Title: Five Times James Kirk Managed to Get Off the Transporter Platform by Himself, and One Time He Just Couldn't
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy (this one)
Rating: K+
Word Count: 1043 (this one)
Summary/Warning: I stumbled across an unfulfilled, anonymously-requested prompt (see overlong title above) in a very old Star Trek meme on LiveJournal, and couldn't get away from it. As I've thoroughly corrupted my good friend Protector of the Gray Fortress into a new fandom-obsession, we present our next collab. Yes, five-and-ones are done all the time, but that doesn't mean they're not great fun, especially when halfed with a friend. :)
A/N (PGF): This is all KCS's fault! I was perfectly happy mooning over Holmes and Watson. I would have been contented to remain at Baker Street for the rest of my days.
And then she brings in Spock!
*facepalm* Turns out I like Kirk too, and I share some things in common with Bones. I've just finished all 79 episodes and two of the movies over Christmas break. I have been completely floored by this wonderful trio.
And it's all her fault.
Five Times James Kirk Managed to Get Off the Transporter Platform by Himself, and One Time He Just Couldn't
II.
Kirk does not really mind the bickering of his two closest friends, but right now, with a horde the likes of which he's never seen, and only a little line of rocks to separate them from his little group, it's the last thing he needs.
"I told ya we should have brought more of 'em with us!" McCoy hisses at Spock, who cocks his head and looks blandly unoffended.
"Considering the ratio of the opposing force, and our own men, Doctor, a hundred more would not have made a significant difference."
"If you weren't such a blind arrogant fruitbat of a Vulcan we wouldn't—"
"Bones!" Kirk hisses, breathing through his nose.
The blue eyes look at him quizzically, with that slightly unfocused look, innocent and good-natured as a hound-dog. The comparison vanishes with a glare. "Well you heard him earlier, Jim! This is all his fault!"
"It doesn't matter whose fault it is!" He's beginning to feel like parent; why couldn't he ever be just a starship captain? A captain with a nice obedient crew that always did what he said, and leading officers that didn't plan mutiny behind his back whenever they felt the inkling.
"We need a plan. Do you have Scott, Spock?"
"Righ' here, Captain," trilled the little device in the Vulcan's hands. "Yeh've no been gone fer five minutes, what have ye got yerselves intae now?"
"Never mind Scotty, I'll regale you when we're back on board. We need to beam up now."
"Right now? Just right now?"
Kirk gnashes his teeth in frustration at the innocent tones of the engineer, he can just picture him shuffling his feet up on deck. "Yes, Mr. Scott, now."
"Well all right, but yer gonna have to come in fives, the transport cannae manage more than that at a time, her dampers gave out a week ago, and I told ye…"
Five.
Kirk looks to his first, looking for a solution, the Vulcan's face is stoic, even for this situation. "That will mean seven trips, Captain."
McCoy's eyes widen and he looks around at the men, his concern obvious. "Jim!"
"All right, let's get started." Kirk keeps his voice level, draws his friend back from the rocks. "Bones, take four with you, go now. Don't argue with me - we'll need you to see to the wounded."
And there will be wounded; the storm front of barbaric, hostile warriors descending says as much. The Doctor's objections are lost as Kirk herds four of the youngest ensigns together and Spock calls for the energize.
They're gone in a mist of glowing particles, to be safely reassembled board ship.
But the knot in his chest does not lessen - there are so many more of them, so many more, and all waiting for his signal.
Only Spock seems unconcerned, calmly directing the remaining forces to hold off the attack as best they can. Kirk continues to hustle them into groups so its easier for Scotty to scoop up. Each trip seems to take far too much time, and by the time there are only the ten of them left, they are surrounded and stunning men right and left. One bravely leaps over the rocks and is felled by a young man Kirk only knows as Ensign Jensen, an arrow sprouts in the lad's shoulder for his trouble. Kirk hurries to catch him.
"Spock! Take them up!"
The Vulcan is spearheading the defense, doing a very good High Noon impression for someone who'd claimed never to have seen a Western. Kirk added it to his list of things to show him. It was quite long now, but he wanted a chance to be able to shorten it.
"I'm sorry, Captain."
And before Kirk can ask what the heck he thinks he has to apologize for right now, something the Vulcan speaks into his communicator, which he has been secreting beside his face for some minutes. "Energize, Mr. Scott."
Kirks' limbs burst with the familiar pins and needles, the air is thick with arrows now; one flies through his glowing leg without stopping. He cries out as the grim-faced Vulcan and the plain and the pathetic huddle of rocks are gone.
He is numb, and not just from the transportation. He is staggering on the platform while the men gasp in relief around him, asking anxiously about their fellows.
A calloused, oily hand is on his collar dragging him back. "Move sir! Get yer rump off my platform! There's one more group!"
He's moving before Scotty finishes, practically rolling off to the floor, into the crowd of agitated landing participants. They're all being herded out, but he stays and locks his eyes on the metal disks.
It takes too long. He is half mad by the time another golden shower fills the too empty space.
When it solidifies, a sad pile of men emerge. One is holding his stomach, groaning as he rolls about. Two are limp and unmoving; one still standing with his hand still on his phaser; and curled on his side, arm outflung and silky head drooping is the one he is most concerned over.
"Spock!"
He is back on the platform, kneeling beside him. Turning him over with clumsy hands, unaware of any damage he might be causing.
"Spock, Spock!" he pleads, bent over the still face which is lined in a shadow of a grimace.
The dark eyes flicker partially open. They settle on his face, the Vulcan takes a quick, shallow breath. He is swearing, arms locked around the skinny chest, making sure that the ribs rise and fall, that the feeble breath continues despite the bloody, green splintered wood that pokes out of his blue tunic.
"Aw, Spock." He groans, letting his chin rest on the Vulcan's head. "You're supposed to be logical. How is throwing yourself to the wolves logical?"
"Don't give him any colorful figures of speech to complain over," McCoy mutters, hands working quickly, "this will be tricky enough for me to fix without his yapping to distract me."
"It wasn't…"
He looks down, Brown eyes are straining at the corners to peer up at him.
"But I am…as the good Doctor is so fond…of reminding me…half human."
"Yeah, well that doesn't make you any easier to treat." Bones glares, but there is a smile hidden at the corner of his mouth, and Kirk relaxes.
Everything is going to be fine.