, Chekov and Scotty were
stand around, talking, or something like that, the surviving redshirts were all looking
absolutely terrified. Spock made a mental note not to give them any of IT. Because if he was
bodering on fear about accidentally killing Doctor McCoy with IT, what would IT do to the
redshirts?
After what seemed like many hours and lots of water, McCoy was FINALLY allowed to open his
presents. Spock put IT beside the pile and waited. McCoy stared with the pile, simply because he
was afriad of accidentally killing a redshirt who died of shock when the pile fell over. He got
lots and lots alcohol. A couple people gave him books, and various tranquilizers. Finally, he was
down to IT. Inside Spock was pacing nervously, and sweating a lake, outside however it looked as
though you could smack him with a sledge hammer and it wouldn't faze him. McCoy slowly, painfuly,
took his sweet time opening IT. Until he had, at last, completly stripped IT or it's protective
wrapping. It was a cake. A chocolate cake. A chocolate cake ot the ICID thing and it said 'Live
Long and Prosper, Doctor' on it. McCoy was silent, the room was dead silent for a minute. Then,
something entirely unexpected happened. McCoy put the cake down next to him and launched himself
at Spock. He actually landed on Spock too. Poor Spock was so shocked he couldn't react. The
sat/lay there like the for a while.
"Thank you." McCoy finally whispered. "That's the sweetest most wonderful thing I've ever
gotten."
Spock was still in shock, and didn't reply. The rest of the crew didn't even flinch at that
comment. They all grinned like an army of Chsire cats. Then Spock's wits came back.
"Surely not. It's merely a cake. Furthermore I'm not sure if I made it correctly, you could
suffer from food poisoning." The redshirts all backed away from it, like it would jump out and
attack them.
It didn't.
The crew departed. They didn't want ot know what sort of horrible torture the Vulcan would
undergo for that comment.
Said Vulcan did not undergo any tortue.
Well, no, he was fed his cake.
Fin
a/n: Okay, that had no point, but I wrote it on the 20th for D. Kelley's birthday. Even though I
think he's dead. I don't care. Yes, that was the result of a twisted mind on a birthday. Also,
this story is possibly the most grammatically incorrect and slightly OOC thing I've ever written.
But that's okay, because I'm a happy birthday type person. ^^ Yay! So... yeah, I'll start working
on that other stuff now.
"Come on, Spock, it's his birthday!" James T. Kirk, captain of the Starship Enterpirse, whined to
his First Officer. The 'his', or 'he' in question was the CMO, Dr. Leonard H. "Bones" McCoy. It
was his birthday, although I'm sure this has already been made clear by the first line. Moving
right along, Spock, (the First Officer, in case you didn't get that) raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, I realize that, this is a seventh time you have told me this. Is there something I should
know?" Spock said, his face completly straight and solem. "There is nothing I can do for the
doctor, it is his human fate that he will age."
"I know that, we're throwing him a party, will you come?" Jim asked, Spock raised the already
raised eyebrow a little higher.
"You are 'throwing' him a party? Will he be safe with the chance of dropping it? Or not catching
it at all? Is that in the regulations? I'll have to check-"
"Spock! Stop taking me to litterally, we are giving Bones a party. For his birthday. Well, we're
giving him other things to, but the party is one of this things. Are you going to come?"
The eyebrow lowered itself and a Vulcan-type thoughtful look came over Spock face. Essentially
his forehead creased 0.000000000000023%, but, that's thoughtful. Really.
"Yes. I will attend." Spock looked at Kirk. "But Captain, what will I get him?"
"For his birthday?" Spock nodded. "I don't know, what do you think he'd want from you?"
"I am not going to dignify that question with a response." There was pause and Spock sighed
softly. "If I knew would I be asking?"
"Spock!" Jim cried, looking shocked, one of Spock's eyebrows rose again. "That was the most
un-Spock thing I've ever heard you say!"
Spock repressed the urge to beat the snot out of Kirk and calmly walked off to his quarters. Then
it hit him. He did the Vulcan equivalent of a victory dance (he blinked) and went straight to
work.
Four hours, six packs of eggs and lots of hissy fits, (though not from Spock, but from the people
who kept trying to cook themselves eggs and failing because the couldn't find any. Heh. ) IT was
done. Spock was very proud of his creation, and hoped to Logic that IT wouldn't kill the doctor.
So then Spock waited for the party.
The party started two hours after the finishing of IT, so IT got decorated and made pretty, or
aestetically pleasing, as Spock would put it, and it was securely placed in a box and said boxed
was dressed in paper and carried off to where the party was.
By the time Spock got there the party was in full swing. Uhara, Sulu, Chekov and Scotty were
stand around, talking, or something like that, the surviving redshirts were all looking
absolutely terrified. Spock made a mental note not to give them any of IT. Because if he was
bodering on fear about accidentally killing Doctor McCoy with IT, what would IT do to the
redshirts?
After what seemed like many hours and lots of water, McCoy was FINALLY allowed to open his
presents. Spock put IT beside the pile and waited. McCoy stared with the pile, simply because he
was afriad of accidentally killing a redshirt who died of shock when the pile fell over. He got
lots and lots alcohol. A couple people gave him books, and various tranquilizers. Finally, he was
down to IT. Inside Spock was pacing nervously, and sweating a lake, outside however it looked as
though you could smack him with a sledge hammer and it wouldn't faze him. McCoy slowly, painfuly,
took his sweet time opening IT. Until he had, at last, completly stripped IT or it's protective
wrapping. It was a cake. A chocolate cake. A chocolate cake ot the ICID thing and it said 'Live
Long and Prosper, Doctor' on it. McCoy was silent, the room was dead silent for a minute. Then,
something entirely unexpected happened. McCoy put the cake down next to him and launched himself
at Spock. He actually landed on Spock too. Poor Spock was so shocked he couldn't react. The
sat/lay there like the for a while.
"Thank you." McCoy finally whispered. "That's the sweetest most wonderful thing I've ever
gotten."
Spock was still in shock, and didn't reply. The rest of the crew didn't even flinch at that
comment. They all grinned like an army of Chsire cats. Then Spock's wits came back.
"Surely not. It's merely a cake. Furthermore I'm not sure if I made it correctly, you could
suffer from food poisoning." The redshirts all backed away from it, like it would jump out and
attack them.
It didn't.
The crew departed. They didn't want ot know what sort of horrible torture the Vulcan would
undergo for that comment.
Said Vulcan did not undergo any tortue.
Well, no, he was fed his cake.
Fin
a/n: Okay, that had no point, but I wrote it on the 20th for D. Kelley's birthday. Even though I
think he's dead. I don't care. Yes, that was the result of a twisted mind on a birthday. Also,
this story is possibly the most grammatically incorrect and slightly OOC thing I've ever written.
But that's okay, because I'm a happy birthday type person. ^^ Yay! So... yeah, I'll start working
on that other stuff now.